Page 81 of Love Unscripted
Instead of answering, he pulled away and sat. He ran a hand down his face and squeezed his eyes shut.
She sat beside him. “Aaron?”
“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “That was Scarlette’s favorite song. Her middle name was Caroline. I used to serenade her with that song. It was our song.”
Camille covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
She watched him for a moment, then stood. “I need to check on the meal,” she muttered before disappearing inside.
He knew she was upset. He felt terrible—but he couldn’t say anything yet. Not until he’d made peace with his feelings.
~*~*~*~
Camille returned to the kitchen, where Luma was cleaning up. Camille had done the cooking herself; Luma had helped with preparation.
She moved straight to the oven. The chicken had just come out—golden, fragrant. She basted it again, turned off the heat, and let it sit, steaming gently in its own juices before checking the potatoes.
Whole roasted chicken with rosemary and garlic. Crispy roast potatoes, Italian style.
She had chosen the menu because Aaron had mentioned that Italian was his favorite. And somewhere in the back of her mind was her grandmother Carlucci, who had made roast chicken and potatoes this same way, taught to her in the old country, with quiet pride.
In truth, the entire evening had been designed with him in mind. Every detail. Even the music.
A small, self-conscious smile flickered and faded.
She felt foolish now for playing that song.
The truth was, she preferred rock and roll to seventies pop. But she’d heard Aaron listening to it in his car, had filed it away without thinking—and built a playlist around it.
Just her luck she’d pick the one song that carried him straight back to Scarlette.
She let out a soft sigh. “Oh well. That’s life.”
“What’s that?” Luma asked, glancing over.
“Nothing,” Camille said, forcing a light smile. “Just talking to myself.”
She reached for a spoon and tasted the potatoes. Perfect. Unlike the night she’d planned.
“These are done,” she said. “Keep them warm. We’ll start with the soup.”
~*~*~*~
At the table, Camille kept her gaze averted, though she could feel Aaron watching her.
When Luma finished serving the minestrone and left them, Aaron reached for her hands.
“Shall I bless the meal?”
She nodded.
His large, warm hands closed around hers. Her throat tightened.
He prayed softly. She listened less to the words than to the cadence of his voice—how it washed over her like a warm bath.
When he finished, he didn’t let go.
She opened her eyes and met his.
