“Thank you for being here today,” Aaron murmurs into my ear once we’re in line.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him, and I mean it.
Another minute of comfortable silence and I tell him, “You’re killing this scene.”
A small smile breaks out on his face, stretching into a wide one as the compliment takes root. “It’s good to be back,” he admits. We start filling our plates, and head outside to the picnic tables near the trailers. I try not to remember the last time we were sitting at them, but it’s impossible.
I can tell it’s on his mind too, because he looks down at the table and back up at me a bit sheepishly once we’re seated.
“I—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I know.”
He squints one eye shut in the bright light (he—sweetly—took the side facing the sun), and nods once, firmly.
“I know you’re sorry, Stone. Unless you have anything else to tell me, and I don’t think you do, because we came pretty damn clean to one another, the way you can show me is by being the awesome version of you. That other shithead is in the past now.” I give him a small smile so he knows I’m not holding that portion of our history against him.
He folds his lips in between his teeth as he processes my words and nods again.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says, instead of wherever else he was going to go with that sentiment.
I roll my eyes at him. “You fucking do.”
“Not yet,” he says, grabbing my left hand with one of his. “But I’m working on it.”
I bring his hand to my mouth and press a soft kiss to his palm, and we eat in silence for a couple minutes.
“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it. Being in the swing of things here,” he says thoughtfully after a bit, chewing his second turkey burger (no bun).
“Yeah?” I prompt.
“On set, under the lights, on camera. Feels like I do my best here.” His eyes find mine, boring into me. “With you next to me. That’s when I’m my best.”
I smile down into my quinoa salad, spearing a bite and downing it. I’m not modest enough to deny his words. We all know I bring the razz to his pizazz.
After we finish eating, it’s a quick trip to the bathroom and back on set, where he nails his takes and they wrap for the day earlier than expected, around four. He and I say our goodbyes to each of the cast and crew we see on our way out, until we’re settled in his G-Wagen, alone once more.
I’m deep in thought, staring out the window as we pull out of the studio parking lot, when his hand grabs mine and he brings our joined palms over to rest on the gearshift, his thumb stroking my soft skin as he drives us home. There’s something so masculine but also tender about the act that has my insides all fluttery.
“What’s on your mind, Jellybean?” he asks, peering over at me.
I sneak a peek over at his profile, all rugged and uniquely handsome in the low afternoon sun, before I answer him.
“Honestly?”
“Always,” he says with certainty, glancing at me again.
“I’m thinking how right it feels.”
“Us?”
“All of it.” I give a small shrug. “Sharing a home with you. Sharing a life with you.”
As always, he knows what it is I’m not saying.
“You happy, Gem?”
“Really fucking happy, Stone. Feels like where I’m supposed to be.”
