Page 25 of A Loser by Christmas
“Well, that’s understandable.” Her smile returns to full force. “But if you do have eyes for me, try to catch my good side.” She cocks her chin and flutters her eyelashes. “Still living in hope of attracting a chef I can actually keep. Bonus points if he’s a silver fox who can cook decent pasta. Sit, both of you!” She lights an extra candle, smiling so hard that both her eyes and her nose wrinkle. “There. Much more romantic.”
It is. Once she leaves us, this table for two is an intimate setting for me to take a turn at getting explicit. Because this does need clarifying. “Just for the record, you definitely agree that I have free rein with all of your footage?” I even place my cameraon the table, leaning it against the candlestick to face Calum so that no flickering light can blur his agreement.
I bet my GoPro catches his frown. “Free rein. Why would I give you that?”
“Because I need the extra content if I’m going to win my contest.”
He frowns even harder. “But that’s why I ordered the boat for Reece. To get you to your target.”
“I didn’t hit it.”
“Yes, you did. I placed the order before I’d even left the marina. Thought it would cover those repairs you wanted.” He must have listened hard the night we lay in darkness broken by those firework flashes. “It sounded like winning your contest was a last chance. Me ordering the boat means you don’t need to win it.”
The only thing he’s confirmed is that Dad has no intention of setting me free anytime soon.
“The order didn’t go through before midnight. There must have been a website glitch.” I’m almost certain there wasn’t. “I’ll need to win my way back to my own life.” I meet his gaze. “I’ve edited what I have. It isn’t enough. Give me free rein to fill my gaps with you.”
“With my ice-rink visits?”
“No. Withyou.I know what the judges want. Unique journeys. Raw authenticity. That means not holding anything back. Nothing can be off-limits. It’s everything.” I reach for my camera. “Or nothing.”
He grabs my hand as it closes around my GoPro, which Penny coos over like she’s caught us having a special moment. “Sorry, sorry!” She delivers a carafe of water and a plate of scorched bruschetta. “On the house! I’ll be back with menus.”
As soon as she’s gone, I nudge his foot under the table and tell him what I really want for Christmas.
“You’ve set your time limits. Been clear about where I can and can’t follow you. I’ve agreed.” I point at my camera with my free hand. “The footage of this conversation can be our contract, but only ifyouagree that I get to keep whatever I do record. All of it.” I’ll need every single minute if I’m gonna make a split screen like I keep visualising. “You’re virtually Reece’s mirror image.”
Splitting the screen between their lifestyles would be confronting. Jarring. Potentially contest-winning.
I’ve never needed anything more than his agreement.
“That’s what you’re agreeing to—me picking and choosing what I upload, not you, oui?”
If he does agree, his nod is so slight that I can’t be sure my camera caught it.
“Say so out loud. We have a deal?”
He opens his mouth. Looks down at both of us holding my GoPro. Calum lets me go and snaps his mouth closed, hesitation flickering like the extra candle Penny left as a romantic gesture. There’s fuck all romantic about him stuffing his mouth with burnt bruschetta to avoid committing.
He mumbles something that Penny interrupts. “How is it, boys? Good?”
Calum gives her a thumbs-up, even thoughgoodis the last way I’d describe food that looks and smells like it deserves a lower than one-star rating. Her gaze swings my way, and I recognise this expression. It’s a reminder of Dad wondering if Calum will buy more boats from him.
Her hold on a pair of menus tightens. “And it’s good for you too, love?”
Like Calum, I take a hasty bite instead of being truthful, and she beams while I chew on bread tainted with ashy basil. “Mmm.”
This bruschetta should taste of Italy in summer. It’s flavoured with disappointment. With regret. And if regret is the reason Calum shovels more into his mouth instead of answering me directly, I’m gutted.
He’s about to say no.
Somehow that’s worse than Dad delaying repairs when I know he has the tools and skills to help me. He’s deliberately chosen not to. Calum choosing to yank away another lifeline is an unwelcome reminder that I want to push away from. I shove away from the table instead, and he swallows in a hurry. “Where are you going?”
I don’t know.
I stand up regardless, needing more distance between me and someone else opting out of helping. I mean, I know he tried to—that he’s dropping six-figures on a speedboat for just that reason. I’m not saying I’m rational. I just can’t breathe is all. Can’t inhale or exhale at the thought of another year of boat shows for the world’s rich when little kids are at risk of sink?—
Penny asks, “Looking for the loo, love?” She gives cheerful directions.
