Page 8 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

He walks—no,swaggers—back to our table carrying his own cup of coffee. Watching him, I try to ignore the feelings of attraction that always come up if I let my eyes linger on his six-foot-two physique for too long.

They’re not real feelings. Anyone who looks at Zach can’t help getting a little hot. He’s very handsome. Like,very.I’m talking movie-star good looks.

A lot of people think he and Adam look like Chris Hemsworth. They’re not wrong—Adam is long-hair Thor, and Zach, after his recent haircut, is the short-hair version. Without the eye patch.

People aren’t exactly right about the resemblance either.

Zach is better looking than Chris Hemsworth.

Not that I’ve ever said that out loud. I don’t need anyone accusing me of having feelings for Zach. We’re friends. Nothing more.

But that friendship means everything to me.

Suddenly I’m less worried about what Darlene Voglmeyer has said than I am about Zach’s revelation.

Because what if Carly isn’t the kind of woman who’s going to be cool with Zach having me for a best friend? He may be way out of my league looks-wise, but one thing I’ve learned about fame is that people are weird about it. Fame fuels jealousy faster than gas on a fire.

“Thank you,” I say as he slides into his seat.

He takes a gulp of coffee and waves away my gratitude. “Like I was going to let her do you like that. Darlene Voglmeyer is ridiculous.” Zach shoots me a smile that should make everything all right but doesn’t.

But I can pretend it does.

“It’s fine. I’m actually surprised Darlene didn’t corner me sooner. I’ve been expecting her to spring out from behind a bush or a snow drift since the minute I got here.” I force a laugh, but I literally spent the first week here bracing myself for something like this. Today, I’d finally let my guard down.

Big mistake.

Fortunately, one thing about being a social media influencer is that I know how to put on a happy face, no matter what.

Actually, that’s something I learned growing up in Paradise.

“Listen, I’ll handle Darlene. There won’t be any problems with permits or anything else, I swear.” He holds up three fingers in that Scout’s honor thing, then crosses his heart.

“Thanks, but just stay on top of the permits. I can handle Darlene on my own.” I push away my unfinished breakfast, then glance at Zach.

There’s a crease in his brow, and he’s tearing pieces off his paper napkin.

But before I can ask him what’s wrong, someone puts her arm around my shoulders. The smell of too much flower-y perfume fills my nose, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Mrs. Christianson says in the same sweet voice she used when I was in her second-grade class.

“Thank you, Mrs. Christianson.” I lean into her hug, grateful for her timeliness.

“Hi, Mrs. C.” Zach sends her a slow smile, and I swear she blushes.

“I don’t do all that social media nonsense.” She sounds more than a little flustered, but Zach has that effect on women. Even old ones. “But I just burst with pride every time I hear something about you being famous,” she continues, squeezing me tight.

When she finally releases, she keeps a gentle hand on my shoulder. I pat her sun-spotted skin. Her nails are painted a soft pink, just like when she was my teacher.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous, but at least part of my success, I owe to you. You taught me how to use a ruler and all about the metric system, and I do a lot of measuring. Where would I be without you?”

Mrs. C. chuckles. “For heck’s sake, I never taught you a thing! You were so smart, you could have skipped the second grade altogether.”

Not for the first time, I regret that Adam and I used to flick paper footballs at her every time she turned her back. “You should come see what we’re doing to the old places at Little Copenhagen. I’d love to get you on camera.”

“Really?” She straightens and puffs out her chest. “I’ve always dreamed of being on TV.”

“Come on down. You can spill all the tea about what a terror I was.”

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