I scooped up some flowers, and when Luke saw me, he followed suit, as I’d hoped. The conversation shifted, as I’d also hoped.

“Be back, Daddy,” I said with levity I didn’t feel. “Twenty minutes, and your belly will be happy.”

He chuckled, navigating into the living room. “All right. Meanwhile, I’m gonna get warmed up so I can properly whip you two on the track.”

Luke followed me to my room, setting his flowers down next to mine on the bed while I busied myself prepping. I turned on my ring light and moved things around in front of my backdrop to stage a shot.

“Wow,” he said from behind me. “This is where you take all your pictures?”

“Mmhmm.” Avoiding his eyes, I sorted through the flowers, making an arrangement almost without thought.

“We should set up a bigger space at the shop. Somewhere you can shoot installations or … I don’t know. Somewhere with room for you to really spread out.”

“I don’t need more room,” I said a little more firmly than I’d meant.

As usual, Luke didn’t pick up on it. He stepped between the ring light and the backdrop, turning around with a smile on his face. That smile melted my worries like chocolate in the sun—sticky and messy and impossible to clean up, just like Luke Bennet.

But I was smiling back, simply because there was no choice to be made—whenever he smiled, I smiled.

An idea struck. I handed him the bouquet and picked up my camera.

He gave me a look that was somehow both suspicious and amused. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“Look hot,” I answered, looking through the lens.

He laughed, looking down at the bouquet, blushing bashfully. I pressed the button, the shutter clicking to the same mad beat as my heart. He was so earnest, the compliment affording a rare view of modesty so often hidden by his unwavering confidence.

I glanced at the screen. It was perhaps the hottest photograph I’d ever seen, featuring two of the most beautiful things in my world—flowers and Luke Bennet.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he’d been shirtless.

I sighed dreamily. “Really, you must be an alien or something. Normal people aren’t this good at everything. I should start calling you Ace.”

He made a flippant sound, stepping toward me so he could look himself. “Trust me, there’s plenty I’m bad at.”

“Name one thing.”

“Relationships,” he said without hesitating, but kept talking to cover the admission. “Advanced math. Cooking. Ice skating.”

“Ice skating?” I echoed around a laugh.

He shrugged. “Weak ankles.”

When I laughed louder, he smiled, set his flowers on the bed, and stepped into me. His big hand circled my wrist, his thumb shifting against my palm.

“Are you okay?” he asked simply, but those three little words held a quiet knowledge that threatened to break me open.

Luke Bennet saw through me more often than I liked.