“What are you doing in there?” After a few minutes, Cameron walked in, not bothering to knock. “You’re not even dressed. It’s seven-forty-five.” He tossed the shirt at me. “Let’s go, move it, Blondie.”
“How did I get this old?” I let him button up my shirt. “Where did the decade go?” I pushed him away gently and pulled my pants off, slipping into my jeans. Good, everything still fit.
“You’re forty, Allan. Not eighty. Get a grip.” Cameron fussed with my belt. “Loosen it up a little or your belly will bulge.”
“Thank you, really,” I said, sarcastically, stepping to the mirror again. “How do I look?”
He walked up to me. “Do you remember when we met? Do you remember what state you were in?” He took my face into his small, warm hands. “And look at you now, Allan Waterhouse. You’re back in the saddle again, my friend.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. You know that, right?”
Cameron nodded, his sweet eyes twinkling with affection. “We make better friends, don’t we?”