Page 39 of Love Unscripted
He was mid-conversation with them when Camille approached.
“Well, see you on Monday,” she said.
Aaron nodded, but as she turned to leave, Carl—standing beside him—called out, “We’re heading over to Aaron’s place for lunch. Are you coming?”
Aaron forgot how to breathe.
Camille paused, glancing back at Aaron, a question in her eyes.
He forced a smile.
“You’re welcome to come.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s not an intrusion,” Carl said easily. “Any member of the crew can come.”
Aaron resisted the very real urge to hit him.
Camille looked to Aaron again, waiting.
He gave a small shrug—meant to say it was fine, though it wasn’t.
“Alright,” she said with a light laugh. “But only for a little while. Send me the directions to your house.”
“Sure,” he said, sighing inside as he took out his phone. A few minutes later, he pocketed it and said, “Done.”
“Thanks,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
Chapter8
After leaving church, Camille made a quick stop at a nearby orchard. She picked up a couple of bottles of chilled wine, a few jugs of fresh apple cider, and—on a last-minute whim—a box of their famous apple cider mini donuts. Because why not?
Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind as she paid:Never go to anyone’s house empty-handed.
Twenty minutes later, she drove through the gates of Aaron’s sprawling Malibu estate and slowed almost instinctively, taking it all in. The landscaping was striking—every hedge thick and precise, every lawn immaculately cut, the palms tall and perfectly placed as if someone had studied them before deciding exactly where each should stand.
Everything felt deliberate.
Her own place had plenty of greenery too, but hers leaned toward softness—flowers spilling over edges, color layered on color because she loved the way blooms made a space feel alive.
Aaron’s grounds were different. They seemed designed for function, not flourish. They could definitely use some flowering plants. She smiled faintly. A man’s touch, she thought. Practical. Structured. Then the thought shifted before she could stop it.
Maybe it needs a woman’s touch.
The idea caught her off guard, enough to make her grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
Suppose it does…
And then, quieter—
Would I want to be that woman?
She exhaled softly.
And if I did… what would be wrong with that?
The moment lingered just long enough to unsettle her before she pushed it aside and pulled into the expansive driveway.
