whining, he wasn’t keen on going out in public. Which had me asking if he was a chicken or simply another lazy, pampered star.
At those fighting words, his nostrils flared. “Fine. But we’re taking North with us.”
“Right.” I cringed, feeling like a heel for teasing him. “Security. I just assumed since we’re going somewhere unplanned . . .”
“Things can get out of hand when you least expect it,” he said tightly.
“I’m sorry I called you chicken.”
“But not that you called me lazy?”
“Asks the man who needs his smoothie brought up to him.”
A brief gleam of acknowledgment lit his eyes before fading. “I know it sucks, Delilah. But this is your life now.”
My life. Inexorably tied up with his.
All in all, our tentative truce is going as expected. Which is to say, we still find ways to squabble like chickens going after the last piece of grain.
Now, however, he’s like a puppy finally let out of his pen.
“It smells so fresh here. Where do you want to go first?” He has a cane—mahogany with an amber top—that he loves because it looks like the one from Jurassic Park. I told him that if he wants to channel his inner John Hammond, he really should be wearing a white suit as well. Unfortunately, he didn’t go for it.
“It’s your first time here.” I put on sunglasses so I can see without squinting. “Have at it.”
Smiling wide and joyfully, he takes another survey of the place, then heads for a stall selling fruit and inspects a mango. North keeps an unobtrusive distance away. They warned me that when we went out on the fly like this, North wouldn’t be our friend. He’d be working, constantly scanning for trouble.
“Can I have a sample?” Macon asks the guy manning the stall, a young hipster with a full beard and a tattoo that says “Grow It Green” along his inner forearm.
“Have one on the house, Arasmus.”
Upon hearing the name of his character, Macon does a double take as if he’s gauging how intense this potential fan might be. Then his easy good-ole-boy smile is in place. “Kind of you.”
That smile used to grate on me like nails ambling down a chalkboard. But there is no denying its efficacy. When Macon smiles like that, people react.
“Thanks . . . ?” Macon trails off in question.
“Jed,” the seller replies as he takes a mango and begins to prep it, slicing the fruit along each side of the pit and then scoring a crosshatch along each half.
“Jed, I’ll share it with my girl here.” Macon grasps my elbow and gently tugs me to his side.
His girl? I cut him a glance, but he’s not looking my way—I can only assume it’s intentional.
Jed gives me a quick smile of acknowledgment, but his attention is purely on Macon. “Man, that scene where you chopped off Thieron’s head with one swing of your sword, then gave that war cry and tore his army apart . . . fucking beautiful. You gonna finally marry Princess Nalla?”
“Could be,” Macon says as if he too is speculating. Then he winks. “Or maybe not. You’ll have to watch.”
Jed beams like it’s his birthday. “Knew you wouldn’t give up the goods.”
“Where would be the fun in that?” Macon says in good cheer.
Jed asks for a picture with Macon, and I dutifully use his phone to take a couple of shots of them holding up mangos. Then we’re on our way, each of us armed with luscious ripe sections of mango.
“Well, you charmed the hell out of that guy. I’m fairly certain he’ll be singing your praises for the next year, at least.”
Macon huffs out a laugh. “Charm? More like bullshit. I’m the king of bullshit.” He says this without a hint of pride or self-pity, so detached he might as well be talking about someone other than himself.
“You always were,” I murmur, but without any rancor.
Macon’s coffee-dark eyes are thoughtful. “You’re the only one who ever figured that out.”
“I’m teasing, Macon.”
He shakes his head, faintly smiling. “No, you aren’t. I am the bullshit artist, and you’re the one without verbal impulse control.”
I stop short. “Verbal impulse control?”
“Don’t pretend it isn’t true. You blurt out what you’re feeling all the time. It was one of the easiest ways I could get to you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep. All I had to do was push one of your buttons, and I knew you’d give me so much more when you blew.”
“You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”
He slings an arm