Page 32 of Blurred Lines

Caeleb nods immediately. "Yes. I don't see why you need to worry about the industry right now, when you're literally in the perfect setting for a risqué Playboy shoot."

A surprised bark of laughter later, I look around at the men surrounding me. Caeleb's right. Here I am, wearing Silas's shirt and barely any makeup, discussing the perils of starvation diets with three gorgeous, shirtless men.

Silas's grin is wicked. "Now there's a photoshoot I'd back."

"Hush," I manage, even as a fluttery warmth spreads through me.

Finn chuckles, breaking the spell. "But Emily, you make a powerful point. We can get so swept up in the seriousness, we forget just how ridiculous the whole industry can be."

His words ground me. The laughter fades, replaced by a fierce determination. "That's where we disrupt," I say, my voice stronger now. "Modeling isn't about conforming. It can be about defiance. Showing that beauty is health, is strength, is damn well eating this amazing food." I gesture at the empty plates, secretly thrilled that my voice no longer trembles.

"Hear, hear," says Silas, spraying crumbs in the process. The look of disgust on Caeleb's face makes me laugh, and just like that, the mood changes. He turns his attention to me.

"So," he says around a bite, "Emily, when do we get to taste your culinary skills?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, you have no idea what you're asking for," I laugh, already envisioning the chaotic and likely hilarious baking session that would ensue.

And just like that, we're off, the conversation turning to disastrous kitchen experiments, dream foodie destinations, and the age-old debate of pineapple on pizza (Finn is firmly pro, I'm staunchly against, and thankfully, Caeleb and Silas are the voices of reason).

The morning stretches on, filled with laughter and the kind of easy companionship that makes Emberton feel a little less like a vacation and a little more like coming home. The rest of the conversation flows much like before, but there's a lightness to it now. The tension has transformed, a playful energy replacing the raw intensity. And I'm okay with that.

It feels good to laugh, to see these complex men in a new, sillier light. Because really, who can take life too seriously over a plate of epic, shirtless-chef-made deliciousness?

I learn about Caeleb's ascent into opening a chain of posh restaurants in New York and a little eatery in Emberton. Finn talks about his life as an architect, and Silas says as little as possible about his job as an investment banker.

"There must be something you love about it?" I probe, tearing at a piece of bacon with my teeth.

"Hmm, the money helps," he says with a grimace. "But when I've made enough, I'm going to retire and focus on Harvey's Vineyard."

A hush falls between all of us. The men exchange a glance and then look at me. "I'm sorry," Silas says, his tone apologetic. "I don't mean to steer the conversation toward a topic that's obviously…"

His words trail off. I know what he wants to say, but honestly, I don't want to hear it. The pain of the loss is still too fresh, maybe more so because it shouldn't hurt, not when I've never had a father in the real sense of the term. They've had more love from him than Flora or I ever did.

I'm almost jealous of that. Almost. And if I went down that spiral, it'd be a never-ending free fall.

There are better ways to spend our time.

I finish the last piece of bacon on my plate, stand up, and turn to walk to the counter, plate in hand, hips swaying slightly.

There's a shift in the room's current. I lean over the sink, completely aware that my shirt has risen up, revealing my butt to the men in the room.

I didn't think I'd be in the mood for games this morning.

Clearly, I was wrong.

12

CAELEB

Istride over to where Emily is standing, her long back seductively arched to our views, and seize her arm, holding it in an iron grip.

She intakes a sharp breath and angles her head so her eyes meet mine, challenge rife in them.

I'm not one to back down this time.

"Tell me, Emily," I say, my voice soft. "What's the dirtiest thought you've ever had?"

Her eyes glint, and her lips curl up in a slight smile. The nymph. But she takes my question and raises me one of her own. "How about you tell me yours first?"

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