“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 around my shoulders and gives me a good-natured squeeze. “Aw, come on, Tot. You’re smart as a tack. You knew what I was doing.”

Admittedly, I did. I just hadn’t known he knew how easily he played me. I should have, though. Macon is likely one of the smartest people I’ve met. Strange thing is, I don’t think he’d say that of himself so easily.

“Well, shit,” I mutter.

Macon laughs, his head tilting back with the force of it. A couple walking past glance at him, then do a double take. Macon’s stubble has graduated to a beard, and the hat he wears is low on his brow. But there are those who recognize him anyway.