“Luca, meet the team,” she says, gesturing over her shoulder. “You already know Sam and Karen.”
Karen flashes me a plastic Barbie smile and starts playing with her hair like her life depends on it. God, she’s exhausting.
“Yeah. Come in.” I step aside so they can bring in all their stuff—black cases, tripods, giant lighting equipment.
“She’s the makeup artist. That’s the camera crew. And the producer.” They all greet me with stiff smiles and awkward hellos.
Guess I’m extra sour-faced today. I nod at them and say nothing. Then my eyes land on the dog, looking at me with its tongue out and tail wagging.
“This is Jack. Isn’t he the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
You are,Lamb. “I’ve seen cuter,” I reply, locking eyes with her.
Emma knowsexactlywho I’m talking about, but she recovers fast, shifting into boss mode. That used to bemyrole. Somehow, I handed it to her.
“Did you take your allergy pill?”
“Yes, Mom,” I mutter like I’m annoyed—though we both know I secretly love it when she worries about me.
She unclips Jack’s leash, and the dog starts sniffing everything within snout range. He reminds me of Oliver’s dog—dark fur, soft coat, tail in constant motion.
“Where’d you get him?” I ask, watching every human in the room inspect my sanctuary like they’re on a damn museum tour. I hate having people in here.
“My neighbor adopted him a few years ago. Found him digging through her trash.”
She says it like it’s nothing. And meanwhile, she’s scanning the place too.
Jack trots up to me and stands on his hind legs, asking for attention.
“Hey… hi,” I say awkwardly.
I don’t speakdog. Never have. I’ve been allergic to them since I was a kid, and I’ve spent my whole life staying far away from them.
Emma, of course, uses my distraction to roam freely, walking through the living room, taking everything in—the high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the ocean out back.
It’s still early. The sun hasn’t fully risen to light up the sand or the water, but the sound is there—the waves, the breeze—and Emma gets lost in it instantly.
Just like I knew she would. Just like I bought this house hoping she would.
“This place is beautiful,” she whispers.
“Thanks,” I reply flatly—when what I really want to say is:I bought it for you.I bought it imagining a life we never had. One where she could sit by the windows and sketch these colors every single day.
“Emma?” Sam calls, bursting our little bubble.
We both turn toward the guy—he looks maybe twenty-eight, dark hair, heavy beard.
“The team’s ready. So is makeup.”
“Makeup?” I echo like a complete idiot.
Emma smiles, because of course she knows I don’t want any part of this. “You’ve got a great tan. Don’t worry, it’s just for touch-ups.”
Sam pulls me away from her, guiding me to a makeshift setup they’ve built in my kitchen. A woman is waiting there—withKaren, of course.
“Good morning, Mr. Walker! Ready for your big adventure?”
God, kill me now if I have to deal with this much positivity before my second coffee.
