Chapter 8
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.
There were already several vehicles parked. She slipped into a spot beside a white Toyota Corolla she vaguely recognized—one of the crew members who had been at church.
Grabbing the box of goods, she followed the sound of voices and laughter around the side of the house. A stone pathway curved beneath her feet and opened onto a large, shaded patio.
They were all there—the crew, the cast, Aaron… and Madison.
The little girl was crouched low, completely absorbed, drawing bright chalk flowers across the stone.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Aaron called gently. “You’ve got to wash up. We’re eating soon, okay?”
Madison, tiny curls framing her face and wide blue eyes fixed on her masterpiece, pouted. “Just one more flower.”
Aaron shook his head. “That’s what you said five flowers ago.”
Camille smiled despite herself. “Hey, Madison.”
Madison turned—and lit up instantly. “Miss Camille!”
Aaron glanced over, his expression warming. “You made it.” His eyes dropped to the box in her hands. “Want some help with that?”
Madison was already running toward her, excitement bubbling over. “Daddy says you’re Queen Esther. The one who saves all the people.”
Camille laughed softly and handed the box to Aaron. “Well, I had a lot of help,” she said, her gaze dropping fondly to Madison before lifting to him. “Just some wine and cider… and donuts I picked up from the orchard down the street.”
“That’s nice of you. You didn’t have to do this.”
She smiled, easy and sincere. “I wanted to.”
Then she lowered herself to her haunches in front of Madison. “So… what else did your daddy tell you about Queen Esther?”
“I was telling her after church how much Esther trusted God—even when she was afraid,” Aaron said over his shoulder as he carried the box up the steps.
Camille glanced after him, a teasing note in her voice. “Preparing for Bible study already?”
Before he could answer, Madison thrust a piece of chalk toward her. “Do you wanna draw with me?”
Camille hesitated, flicking a quick glance toward Aaron, then back to Madison. “I do… but your dad says you need to wash up first. So we’ll draw after lunch, okay?”
Madison considered this with surprising seriousness, then nodded and slipped her small hand into Camille’s.
Aaron watched them as he set the box down on a nearby table, something like quiet gratitude settling across his face.
“The bathroom?” Camille asked, glancing back.
“Through those doors on the right,” he said. “Madison knows the way.”
“Thank you,” Camille said, smiling.
He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
“No,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
~*~*~*~
As they disappeared into the house, a bittersweet feeling settled in Aaron’s stomach.
Camille was effortless with Madison. His daughter could be a handful—some said spoiled. He knew he indulged her too much, but he didn’t quite know how not to. With her mother gone and his own frequent absences, overcompensating felt almost unavoidable.
He forced himself back into the conversation with the guys, debating the Rams’ latest loss as they helped themselves to the buffet. Even while he talked, part of his attention drifted toward the house.
He waited, as always, for Madison before serving himself.
“Funny,” Camille said from behind him, “they haven’t won a game since you left.”
He turned.
She was filling a plate while Madison stood beside her, pointing decisively at what she was willing to try—and more importantly, what portions were acceptable.
“Is that so?” he drawled, studying Camille. He couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or if she genuinely followed football. The team’s struggles had started long after his departure.
“I’ll get Madison’s food,” he said.
She swatted his hand away without even looking at him. “I’ve got this. You eat.”
The ease of it caught him off guard.
She served Madison with quiet efficiency while Aaron fixed his own plate. When he and Madison sat down, Camille returned to fill her own plate. They waited for her to join them and, after a brief prayer, began to eat.
“So,” Aaron said casually, glancing at her, “do you follow football?”
She nodded. “Actually, I do. I was a fan of yours.”
He blinked.
“Really? You never mentioned it. We’ve been working together for months and this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“Our conversations have mostly been about the film,” she said mildly.
He couldn’t argue with that.
“Fair enough,” he conceded. Then he added, “But that part isn’t true.”
“What part?”
“The Rams didn’t start losing because of me.”
She raised a brow. “Why do you think they started losing then?”
He launched into his theory about coaching changes and roster gaps.
Madison interrupted, swinging her legs beneath the chair.
“Excuse me, Daddy, may I have more juice?”
Aaron’s face softened instantly. “Of course, sweetheart.”
He reached for the pitcher and poured carefully into her cup.
“So do you still play sports?” Camille asked.
“Nah. I don’t have the time.”
“What do you do for exercise?”
“I jog and weight train in my home gym. Adam and I try to train a few times a week, but with this schedule…” He shrugged. “I probably get in three sessions a week if I’m lucky. It’s pretty pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” Camille said. “That’s admirable. I can barely manage anything these days. Your discipline is paying off. You’re in great shape.”
His mind flashed—unhelpfully—to her own beautiful figure. If it wasn’t discipline, it had to be good genes. But he wasn’t about to say that and get himself into trouble.
He cleared his throat and kept the focus safely on himself.
“That’s nice of you to say. I was pretty consistent before we started shooting. I wanted to be in good shape for the male lead. I guess my body’s still conditioned from that. But when this movie’s over, I’m getting back into a real routine. I don’t want to lose my gains.”
“Tell me something,” Camille said thoughtfully. “How do you find time for spiritual pursuits with your schedule?”
He looked at her.
“It can’t be easy,” she continued. “You get to set around 6:30 a.m. You told me you drop Madison at your parents’ house first, so that means you leave home around six. Then you leave the set no earlier than seven most nights.”
She brought the fork to her lips, watching him over it.
He grinned.
“Truthfully? It’s tough. But I try to be consistent. The same way I’m disciplined with my body, I figure I should be disciplined with my Christian walk. The apostle Paul talks about the danger of focusing only on the body and neglecting the spiritual.”
“So what does that look like for you?” she asked.
“It means waking up at four a.m. for prayer and Bible study.” He shrugged. “I do the same thing before bed. And I don’t just read the Word—I study it. I think that’s important for a Christian’s growth and sanctification.”
She nodded slowly.
“I have to admit… I’m neglectful there.”
“It’s vital that saints study God’s Word,” Aaron said gently. “If we don’t, it’s like going without physical food. Eventually we get sick—undernourished.”
Again she nodded. “You’re right.”
Before the conversation could go further, other guests pulled them in. Madison tugged Camille’s sleeve, reminding her about drawing flowers.
Aaron joined a lively debate with a few crew members about sports, politics, religion, and work, but every so often his eyes drifted back to Camille.
At one point, he nearly did a double take when he saw what she was doing.
Camille had dropped to the ground—fine dress and all—and was drawing chalk flowers with Madison on the patio.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look around. Didn’t care that the dress probably cost a small fortune.
She just sat there, laughing softly with his daughter.
There was something disarming about a woman who cared enough about her appearance to look like that… but would sit on the ground without a second thought to draw flowers with a child.
A while later Camille returned, dusting chalk from her hands.
“It was great being here,” she said, “but I have to go.”
He nodded immediately. “Let me walk you to your car.”
They stepped away together, Madison swinging Aaron’s hand as they crossed the yard.
“I wanted to thank you for your performance on Friday, Camille,” he said. “I appreciated the difference.”
She smiled. “I appreciated you listening to me. I guess what was needed was communication—and compromise. I feel a little embarrassed now, thinking about how I just took matters into my own hands without talking to you first.”