Page 73 of Love Unscripted
“I know,” he said gently.
She hesitated. “Is that why you pulled away? Because you haven’t gotten over Scarlette?”
He looked away at his late wife’s name on her lips.
After a long silence, he spoke—quiet, reflective. “I told you about how when Scarlette died, I was devastated. How I blamedmyself because, she died travelling home aftermygame. I made a lot of mistakes after that. I couldn’t even bear to be with Madison because she looks so much like her. I left Madison in the care of my parents and took to clubbing and drinking and then making that violent movie that reflected my state of mind. When God found me and brought me back I was so grateful but I also felt that I couldn’t endure another heart break like that again. I questioned whether I would go completely over the edge next time. I decided that I would just focus on God, my daughter and my career.”
He finally looked at Camille with such tenderness her knees almost buckled. “I didn’t expect you. The physical attraction—I could fight that. But your heart? Your character? That scares me because if I open my heart to you and things go poorly I will be left picking up the piece of my life once more. Sorry for the things I said. For suggesting that you were only doing Bible study to get close to me.”
She arched a brow. “Is that what you were really doing? Suggesting that I was using bible study as a ruse to really study your hot body? Shame on you.”
He laughed and pulled her close. “Yes. Shame on me.” Then he sobered. “Listen, we just need to be discreet with our relationship, at least during filming which will be over in the next three and a half weeks, anyway.”
Her breath caught. “So… we have a relationship?”
He smiled. “I’d like to explore that—if you’re willing. What say you?”
“I say absolutely yes.”
The wordyeslingered between them, heavier than either of them had expected.
For a moment, neither moved.
She was still standing between his legs, her body warm from his, her hands resting lightly against his chest where he hadstilled them earlier. He could feel her breathing—soft, uneven—could feel how easy it would be to pull her back into him. How natural. How dangerous.
He didn’t.
Instead, he let his hands slide down her arms, slow and deliberate, until they rested at her waist.
“We should…” he began, then stopped.
She lifted her face to him. “We should what?”
He exhaled through his nose, a rueful half-smile touching his lips. “Be wise.”
That earned him a small, knowing smile from her. “Wise doesn’t mean distant.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “But it means stopping before we forget ourselves again.”
Her heart thudded painfully at the truth of that. She nodded, even though every part of her protested. “You’re right.”
Still, neither moved.
The air between them felt thick now—charged not with heat alone, but with discipline. With the ache of something beginning that would not be rushed.
Finally, he loosened his hold and helped her step back, though his eyes never left her face. The space between them felt obscene—too wide, too sudden—yet necessary.
She reached for her bag, then hesitated, turning back to him. “So… Bible study?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “If we try to study Esther right now, I won’t remember a single word.”
She laughed too, relief and disappointment tangling together. “Fair.”
He walked her to the door, stopping just short of opening it. His hand hovered near hers—close enough that she could feel his warmth, but not touching.
Then, unable to help herself, she leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek—soft, reverent. When she pulled back, his eyes were dark, his jaw tight with restraint.
“Goodnight, Aaron.”
