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Cast
Cameron Morland: Hero. Lively imagination, reads ferociously, anything remotely gothic scares the bejesus out of him.
Henry Tilney: Gate-crashing, snooping English teacher who loves to tease.
* * *
Lake: Neighbor and friend who regretfully offended Cameron in the past. Loves Happy Socks.
Knightly: Morally scrupulous neighbor and partner of Lake.
* * *
Brandon Morland: Cameron’s loving big brother and business partner. Likes greeting Cameron with an L. Frank Baum quote.
* * *
Isabella & John: Siblings. Temporarily residing next door. Very demanding of Cameron’s time.
* * *
Georgie and Fred Tilney: Henry’s sister and brother. The former he’s close with, the latter he’s not.
Darcy Tilney: Henry’s father. Strongly opinionated. Despite his flaws, he loves his children dearly.
* * *
Alicia: Henry’s ex-girlfriend and now close friend.
Ms. Collins: A sensible woman who manages the costume department at Ask Austen Film Studios.
“You’re claiming credit for your brother’s hard work?”
Stars glittered brightly despite the blazing moonlight, and Cameron Morland shivered, huddling deeper in his jacket.
Small, insignificant. An ant amongst stars.
His grip doubled on his phone.
“Executive producer?” Dad continued, his voice tinny with laughter. “You’re more of a glorified secretary.”
“Well, I—”
“Keep doing whatever Brandon tells you to, and you’ll be fine, Mr. Executive Producer,” his dad huffed.
“So that’s a no to attending the launch of Ask Austen Studios?”
“I’ll send Brandon my apologies.”
An unreasonable sting gripped his throat. Dad had a point. Cameron’s duties merely involved following his older brother’s instructions; the puffed-up title was tremendously generous.
“Another thing,” Dad said. “I’m relocating back to Port Ratapu four weeks from Sunday. I expect you to have moved out and tanked the car.”
“Sorry?”
Dad repeated himself. “Twenty-five is too old to live at home. And you wonder why you’ve never had a relationship.”
Funeral lilies swayed against the picket fence and blurred. He blinked toward the sky and chuckled.
It was more than he’d realized his dad knew about him. “I’ll find somewhere—”
Dad hung up.
Fine. He was used to brevity. Not so much used to being ridiculed for his single status.
Cameron rested his chin on his knees.
What star would fall for an ant?
He was being too harsh on himself. He had good acquaintances, a caring brother, and book worlds he immersed himself in daily. He didn’t need someone falling for him.
Besides, who cared if he was a Mary and not a Lizzy Bennet? Mary had fantastic literary recall, and—
God. She couldn’t even land Mr. Collins!
He thumped his head on his knees and groaned.
Cameron wished he could hunker down in a fort made out of his mother’s books and drown himself with words.
Unfortunately, chances of his wish coming true were slim.
Standing on the porch where Cameron had huddled last night, mid-morning rain falling behind him, Lake wordlessly accused him with a sharp arch of his brow. You helped build Ask Austen Studios. You have to attend the launch party.
Lake folded his arms, waiting for Cameron to plead his case.
Cameron frayed an unused tissue. Oh, God. He wished he’d never opened the door.
An ant amongst stars. An over-imaginative, naive man still living in his childhood home would never smooth-talk his way through any fuzzy situation. He was fated to serve as a footnote in all the stories around him.
He straightened to his full, very average height. He dabbed his nose and sniffed, accidentally knocking his glasses askew.
He squared them hurriedly while Lake failed to hide his amusement.
Cameron gulped. “Why are you here?”
“My boyfriend insisted you’ve never taken a sick day in your life.”
“Then I’m due for one.”
“Is that the excuse you’re going with?”
“Thank you, yes.”
Lake, generous and charming, was becoming a better friend every day; they’d never been close, but since Lake had fallen in love with his neighbor—one of Ask Austen Studios’ investors—their relationship had solidified. The man was an act-before-thinking kind of guy. “Cameron?”
“Hmm?”
“Come on. What are you afraid of?”
Oh. “Ha. The only thing I’m afraid of is passing on this terrible cold. Highly irresponsible.”
“Are you worried you’ll talk about Austen all night?” Lake asked softly, eyeing Cameron shredding his tissue.
He hadn’t been, but now that Lake brought it up . . . He flushed.
Lake rubbed his nape. “I was an ass when I said you have nothing else to talk about.”
Cameron remembered the moment distinctly. Once more, a silly little sting assaulted his throat. He hadn’t realized how much he bored people with talk about his favorite author.
Lake looked like he wanted to wrap him into a hug, but Cameron waved the sore moment of their past away. “No, it’s true. I fixate on fiction. Over-active imagination.”
“Won’t recommend Moby Dick, then. Not if your conversations are stimulated by books.” He winked. “I like you too much.”
Cameron laughed, then remembered he was supposed to be sick. He wheezed, “I need to make myself a chamomile tea and head to bed.”
Lake eyed him dubiously. “It’s a good thing you work behind the scenes at the studios.” He grabbed his wrist determinedly and yanked him over the threshold.
