Page 11 of Hiding Hollywood

She smiled. “Sure thing.”

“My brother mentioned back in high school that Cameron was part Native American.” Cameron, Mr. Grumpy and a Half, fascinated her after spending the past thirty minutes with his mom. She was…normal. Nice. Funny. Happy.

“That’s right. I’m full Creek. Born about a hundred miles away in a small settlement. His dad is not. Why do you ask?”

How do you tell a mom that you’ve fantasized about her son’s tattoo for over a decade and longed to know the meaning behind it?

“It seems pretty cool to be a part of something like that.”

Mrs. Dempsey took her coffee cup to the sink, touching the small red and yellow decoration hanging in the corner of the window that also looked Native American. “I love my heritage. I sometimes wish Cameron had experienced what I did growing up, surrounded by our Creek culture and family, but Statem is a great town. It is like one big family.” She wiped her hands on the dishcloth after washing her cup. “Are you ready to go see all that a small town in Georgia has to offer?”

After another cup of coffee and a second cinnamon roll that didn’t come from a cardboard tube at the grocery store but did give her a healthy dose of guilt, they drove to town. The landscape didn’t fluctuate much from tall pine trees, still green in the winter, and sandy, dirt roads. Houses began to appear closer together along the main highway into Statem. Some were recently renovated, whereas others needed a little help with peeling paint, high grass, and broken fences.

The closer to town they drove, the larger the homes. A few were two stories and wholly brick with full porches that wrapped around. Tidy yards. Still, they were nothing like the houses in Addie’s neighborhood growing up. The small, sweet homes would look out of place along the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

She craned her head back and read the sign. Yup. That was a funeral home. In a house.

They passed a three-story, antebellum style home with gray siding. A porch wrapped around the home lined with almost a dozen white rocking chairs. Four of the chairs were occupied with men gently rocking as they chatted about something.

“That’s the bed and breakfast. One of the families in town invited a hoard of people in for a wedding, so it was all booked up.” Mrs. Dempsey waved her hand in the air. “That’s one reason you’re at Casa la Dempsey. It’s only right that we get to repay the favor. Your family offering to let Cameron stay with them that summer for camp in San Francisco was the only reason he got to go. We didn’t have the money to pay for a hotel for him for the eight weeks of camp.”

“We enjoyed having him.” More than Mrs. Dempsey probably wanted to know.

“There’s the Sheriff’s office.”

“How many people work there?”

“Nine officers including Cameron. Only three on duty most of the time aside from the Sheriff.” Mrs. Dempsey motioned toward a place called Crossroads Coffee Shop across the street. “There’s my handsome son. Cameron works almost every day since he doesn’t have a wife and kids like most of the others.”

Addie resisted the urge to fan her burning hot face. In his full uniform, although still an awful tan color, Cameron was plain, old-school hotness. Like James Dean or Paul Newman. A little dangerous by the confident way he walked. Yesterday, he’d mentioned something about a girl named Lacy. No doubt his girlfriend. There was no way a guy that good-looking wouldn’t have one. Or a few.

“Here we are.” Mrs. Dempsey pulled into a parking spot along the street a few blocks down from where they’d seen Cameron.

Addie ran a hand down the front of her shirt as she stood from the car. It was almost like suiting up for a game. She’d started acting this way years ago to throw men off her tracks. It kept them from asking too many questions about her intellect if they were more focused on her looks. She never acted dumb. Flirty. Sexy. But dumb? No. There was a reason she wasn’t a paid actress, after all. Acting dumb was beyond her capabilities.

But, in situations like this, when she really liked Mrs. Dempsey, the deceit became draining. Withholding an important side of her personality and only mentioning her perfume counter job shifted from survival to a straight out lie.

Mrs. Dempsey was sharing her home. If she directly asked Addie about her computer skills, she would tell her what she could. Staying low key and avoiding the entire topic of conversation shouldn’t be too hard without her laptop here as a distraction. No one could witness the crazy side of her brain that could sit in front of a computer for ten hours straight. Or stay up all night, fueled on coffee and a drive to finish her jobs.

Her fingers twitched. The quicker she got home, the better.Miss Alice,who ranWhite Rabbit, was probably pissed off by this point that Addie hadn’t checked in with her.

Mrs. Dempsey walked inside the library, and Addie lagged behind, waiting on the sidewalk for Cameron. He even walked like James Dean. A swagger that dared anyone to test his confidence. His eyes scanned the street before landing on her. She couldn’t tell his expression this far away. He hadn’t seemed too interested in her, the way she’d been used to from other men. Not like he had a change of heart in the past twelve hours.

While falling asleep last night, she’d tried to focus on the negatives of his personality to get past her crush. Like his attempt to beat Oscar the Grouch as the grouchiest person on Sesame Street. But his simple touch on her shoulder before he left had kept her distracted and leading to some fascinating dreams. Cameron Dempsey had gone from the cutest football wide receiver to the hottest cop in the country.

Now, as he drew close, that strong, freshly shaved jaw clenched tight in irritation. If she couldn’t charm him into overlooking her real intellect, she would try to have a little fun with his stick-straight personality. He still saw her as nothing more than Trevor’s little sister.

She set a hand on her hip. “You look pretty busy today,” she said, motioning to the almost empty street, “protecting the town from all the hardened criminals lurking around. Must be exhausting.”

His stern expression didn’t falter. “I was coming to make sure you weren’t scoping out cars. Once a criminal gets a taste for the thrill of grand theft auto…”

She pointed at the Sheriff’s station across the street. Cameron’s old blue truck, the one he’d picked her up from jail in, sat parked along the side. “Got my eye on that fine-looking truck. Heard it goes zero to sixty in about four minutes. Might be able to sell it for parts.” She lifted a shoulder. “Or scrap.”

“I’d wager a guess that you’d never even set a foot inside a truck before mine.”

“Not trucks that look like that.”

He crossed his arms. “No. Yuppies like to drive Porsches or Bentleys.”

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