Page 64 of Love Unscripted
“Really?”
“I didn’t realize you were directing Christian films now. At the audition, I was struck—I hadn’t realized you were the director.”
He grinned. “John Grayis not something I advertise.”
She nodded. “I understand. As a Christian, I wouldn’t watch it now. It’s… gritty.”
“It perfectly mirrored my mood.”
“What changed?”
“You mean why I shifted to Christian films?”
She nodded.
~*~*~*~
Before Aaron could respond, the last few members of the crew began gathering their things, calling out easy goodbyes as they moved toward the front of the house. Aaron rose, glancing over at Madison, who lay curled on one of the patio lounge chairs, fast asleep, her small hand tucked beneath her cheek.
He turned back to Camille, his voice lowering slightly. “Do you mind taking her inside? Just put her down for a nap. I’ll see them out.”
“Of course,” Camille said softly.
He gave her a brief, grateful look before heading toward the front, his voice fading as he called after the crew.
Camille moved to the lounge chair and carefully gathered Madison into her arms. The child stirred only slightly, settling against her shoulder with a soft, sleepy sigh. Camille paused fora moment, looking down at her—at the delicate curve of her cheek, the softness of her lashes resting against her skin.
She pressed a gentle kiss there before carrying her inside.
Something warm and unexpected stirred in her chest as she held the child. A quiet, aching tenderness she hadn’t prepared for.
For a fleeting moment, her thoughts drifted—unbidden.
She wondered what her own child might have been like. A boy or a girl. If a girl, would she have been fair like Madison, with Simon’s coloring… or darker, like her?
Her stomach tightened sharply.
Camille closed her eyes for a brief second and shook the thought away.
There was no point in going there. No undoing what had been done.
She settled Madison into the bed, smoothing the blanket gently over her, lingering just long enough to be sure she was comfortable before stepping back.
In the quiet of the room, Camille glanced at her watch. It was well past three. She should probably leave. Lunch had stretched into hours, and she didn’t want to overstay her welcome—didn’t want to assume.
The door opened softly behind her.
Aaron stepped in, his gaze going immediately to Madison before anything else then turning to Camille. His voice, when he spoke, was low.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She recognized the question for what it was—an invitation to stay.
“Sure,” she said, matching his tone. “I’ll have some more of the lemon squash.”
He nodded and gestured toward the hallway. She followed him out, the house settling into a softer quiet now that the others were gone.
In the kitchen, she took a seat at the bar, watching him as he moved—opening the refrigerator, dropping ice into a glass, pouring with quiet care.
