I ruffle Edison's fur, then turn my attention to Posey.
She's wearing new jeans and a bright red shirt that makes her look like a little Valentine's Day cutout.
"You look adorable," I tell her.
"Mrs. Bixby didn't want me to wear this outfit," Posey confides, "but I made her let me. I told her I'm the boss of me."
"You look adorable too, Tara," says Cameron, sending heat spiraling through my chest.
"Did Daddy tell you where we're going? What we're doing?" I ask Posey.
"Daddy Cameron just told me we're going to the market," she says with a shrug.
The ten-minute drive feels eternal. I steal glances at Cameron, noting how his powerful hands grip his phone as he taps out messages. There's a nervous energy radiating from him that's completely unlike his usual confident demeanor.
What has him so on edge?
Finally, Henry parks outside the market and then comes around to open our door.
We step into the bustling market, alive with vibrant produce displays. Well-dressed locals walk about, chatting with vendors offering samples of artisanal cheeses and local honey.
"Where are the frogs?" Posey asks, scanning the scene with disappointment.
"No frogs, but look at these delicious cherries. Let's buy some!"
As I pay the vendor for the cherries, I notice Cameron checking his phone with even more intensity than before, jaw tight.
Then I notice a small, elevated platform and a technician checking the microphone.
"Are you performing here?" I ask Cameron as Posey happily digs into her cherries.
"Yes."
I haven't heard that tone before. And when his eyes meet mine, I see something in his face that stops me cold.
Uncertainty.
This man, who commands stadiums full of screaming fans, is nervous about performing for a handful of market shoppers. A fit-looking man in a suit approaches and shakes Cameron's hand vigorously. Then he leads Cameron off towards the makeshift stage.
"Where's Daddy going?" Posey asks, tugging on my sleeve.
"I don't know, Posey. I think he might sing a song. But we should get closer." I lift her onto my hip. "We want the best view."
We weave through the small crowd gathering near the platform. I settle cross-legged on the ground in front of the stage. Posey in my lap, Edison sprawling beside us with his tongue lolling out.
The suited man takes the microphone, his voice carrying across the market space. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a rare treat today. One of our summer residents—Cameron Crow—who you might know as a famous superstar, is going to perform one of his new songs."
No one in the market is Cameron's target demographic. They're mostly elderly residents, middle-aged tourists, or day trippers from Boston. I'd be surprised if any of them had heard his name.
But when Cameron steps up to the microphone, his voice commands attention in a way that makes my pulse skip.
"Hey, neighbors," he says, that familiar warmth threading through his tone as he strums the guitar slung across his chest. The casualness of it—calling them neighbors—makes something tender unfurl in my chest.
"I've only been on the island for a matter of days. But I've enjoyed my time here, and I wanted to share a song inspired by a journey my daughter, Posey, and I took together."
At first, I'm miffed that he doesn't mention me.
Then I remember all the issues with Jason and the potential custody battle. The key reason we couldn't finish what we started last night. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.
