“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly.
“Thank you.” I added purple around his eyes, my fingers accidentally brushing his temple as I steadied my hand. He inhaled sharply, and I froze. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No. You’re fine.”
But his voice had gone rough, and when I glanced at his face, his jaw was tight again.
The girls were getting antsy, asking if they could help, suggesting additions to the design. I let them tell me where to put the warts, what color his missing teeth should be, whether the slime should drip from his forehead or his chin.
It gave me something to focus on besides the fact that Cam’s face was inches from mine. That his breath was warm against my wrist when I leaned in to add details. That every accidental touch sent electricity skittering across my skin.
“There.” I sat back finally, examining my work. “You officially look disgusting.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“That’s the goal, right?”
The girls scrambled to grab the hand mirror, fighting over who got to bring it to him. Audrey won, thrusting it at his face.
“Look, Daddy!”
“You look so gross!”
“We match!” Alice added. “We’re a swamp monster family!”
He took the mirror and studied his reflection. His expression shifted from resigned tolerance to genuine amusement and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, crinkling the paint around his eyes.
“I do look pretty disgusting,” he admitted.
“The disgustingest,” Alice confirmed.
He turned back to me, and God, this was absurd. This man, this gorgeous, serious man, sitting in his living room with a fully painted swamp monster face, looking at me like...
Like I’d just given him something he didn’t know he needed.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For making you look gross?”
“For making them happy.”
My chest squeezed tight. “Anytime.”
And I meant it. I really, really meant it.
EMILY
I’d just finished stirring the dinner in the slow cooker when an engine purred in the driveway.
Natascha.
I set the spoon down and headed for the front door, a little faster than necessary. I was beyond curious to meet Cam’s ex-wife.
The white Range Rover gleamed in the late afternoon sun, so pristine it looked like it had just rolled off a showroom floor. Natascha was already out of the driver’s seat, her phone pressed to her ear as she opened the back door with one hand.
Okay, yeah, she was just as gorgeous as I’d expected. Very polished. Very well put together.
“No, I totally get that, but the engagement rates are what really matter,” she was saying, her voice carrying across the yard. “Views are great, but if they’re not converting to follows or clicks, then what’s the point?”
