Excusing herself, she went down the hall, ducked into her workroom, and found the spooling canister she’d dropped when the hospital called. The film was now a dark ribbon of nothing with tractor perforations on the sides. She paused and looked down the hall, studying her angry visitor. As he stood there in profile, staring out the window at the beach in the distance, she felt that powerful beat of pure, unadulterated attraction again. It was such a singular feeling that she scarcely recognized what it was. It’s nothing, she thought. Nothing but a momentary blip of feeling. A guy with looks like that could inspire even someone whose heart had been broken beyond repair.

Too bad she’d ruined his day for him. With grim fatality, she brought the long black failure back to the kitchen.

“I blew it,” she said, hating the admission as she showed him the dark nothingness. “It was entirely my fault.”

“Seriously?” A tic of irritation tightened his jaw as he eyed the blank film. “I don’t understand. Was the film—”

“It was probably salvageable. But I accidentally let light into the darkroom at a crucial moment, and the light ruined the film.” She considered a longer explanation, but didn’t feel like dragging this stranger through her whole hellish day.

“Damn. Damn it to hell.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

He glared at the film again, and then at her. “Jesus Christ, I needed those pictures.”

She nodded. “I realize that. I feel terrible.”

“Shit. Shit. You’re supposed to be an expert at this. I trusted you—”

“You did, and I’m so sorry.” God, she hated letting people down. He had every right to be pissed.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, glaring at the empty length of film. “Do you just take people’s irreplaceable film and . . . what? Destroy it? Damn, I could have done that myself.”

“I was working on it this morning and everything was going fine. I got a call . . .” She hesitated. She did not want to tell the angry stranger she was a negligent mom. “I dropped everything. Including your film. I feel horrible about it, and . . . and . . .”

Something in her voice, a waver of emotion she couldn’t control, seemed to catch his attention. The winter-ice eyes changed. He had a slow, burning way of looking at her. As if his anger might set her on fire.

“You got a call,” he prompted. “You got a fucking call.”

She could barely speak past the lump in her throat, so she nodded. Something melted inside her. She’d just had the most terrifying day. A call from the ER was every mother’s worst nightmare. For Camille, it revived the deep trauma of losing Jace, and now here was this furious stranger. Suddenly the strain of being a widowed single mother overwhelmed her. To go through a day like this without the love, support, and partnership of Julie’s father felt like too much to bear. Julie’s accident, and now this screw-up brought her long-buried grief to the surface.