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“Oh, just the usual. I mean, it doesn’t happen every day, thank god, but once in a while, these women get the idea that they know when the men will be filming, and they hang out trying to get a peek. Some of them even think they might be invited to appear in a video. The guys really need to be more careful about what they say. Or I need to be more careful to edit things out,” she says with a laugh.

She holds out her hand. “Sorry for rambling. I’m Trish, their video editor. I help with their social media management, too.”

“I’m Stella. Nice to meet you.”

“And who’s this?” Trish asks, bending to hold her hand out for Goldfish to smell.

I tell her his name, explaining that my daughter chose it.

“He’s so cute.” She pets him, but Goldfish seems distracted. Maybe he smells the men.

“So you live right behind here?” Trish confirms. When I nod, she says, “Oh, are you the one whose yard was filled with marshmallows?” I nod again, and she says, “I’m so glad your dog is okay.

“I told them to be careful with the marshmallows,” Trish says, “but boys will be boys. I may be the video editor, but my job description should also include wrangling the men.”

I find it interesting that Trish refers to them as boys, and am glad it’s not just me who sees them that way. Trish doesn’t look much older than me, maybe two or three years at the most.

“Some days, I have to remind them to eat,” she says. “Today, they’re building some sort of elaborate stunt. I have no idea what it is. Some kind of Rube Goldberg contraption. And somehow, they made a big mess. Cam came in a while ago covered in mud.”

“Did I hear my name?” Cam appears from a hallway with just a towel around his waist, his hair wet, and the sight of him momentarily knocks the air from my lungs. “I thought I heard your voice, Stella. How are you?”

I can’t even speak for a moment, he looks so good. My god, his chest. I’ve caught glimpses of it from the way he likes to wear his shirts open, but the full view is—my god, I should have been warned.

I try to avoid looking directly at him as I tell him I’m fine. When he asks about Goldfish and crouches down to pet him, I also try really hard not to notice how broad his back is, but I’m not strong enough to look away.

My body is also taking notice, much as I might try to deny it. I give thanks that I’m wearing a well-lined bra, because my nipples are also responding to what I’m seeing.

The sound of a door opening draws my attention toward the back of the house, and then Wyatt joins us. “Stella, good to see you. Everything okay?” His gaze shifts to where Cam is still petting the dog.

“Everything’s fine. I just came by to drop off a package of yours that was delivered to my house by mistake.”

“You could’ve called and I would have come to pick it up, but thank you,” he says.

“We needed to walk, anyway.” I glance down at Goldfish, then peel my eyes away from Cam when they get stuck.

Wyatt’s looking pretty compelling himself, in shorts and a loose tank top. There are smudges of dirt on his arms and legs, and he’s wearing a ball cap backward. He looks so young, yet also so much like a man. It’s kind of confusing.

Cam stands and crosses his arms in front of him, which only makes his biceps bulge further. Speaking of bulges, I may or may not have seen one under his towel, and my cheeks feel like they’re flaming. I want to look again to confirm what I think I saw, but I won’t let myself.

Meanwhile, Trish appears to be unfazed by Cam standing there in a towel, and Cam seems completely at ease.

“Well, I’m glad you came by, because it’s always nice to see you,” Wyatt says, making this sound like much more than a pleasantry. The way he’s looking at me isn’t helping the state of my cheeks.

“I’d better get home. I need to get back to work,” I say.

“It was nice to meet you, Stella,” Trish says, also waving goodbye to Goldfish.

Cam opens the door for me, and his bare arm with all its dark hair is so distracting that I almost trip as I leave. “Hope to see you again soon,” he says. “Stop by anytime.”

When he notices the women standing out front, he waves to them.

“Don’t encourage them, or they’ll never leave,” Trish tells him.

Out on the sidewalk, the women pepper me with questions: “Was that Cam in a towel? My favorite videos are the ones where he’s in a towel.” “Was Wyatt there too?” “Did you take any pictures?”

“I’m just a neighbor,” I tell them as I hurry on by.

CHAPTER12