His handsome, but blank face seemed to reanimate and an answering smile spread across it. He adjusted his stance and stood straight. “Apologies. I…seem to have drifted off in thought.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The kid is gone. We getting’ ice cream, or what?”

The fog of his daydream still seeming to linger, Bellamy nodded quickly and stepped forward in line. “Oh, yes, of course. The young man. Quite unruly, isn’t he?”

“I take it you don’t have kids, either?”

He slanted her an ironic glance—the first she’d seen him give. The piercing of his eyes caused an unexpected thump in her chest. “What was your first clue?”

“Uh, call it a hunch.” Rose willed her heart to slow and the flush to recede from her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She shook her head and, after making sure her mom wasn’t standing next to them, she leaned in and said, “Just between us, is she in any trouble?”

He didn’t answer straight away, and Rose was about to repeat the question when he shook his head. “We have an arrangement,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s between us.”

“It’s starting to sound illegal.”

“It isn’t.”

“And I’m supposed to just take your word for that?”

“No. You should take your mother’s.”

“Really? What’s your surname then?”

He muttered something that sounded like “scythe.” Rose cupped her hand to her ear, tilted it toward him. “Come again?”

“Smith. Bellamy Smith.”

“That’s your real name?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“I’m onto you, pal. I’m watching your every move.”

Not only did he not take that as a threat, the guy even seemed to like the idea. Umpteen times she caught a twitch of a smile on his lips as he gazed back at her. And Rose found herself slipping into a bizarre quandary, one she couldn’t reconcile on any level. Everything about his relationship with her mom told Rose that he was up to no good, that he couldn’t, shouldn’t be trusted. But even face to face and at close quarters, she had a hard time detecting any deceit in him.

More than that, and against her every twenty-first-century impulse, as much as she hated to admit it, Rose found herself wanting to believe him. Maybe it was his politeness or his stunningly good looks. Or that he seemed a little lost, a long way from home. Or it might have been the Harryhausen touch—the way he’d described make-believe.

There was something not quite real about him, that was for sure. And true to her promise, she watched his every move. It wasn’t difficult.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four