Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)

Cameron frowned at their hands.

“Henry?” came a vibrant female voice.

Rounding the manse in a wheelchair was a young woman in blue with wavy dark hair gathered into a stylishly messy bun. She rolled off the stone path onto thick grass. Closer, he noticed her flawless skin and long-lashed dark eyes. She was pretty, and her smile indicated she hadn’t noticed their—

Henry whipped his hand back from Cameron’s, and Cameron’s heart thumped guiltily.

Oh, Henry. This was not okay.

“What on Earth are you doing up there?” she called.

“Deepening an acquaintance. Is it time for dinner?”

“Yes. Won’t you introduce me?”

“My bad. Cameron, this is the most important woman in my life.”

Cameron knew exactly who she was. His belly twisted as he sighed. “Your fiancé.”

Breezes rushed through pine trees, carrying the faint whine of his name.

One startled face eyed the other, and they both eyed him.

“My what?”

“Your fiancé? The enigmatic actor that has heads turning?”

A giggle. “Henry, I think he means Alicia.”

Right, Alicia.

Oh. So she wasn’t . . .

“Well,” Henry said. “I’m glad your sleuthing skills are as faulty as mine.”

“I won’t quit the day job anytime soon.” He tucked his feet up and stood, grabbing a tree branch, knocking his glasses to the tip of his nose.

Henry mirrored him, hand crossing his to hold the same branch. “Not so fast.”

“I’m fairly sure this level of awkwardness requires making a hasty exit.”

“Alicia and I were engaged, for about an hour maybe a year ago. Shortly before we returned to New Zealand. We’re friends, now.”

“It’s none of my business—”

“Come on. Why else are you here but to broaden your knowledge of me?”

Cameron looked from the curiously watching woman below and up into steady, forgiving eyes.

Embarrassing but true. Cameron’s burning curiosity had conquered his fear, his imagination.

Henry straightened Cameron’s glasses. “Let me give you a better picture?”

Cameron sighed and lowered his voice. “If I do, will you forget about this whole fiancé blurtation?”

“Never,” Henry replied quietly, voice warmly affected. “I’ll tease you about this every time we meet, and we’ll laugh. Laughter is the foundation of close friendships.”

Gosh, the man’s smile was charming. He’d bottle it up and drink it if he could.

“Go on then, start painting.”

Henry straightened his pose and swept a hand toward their audience. “The most important woman in my life. Georgie, my sister.”

Cameron waved. “Hi. The answer is yes, if you’re wondering. I’m always this smooth.”

“I might have been wondering.” She laughed, rolling back toward the path. “Will you join us for dinn—”

“Cameron! Cameron, honey, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

Cameron swiveled violently. John puffed as he jog-skipped over a floor of pine needles. “John,” he said, startled.

The branch shifted in his grip as Henry peered around him.

“I went around the other side first,” John said, “and I thought I heard voices—Jesus, you could kill yourself standing up there. Come down.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Are you two . . .” He faced Cameron. “Do you know each other?”

“Ah, yes.” Cameron replied reluctantly. “I mean, we’re getting to know each other.”

“I tried to find you at the studios,” John called up. “You’re always coming home late, I thought we could go out for dinner.”

“I see.” Henry crouched and jumped off the wall.

“Wait,” Cameron called after him. “You’re leaving?”

Henry dusted his hands and moved toward Georgie, who watched her brother carefully. Cameron wished he could read him, too. “I have dinner to get to, and it sounds like you do too.”

“I’m thinking fish ’n chips, Cameron. What do you think?”

He thought John had impeccably bad timing and didn’t know when to give up and go home.

Georgie waved and turned to follow her brother.

“We’re still friends, right?” Apparently there was no end to his curiosity, even if mortification was the price to pay.

Henry paused mid-step and faced him. A myriad of emotion flashed over his face—too quick for Cameron to decipher—and settled on a smile. “Of course. I’ll see you around, Cameron.”

“Next time I’ll return your socks. Promise.”

Henry had already turned toward the path, but he raised his hand in acknowledgement.

Stomach heavy, Cameron twisted toward John who leaned against a low-hanging branch, a hand stroking his goatee. All frustratingly proud of himself. “So, fish ’n chips?”

He would not make a fool of himself again. The next time he saw Henry, he’d have his wits about him. Charming, like Isabella, who’d dragged him out before ten on a Saturday morning to raid the market. They zigzagged around busy stalls, Isabella buying items on a whim: homemade delicacies, lavender soap, a rose-scented candle.

“Cracked Spine,” Isabella said, cuffing his bicep and beelining him out of the market. She towed him along without a care at being beeped at, her purchases swinging in a floral print bag. They entered the old brick store, and Cameron sucked in the wonderful scent of aged paper.

Isabella abandoned her shopping next to the umbrella stand and shoved her sunglasses to her head. “My favorite secondhand-book shop growing up.”