7. Cameron

Iwas fully embroiled in tax season, and I'd been working brutal twelve-hour days six days a week just to hit all my deadlines. If I could ever find the inspiration I needed to write again, I might be able to build my author empire enough where I could limit my clients then eventually let all of them go. That was the dream, and I was close, maybe just a few short years from seeing it come to pass.

But I had returns to complete and submit for my clients in the present. And since I was going cross-eyed looking at endless spreadsheets and tax forms—thankfully this would all be over in a few days—I decided I needed a break, so I grabbed my phone and sent a text to my bestie.

Wanna grab coffee?

Yes, Camethon!

I grinned at Tristan's characteristically enthusiastic response and ridiculous nickname-of-the-moment. See you in 10.

The only response I got was a gif of someone doing a happy dance, so I suspected Tris was as desperate for company as I was.

I threw on my wool navy peacoat and favorite red scarf, grabbed my keys, wallet, and phone, and headed for the door.

***

We always met up at the same place, Bears and Brews, an adorable coffee shop run by a bear of a man and decorated with an eclectic collection of stuffed bears and other bear-themed décor. It sat next to Mountains of Books, a bookstore owned by a couple of my good friends, Zander and Joey. This adorable neighborhood was starting to get a reputation as queer-friendly—one of many in Seattle adorned with pride, progress, and trans flags in windows and on flag poles—which I loved. Plus, it wasn't too far away from my house and almost equidistant between Tristan's place and mine.

And they made the best coffee.

I found us a table by the front windows, overlooking a park across the street. I loved to people-watch—writer's brain, probably—and this way I could see Tristan when he got here.

I was a few minutes early, and Tris had to come a little farther than I did, so I puttered around on my phone while I waited.

As I did, the bell over the glass door chimed, and I glanced up. Seattle was a big town, so I didn't expect to see anyone I knew. But as I watched this person I'd never seen before walk through the door and toward the counter, I couldn't stop myself from tracking their movements. What was it about them that had grabbed my attention?

I'd never really connected with many people in my entire life. I'd had a handful of good friends in high school, college, and over the intervening years, and I'd felt a connection to a rare few enough to count them as good friends. Like Tristan, my BFF—his words—who'd forced his way into my life and became my best friend.

But I'd never felt a pull to anyone quite like this.

Tristan came in right behind them, and I gave him a quick nod and a pointed look at the counter. It was his turn to buy, and he knew my standard order—a vanilla latte—so he might as well just order for both of us.

Plus, that would give me time to track the mystery person.

I watched as they shuffled up to the counter, shoulders hunched as though uncertain or shy but their eyes bright and unwavering. Once they'd placed their order—I couldn't hear what it was—they scanned the small café.

And their eyes met mine.

It was brief, but for the few seconds our eyes met, I swear I saw something in them that my soul recognized. Some connection, however fleeting.

I didn't know why, but my heart dared to hope they felt it, too.

My breath caught as they glanced away, seemingly unaffected. But I couldn't help but wonder . . . had their breathing picked up? Was their chest heaving beneath that sexy leather jacket? Were they just hiding the signs that they'd felt something when they looked at me as well?

"Vanilla latte for, uh, Sam . . . or, um, Cam?"

I blinked at the barista's disjointed question before shooting a glare at Tristan, who had somehow gotten his caramel macchiato before my drink and was headed my way. He shot off a quick "You're up" before plopping down in the seat across from me. I stared him down as I stood and hurried over to the counter.

I pointed at the drink on the counter, catching the barista's gaze and asking, "Vanilla latte for Cam?" Damn Tris and his extremely not funny sense of humor.

"Uh . . ." The guy behind the counter, a young dark-haired attractive twink—similar in build to me, actually—looked over my shoulder to the person I'd caught eyes with across the room. Then he picked up the cup and squinted at the name written on it. "I . . . think so?"

I glanced over my shoulder as well, catching the mesmerizing person's gaze again. I swallowed quickly, hoping my voice would come out okay. "Did you order a vanilla latte as well?"

The person nodded slowly, almost as if they hadn't expected me to speak with them, then shuffled forward. "Y-yes, yeah. I ordered a vanilla latte with whole milk. For Sam."

I picked up the cup and scrutinized it, finding that the name scratched on the side of it was barely legible. I couldn't tell if the first letter was an S or a C, either. So I started laughing. "Seriously? That's too good."

Sam eyed me curiously for a minute, chocolate-brown eyes sparkling as if holding back laughter. "What do you mean?"

I turned back to the barista, whose brows were furrowed like he couldn't figure out what happened. That just made me laugh harder.

The two of them were looking at me like I had two heads.

When I caught my breath, I apologized. "I'm so sorry. We're gonna blame this on my asshole friend." Since no one else was around, I raised my voice for that last part so Tris would hear. The fucker just raised his disposable coffee cup as if to acknowledge an award or something. "My friend likes to give me random nicknames. Today was Cam, apparently."

I lifted the cup in the air between the three of us.

"See here? The little squiggle could be a C or an S, depending on if the pen dragged on the cup too long or not."

Sam finally caught on to the mistake and started laughing, too. Which set me off again. Even the barista started chuckling as he got to work making a second vanilla latte.

I turned to the intriguing person named Sam and stuck out my hand. "We haven't officially met, and my name is not Cam. It's Cameron."

After a moment's hesitation, Sam extended their hand, and I noticed a thin bracelet poking out from under the sleeve of their leather jacket. It had the pink, blue, and white colors of the trans flag with small he/him letters woven in the strands.

Him.

Before I really had time to process that, his hand slid into mine, and sparks shot out from where our skin touched, electrifying my entire body. Holy fuck. "Sam."

"It's very nice to meet you, Sam."

"You as well, Cameron." God, I loved the way he said my name. "Sorry about the mix-up—I usually order a mocha, but I wanted to try something different today, and I heard this coffee shop is famous for its vanilla lattes."

He blushed, and I smiled. "They are. Have you not been here before?"

He shook his head. "No. I had a . . . bad experience at my usual place several months back, so I'm finally venturing back out into the coffee world and trying something new." His gaze perused the décor. "It's so cool in here."

I grinned. "It is." I had the sudden urge to invite him to join Tristan and me, but something held me back. Conversation with him was easy, and we'd seemed to settle into each other's presence more easily than I'd ever experienced with another person.

But I wasn't sure I could do this.

In the short time we'd spoken, the connection I'd initially felt to him across the coffee shop had only gotten stronger. Up close, I noticed little things about him: his flattering masculine haircut, his strong shoulders, even the beginnings of an Adam's apple that I was jealous of. But what intrigued me more was the way he almost had to remind himself to stand tall, be confident.

And fuck, it was hot as hell when he did.

The barista called Sam's name and handed him his latte, and I blinked back at the man standing across from me as we stepped to the side, farther away from Tristan—to where he hopefully couldn't hear us.

Sam was staring down at his cup when he asked, "Uh, Cameron?"

I hesitated, curious but wanting those gorgeous brown eyes on me before I replied. Once he lifted his gaze to mine, I obliged. "Yes?"

His face turned a little red, and I was instantly curious. And I almost swooned, too, because that was just adorable. "Can I tell you something?"

I smiled. "Of course."

"I, uh, I know who you are."

My brows furrowed. "Um, okay . . ."

He instantly threw a hand in the air between us. "I promise, I'm not a stalker or anything. I just . . . I love your books."

My eyes shot wide. I used my headshot in my marketing materials, in my books, on social media, so it wasn't like I hid my identity, but to have a random stranger on the street—or in a coffee shop, as it were—recognize me? How the hell did that happen? Indie authors were not celebrities. "You . . . my books?"

He nodded, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "Yes. Your latest one with Jesse and Jay might be my favorite yet."

The tension in my shoulders relaxed just a little. The fact that he knew my characters' names made me trust him a bit more. It didn't feel stalkery. Did it?

Looking into Sam's eyes, I didn't get that vibe from him. He just happened to have a run-in with an indie author he knew. The odds of that happening had to be astronomical, but I supposed it wasn't impossible.

I breathed out a nervous laugh, still trying to sort out everything in my brain. Scrubbing my hand across my jaw, I caught his gaze. "Well, I've gotta say I've never had that happen before."

The red in his cheeks deepened. God, that was adorable. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know that I love your books so much. You're my favorite author. I might be fanboying a little hard right now."

He chuckled, and I joined him, breaking the tension between us. "Fanboy away, please. You're stroking my ego."

His chocolate eyes flashed for the briefest of seconds, and was that heat I saw in them? Was he imagining stroking other things?

Shit. Now I was, too.

The realization that I was super into Sam hit me so suddenly that it took my breath away. Because he had captured my attention completely. I couldn't explain it, and I wasn't ready for it.

After the terrible date I'd had in November, I'd sworn off dating, and I meant it. Besides, I didn't even know if Sam was gay. Or interested. But that look . . .

Maybe that was just like hero worship or something. Yeah, that had to be it. I couldn't have met the perfect guy less than six months after swearing off men forever, could I?

Okay, so calling him "the perfect guy" was a little premature; I got that. But I was a romance writer for god's sake—romanticism came with the territory.

He wasn't the type of guy I'd usually go for, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that was my problem. Maybe I needed a new type of guy.

Or maybe I wasn't ready for any of it.

I shook my head to clear it, knowing I had to say something so he didn't think I hated him. "Sam, thank you for saying all that. Really. I appreciate your kind words." I smiled sweetly as Tristan sidled up next to me, effectively ending our conversation.

"Would you like to join us?" my bestie asked without hesitation, and my heart started pounding. Did I want him to say yes or no?

What I could've sworn was fear flashed in Sam's eyes. What was that about? "Th-thank you, but I have . . . somewhere to be."

My heart sank, and I knew in that moment the depths of how much I wanted him. I was insanely attracted to him—I wasn't so dumb I couldn't admit that to myself. But it would never work between us. I couldn't trust men; I'd decided that long ago. And I knew trans guys were often attracted to other trans guys—shared experiences could certainly create strong bonds—but I'd never even looked at another trans man that way.

Plus, I didn't know this guy. Could I even trust him in a romantic relationship? Could I trust anyone?

Shit. I was getting way ahead of myself. Did I think he was hot as fuck? Yes. But was I ready for something more than just friends? No.

I blinked hard as Sam waved and turned for the door. I called out a "goodbye" a second later than I should've, and I kicked myself.

Because all of that prevarication and consideration and going back and forth didn't stop me from wishing I'd given him my number before he left, just in case.

Tristan stared at me as my eyes followed his amazing ass out the door. When he was out of sight through the wall of windows, I reluctantly turned back to my bestie. "What?"

"Don't ‘what' me, Cammy-boy. You know what. You were into Sam!"

I considered lying for only a moment because I knew Tris would recognize it a mile away. "Okay, sure, I thought he was hot. But I swore off men after my last horrific date, okay?"

"First, that's ridiculous. Cameron—yes, I'm using your actual name so you know I'm serious—you and Sam were just adorable. You would be great together; I just know it."

I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter now. I'll probably never see him again." I took a final swig of my lukewarm latte as the thought sent a sharp pain through my chest.

Fuck, what was wrong with me?

***

I was home less than half an hour later, and Sam was still on my mind. How the hell was he consuming all my thoughts with just a brief, and admittedly swoon-worthy, meet-cute I didn't know, and—

Nope, I was going to give up on the thought of Sam and I together and instead focus on something else. Anything else.

Something like S.M.C.

God, I loved talking to them. They'd given me glimpses into who they were in small ways—whether they were simply talking about their day or sharing their heart—and we'd swapped more answers to innocuous questions than I'd thought possible, so I was starting to build a picture of who they were. And what I'd learned, I liked. Hell, if I'd been getting to know this beautiful human in person, I might've even been starting to fall in love. Maybe I was regardless.

But that was crazy, right?

As I sometimes—read: often—did when I was lonely or just thinking about S.M.C., I pulled up our email thread and started back at the beginning. Rereading their words calmed something inside me, and a sense of rightness and belonging settled on my shoulders, into my soul.

I reread their first email to me, sent so many months ago, the words now familiar and worn into my neural pathways. About how much my writing meant to him, how much he loved Jay and Jesse's story, about Hudson—

And inspiration finally, after many, many months, hit me right between the eyes.

My eyes shot wide, and I tabbed over to my open and empty manuscript. And started writing.

When I'd started thinking about Charlie's book, I'd plotted how the story would unfold. But now, I knew that was all wrong. Because Hudson was an integral part of Charlie's love story, too.

I'd originally planned a character named Theo for Charlie, a stern but loving Daddy to keep Charlie in line, and Theo was perfect for him. But their story felt incomplete. I still wasn't entirely sure how to fit him in, but I knew Hudson's pragmatic side was the perfect complement to Charlie's effervescent personality.

So I kept writing, excited to see where things would go, and over the next few weeks, Hudson started to weave himself seamlessly into the story. Of course, not intentionally on his part. No, he'd just coincidentally show up at the coffee shop where Charlie and Theo were having their first date. Or he'd be there when Charlie had to step outside to catch his breath after Theo kissed him for the first time. And he'd gotten in Theo's face when he hadn't put Charlie first and needed to be put in his place.

I couldn't wait to see where their story went.

Tax Day came and went, and Sam rarely left my mind. But I kept myself busy writing, and the story had finally taken shape. Both Charlie and Theo—though Theo acknowledged it first—started to realize that their relationship wouldn't be complete without Hudson right in the middle of it. Their dramatic climax had my heart racing and my fingers moving as fast as they could go.

I finished the book in record time, despite finishing up my busiest tax season yet, and even though I'd gone off-plot and smashed my outline to hell, I knew this book was special.

And it was all because S.M.C., my anonymous—well, book admirer, anyway, I unhelpfully reminded myself—had reached out, planted the seed. And because my best friend, Tristan, had suggested I give them a chance. And because my one encounter with Sam all those weeks ago had given me a reason to pour myself into my writing so he wouldn't consume my every thought. I'd almost forgotten about him.

Almost.

I glanced back over S.M.C.'s original email yet again, and a smile spread across my face. S.M.C. had said I'd changed their life, and I'd take them at their word. Because with their email, they'd kind of changed mine.

Whoever they were.