But then, Cameron's eyes find mine across the small crowd. In a heartbeat, I forgive him. There's something in his gaze—intimate, almost private—that makes me feel like he's speaking directly to me.
"We were in a place called..." He pauses, his smile turning playful. "Well, I'm going to call up my daughter Posey to tell the story. Then I'll sing you our song."
I look down at Posey, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
"I'm coming, Daddy!" She scampers from my lap to the platform with determination. Cameron lowers the microphone to her height, his large hands gentle as he guides her closer.
"Hello, everybody," Posey begins, her voice carrying that formal precision that makes her sound like a miniature adult. "A few days ago, we were in the wilderness looking for arrowheads to add to my museum wing."
Soft chuckles ripple through the crowd at her serious tone. I hear whispers of "That's the little Abernathy girl," flutter through the crowd.
"But then it started to rain, and it started to pour, and my dog Edison found this old house for us so we wouldn't get too wet."
At the mention of his name, Edison woofs. People in the crowd laugh. I smile, remembering the intimacy of the moment Cameron and I shared there.
"There was thunder and lightning, and I got scared. But my daddy told me it's okay, because we had shelter from the storm. Then he made up a song. And now he's here to sing it to you today."
Posey runs back to me, settling into my lap with a satisfied grin.
Cameron's eyes meet mine as he adjusts his guitar. We both remember that magical night.
In that brief glance, a shared memory passes between us. That exact moment when we became more than strangers. Cameron strums the familiar melody, and my breath catches.
The song he'd created that night in the abandoned farmhouse, as thunder crashed around us. He had pulled magic from the chaos.
But these are no longer the same simple words he'd hummed to comfort Posey. His original lyrics have been sharpened, deepened. Cameron's voice, rich, carries across the marketplace as he sings about finding refuge from a storm.
My pulse quickens as the song's meaning becomes clear. It's about emotional walls, about letting someone in when you've spent years keeping everyone out.
The way he looks at me while he sings certain lines makes heat bloom in my cheeks. This song isn't just about an afternoon spent riding out a thunderstorm.
It's about us.
I study Cameron's face as he plays, watching how the music transforms him. Gone is the guarded man who sometimes seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Here, performing for these strangers who barely know his name, he's completely himself.
Authentic in a way that makes my heart ache. As the final notes fade, I hold my breath, wondering how they'll respond.
Then scattered applause begins in the back, growing stronger. "Attaboy, Cameron!" someone calls out. "Sing another one!"
Soon the entire marketplace erupts in appreciation.
Posey leaps up, clapping enthusiastically. "That's my Daddy Cameron! That's my daddy!"
But I remain still, with Edison warm against my side. I find it fascinating to watch people approach Cameron for autographs.
The way he handles each interaction—patient, genuine—only makes me fall harder for this complicated man.
Finally, the crowd disperses. Posey and I make our way to him.
"That was incredible, Cameron," I say. "You've created a masterpiece in just a few days."
"No," he says, shaking his head. "I got the melody that night. The words, the basic feeling. That's what counts. The rest is just spit-shine."
"It's going to be a hit. But why the premiere here?”
He hesitates.
