Page 5 of Warrior's Cross

Wondered about him. Even fantasized about him and that rough, quiet voice.

The waitress shook her head. “Wow, Cam,” she said. “I bet if you made a move, he’d respond,” she hinted.

“I don’t want to make a move,” Cameron insisted stubbornly.

“Why the hell not?” she asked in shock. “Iwould if I thought he’d go for it!” she claimed with a laugh. “No man who dresses that nice would be straight, though,” she muttered. She peered through the blinds with an exaggerated sigh.

“If you’re this bored, I’m sure we can find you something more to do,” Cameron threatened as he glared at her.

She turned around and winked at him, patting him on the back.

“Fine, Mr. Head Waiter, sir. I’ll take his dessert out then,” she taunted, swooping in to take the plate and ramekin that had just appeared, setting it on a small, linen-covered tray, and heading out to the dining room.

Cameron caught his objection at the last second and watched her go before he turned narrowed eyes on a couple of the other waitresses who huddled at the end of the bar. They scurried back to work with a flutter of giggles. Cameron groaned. This was all he needed. Miri and the other girls would pester him about it forever, never mind that he was technically their supervisor. He didn’t know what Miri hoped to get out of this little interaction, but he hoped she was satisfied with whatever it was.

As much as he hated to, Cameron went to the slats and peered through, watching curiously.

Miri composed herself and approached the man’s table. “Your dessert, sir,” she offered as she presented the plate.

The man watched the plate as it was set in front of him. He slowly looked up at the waitress, his expression blank for a long moment before simply nodding his thanks.

Miri offered him a polite, charming smile. “May I bring you anything else?”

The man gave her his usual jerk of the head in answer as he placed a linen napkin in his lap with his good hand.

“Feel free to flag us down if you need anything,” she told him happily, pausing for a few breaths before moving along to make her way back out of the dining room.

Once through the dark doors, she marched over to Cameron and waved her hand at the blinds. “See?” she said triumphantly.

“No, I don’t,” Cameron responded, looking up from the coffee service he was preparing. Yes, he’d given in to the urge to watch Miri talk to him, butshedidn’t need to know that.

“He was annoyed with me,” she informed him with a smile. “He only wants you, Romeo,” she crooned with a smile before heading off again.

Cameron stared after her before turning to check the dining room.

He watched the man for a minute, examining the set of his shoulders and searching for signs of annoyance before frowning and shaking his head. Why would a man like that be interested in someone like him?

First of all, he’d have to be into guys. And even if he was—which was a long shot in Cameron’s opinion—why pick up a mere waiter? The man looked rich and successful and powerful. None of which Cameron was.

As he watched, Blake Nichols appeared and approached the table.

The restaurant’s owner stood for a long while as they talked, and then he sat on the edge of the chair across from the man, speaking with what was obviously concern. The patron’s expression didn’t change, but Cameron sensed he was speaking to Blake somewhat heatedly, if the motions of his uninjured hand were any indication.

The men were a study in opposites. The unnamed man had a tall, firm frame with tight muscles under his well-tailored clothing, jet black hair with those little hints of gray at the temples, his ever-present well-groomed beard and mustache. Blake Nichols, on the other hand, was clean-shaven with fine blond hair that always looked as if he’d been dragging his socks against the carpet. Fashionably messy. He wasn’t as tall or as broad, but he was still trim and in very good shape.

Another difference between the two men: Blake wasn’t shy about expressing himself verbally when his smooth, polished persona wasn’t required on the dining floor. Cameron was extremely familiar with that.

And Blake was a warm, friendly guy who tended to be easily distracted. In Cameron’s experience, the patron had always been Blake’s polar opposite, cold as ice and unflappable. But now Cameron was seeing true emotion, seeing the dark-hairedman come alive, even if it was with some sort of frustration. And he was magnificent.

Cameron cursed under his breath. Now he’d never be able to get rid of the damn crush.

Soon enough, Blake stood and placed his hand on the dark man’s uninjured shoulder before leaving him to his dessert. Cameron watched as the man sat silent and blank for a moment before pulling a small, beat-up moleskin notebook from his seemingly endless supply of pockets and placing it carefully beside his plate. He then extracted an expensive-looking pen and opened the notebook.

He ate his crème brûlée carefully with his injured right hand as he wrote in the notebook with his left. It was something he did often, writing in the little book while eating his dinner. Cameron had noticed that he used either hand to write, and he’d often wondered what the man was doing.

None of it was any of Cameron’s business, and he realized that he was ignoring his responsibilities. He just couldn’t help himself.

Cameron scrubbed his hands over his face and pressed his lips together in resignation before lifting the tray and getting back to work. He served coffee to two tables that were finishing up, and he’d brought an extra cup, just in case. After a look toward the alcove, he took a deep breath to bolster his confidence and decided to go over.

---