I catch something vulnerable in his expression before he answers.
"I wanted to get a pulse. See how it would go over with real people."
"Everyone loved it. But these aren't the ones who are going to rush out and buy your albums."
Cameron's face darkens before he changes the subject.
"Let's shop for dinner," he says in an upbeat tone as he ruffles Posey's hair. "I bet Mrs. Bellows would be delighted if we bought fresh produce from the marketplace. What should we have for dinner, Posey?"
"Candied apples!" she exclaims, pointing toward a colorful booth. "I saw them over there!"
"You got it," Cameron says, his tone softening as he looks at his daughter.
"We'll make sure we have candied apples for dessert,” I say, sounding like a spoilsport to my own ears. “But let’s shop for dinner items first.”
We wander through the market. Cameron and Posey stop at almost every booth to examine extraordinary-looking vegetables.
"Fiddlehead! What a silly word," says Posey when a vendor tells her the name of a vegetable that looks like coiled green asparagus. Then she giggles at the sight of a purple carrot.
"Enough vegetables,” Posey says. “Candied apple time!”
Just as we head toward that booth, a man in jeans and a T-shirt taps Cameron on the shoulder.
"You're Cameron Crow,” he says.
Cameron's entire demeanor shifts.
"Yes."
"I'm looking for an autograph.”
"Thank you," Cameron says, signing the piece of paper the man holds out.
"And how about a picture with your daughter?"
I notice Cameron's forced smile.
"Thanks, but the concert's finished. I'm on private time now."
The man's eyes narrow slightly. "It would just take a minute. A picture of you and your little girl."
Something cold slides down my gut at the stranger’s tone.This isn't a fan.
"I said no, sorry," Cameron replies. His voice carries an unmistakable warning.
The man steps back but watches us as we move away.
We continue toward the candied apple booth, with my grip on Posey tight. I can't shake the feeling he’s following us.
Cameron must sense it too because his hand finds the small of my back, protective in a way that feels reassuring.
"Stay close," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. More fans approach as we walk. Genuine ones this time.
Cameron handles the candied apple transaction with practiced charm. But as we walk away, I notice how he positions himself between fans paying compliments and Posey, never letting anyone get too close to his daughter.
One elderly woman stops me while Cameron signs a napkin.
"Hello, dear. You must be Cameron's girlfriend." Heat flashes through me at the assumption.
