“Tell them we’re done.”
“We’re… done?”
He nods once.
“That’s your professional opinion?”
“No,” he murmurs. “That’s me trying not to do something stupid.”
My pulse jumps. “Like what?”
His eyes dip to my mouth again. Oh. Oh God. He wants to kiss me. And I want him to.
Badly. But he doesn’t move. Just stands there, breathing like he’s trying to hold the world together.
“Lucy!” the coordinator calls. “We need you for the backdrop adjustments!”
Ash straightens immediately. I push off the wall, trying to look like a functioning human being. “I—I’ll go help them.”
He nods. But as I turn— His hand brushes mine.
Accidentally.
Ornot.
I look back. He’s already facing the photographer again, shoulders squared, jaw set, pretending he’s fine. But his knuckles are white. And mine won’t stop tingling.
A while later, I’m adjusting the backdrop—tinsel garland, lighted wreaths, the whole glittery mess—when Ash approaches again.
Still shirtless. Stilldangerous.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No,” I admit breathlessly. “Not even a little.”
His mouth curves, faint but real. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Means I’m not the only one losing my mind.”
My knees go weak.
Before I can respond, the photographer shouts, “Last shot! Ash, turn slightly toward Lucy!”
Ash glares at him. “Why toward her?”
“Because you look less murderous when she’s in your eyeline.”
Holly pipes up from the corner: “Uncle Ash likes Lucy!”
Ash chokes. I nearly drop the wreath. The crew starts hollering.
I whirl on Holly. “Sweetheart—maybe…inside thoughts stay inside your head?”
She shakes hers. “Nope! Mommy said to always tell the truth.”
Ash drags a hand down his face. “Jesus.”
