Chapter Four
Did Sten expect his favorite movie star to freak?
Yeah, maybe. A little. He got ready to distract the checker so that Madison could sprint off down the paper goods aisle never to return.
But then Madison just laughed and clapped her hands. “Really?” she squealed in what sounded exactly like sheer delight. “Ilook like Madison Delaney?”
The checker squinted hard at her—and then relaxed. She grinned. “Yeah. You really do. Had me going there for a minute.”
“Wow.” Madison shook her head, as though stunned at the very idea that she might bear some resemblance to America’s Darling. “Thank you.”
“No, really,” said the Fearless Dreamer. “You do look quite a bit like her.”
“I wish,” sighed Madison. “And I have to tell you, I love your ink.”
The checker blushed. “It’s just, you know, stuff that means something important to me.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Madison, with feeling.
The checker beamed—and then seemed to realize that other people were waiting. She checked and bagged the rest of their purchases quickly.
Sten whipped out his credit card and paid before Madison could offer hers. Even if the card only showed her first initial, the sight of her last name would probably give the game away to the checker, who had recognized her once already.
“Good move with the credit card,” Madison said, once they’d loaded the bags in the back and climbed into the quad cab. “I’ll write you a check when we get home.”
“You were brilliant.” He backed from the space and drove them out of the parking lot. Once they were on the road again, he said, “I knew we were in big trouble, but you turned it right around.”
“People see what they expect to see.” She flipped down the visor and fiddled with her hat in the mirror, tipping it this way and that. “If they do happen to spot something they never imagined they would find in a particular place and time, it’s not that hard to lead them back around to seeing what they think theyshouldbe seeing.”
She continued to surprise him. “Did you learn that in acting school?”
“Sort of.” She snapped the visor back up. “But there’s a lot more to learn about acting than what you get in acting classes. You need voice—both spoken and singing lessons. You need dance—a little bit of everything, tap, modern, ballet.”
“Disco?” He sent her a smirk.
“Absolutely. And mime. Improv. Stand-up. And I worked with a magician for a part I did a few years back. He taught me about misdirection—getting people to look where you want them to look, to see what you need them to see. That’s essentially what I did back there at the checkout stand.”
They rode without speaking for a while. She rolled down her window and braced her arm on the sill.
He broke the silence. “Did you really like that checker’s tattoos?”
“I loved them.” She took off her sunglasses and turned to him.
They shared one of those looks that stole his breath and had him thinking of kissing every inch of her, of waking up in the morning with her beside him, the sheets smelling of petunias and sex.
Reluctantly, he broke the hold of her gaze to focus on the road ahead.
She stared out the windshield, too. “But even if I hadn’t loved that checker’s ink, I would’ve said I did. And she would have believed me. I can be very convincing. Plus,sheloves her tattoos, so why wouldn’t some woman at the checkout stand who looks kind of like some famous actress love them, too?”
“You sound sad,” he said, and resisted the need to take her hand and weave their fingers together.
“I am, a little. But only because I feel like I’m running in place.”
Hehadto reach out then. She met him halfway and put her hand in his. It felt good there. Just right. “Call a Bravo,” he suggested softly.
She squeezed his fingers and then let go. “Don’t nag. It’s not attractive.”
* * *
