The last two weeks had been the happiest of Pepper’s life.

Derek was busy most of the days, taking his camera and disappearing from her bed and into the mysterious streets of Stoneybrook—or not so much. But while she didn’t understand the appeal of documenting every single piece of typical small town America as he did, she had seen some footage.

It was amazing.

He seemed to find the unique beauty in even the simplest parts of Stoneybrook. A portion of peeling paint framed by blooming flowers, the Bert’s Burgers sign overwhelmed by the ocean in the background.

And that was just the town itself. When he captured the people within, the heart and blood of Stoneybrook, something even more magical occurred.

Freckles across a pale nose, a toothy smile, and ice-cream-coated lips. Wrinkles at the corners of eyes, wispy white hair. Young and old. Naïve and jaded. He had an innate ability to capture the hidden magnificence within, to celebrate what made each person and object unique.

He was brilliant, and she understood why her father had joined the venture.

Documentaries weren’t O’Brien Films’ cash cow, but Peter loved discovering new talent. It was clear Derek was exactly that.

“Have you filmed any other towns?” she asked.

They were sprawled across her bed, his laptop between them as he showed her the footage from that day.

He closed the window on the screen then opened another. “Yes. But only a little. I was supposed to leave to scout the new location a couple weeks ago.”

Pepper stilled. “You mean before my father ordered you to babysit me.”

He shrugged. “I needed to shoot here, too—”

“Except you hadn’t planned to.” She straightened, irritation coursing through her.

Their time together had been so blissful that she’d been able to forget the cause.

Her father.

He’d orchestrated the entire thing, was probably sitting back, rubbing his hands together and saying, “Excellent” like George Burns from The Simpsons.

“You should go.” She shoved his shoulder.

Derek glanced up, brows drawn tight. “Now?”

Pepper’s eyes flicked to the windows. It was dark outside, the sound of waves crashing along the shore trickling into the cottage. “No. Tomorrow,” she said. “Start shooting the new town.”

“I’m shooting here.” He closed the laptop and set it on the floor. “What’s really going on?”

“You’re here because of my father.” She sighed, gut twisting. She always messed up everything. “I’m not going to let him meddle with your dreams.”

“My dream has waited for twenty-years,” he said. “It can wait until after your brother’s wedding.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he continued, “And anyway, I’m going to have to come back with the crew. The footage is barely passable as test shots. The professionals need to come in and take over.”

Her lips tightened. “What you’ve filmed is incredible.”

“Passable.” He bent and kissed her. “Barely. Aside from that, we’re leaving for your brother’s wedding in just under a week. Why should I go now? I’d have to fly back before we flew down together.”

The man had a point. Unfortunately.

“We could fly separately.”

“Pepper.” He said her name in a tone that made a shiver roll down her spine. All growly and ridiculous, and yet her body still liked it. “What is this really about?”

“What’s what about?”

Derek just stared at her.

She wouldn’t cave. She wouldn’t cave. She wouldn’t—

Argh. “Fine. I’m having a moment of what-in-the-hell-are-we-doing, okay? You and I don’t make any sense. I’m a mess. I don’t have a job—”

“Neither do I.”

She threw a frustrated hand out. “Except you’re filming a movie.”

He captured it, brought her palm to his lips. “And you’re making sculptures.”

Her breath caught. She had been sculpting. But she’d been careful to not mention it, afraid . . . well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she was afraid of. Judgment? Derision? She couldn’t draw worth a damn, couldn’t sew a straight line, couldn’t—

How could she expect to make art?

“They’re amazing,” he said softly, rolling toward her and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “As unique as you are.”

The word unique made her stiffen and pull back.

Unique. Unique. Pepper was unique—usually said with derision.

Uniquely klutzy. Uniquely different. Uniquely disastrous and—

Fuck that.

She was so damned tired of beating herself up, and yet the words slipped from her anyway. “You’re too good for me, Derek.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped.

Her eyes flew up.

“I’m going to say something that might piss you off,” he said as he sat up and thrust a hand through his hair. “Hell, I hope it pisses you off. I want you to fight for once. For yourself. For us. For something that you want. Who gives a fuck if you’re not Hollywood? Fuck Hollywood. Fuck your parents for treating you like shit. Fuck me for making you face this. I don’t care! But”—he forced a breath, softened his voice—“you deserve good things. And you need to go after those good things. Otherwise, you’ll always be here.”

“I—”

“You deserve more than just existing. You deserve to be happy.”

His chest was heaving, eyes filled with an intensity that made the air freeze in her lungs.

He was right. She would have loved to deny him that, but the simple truth was that she wanted to fight for all of those things.

She just wasn’t sure she had the courage to.

If she wasn’t a train wreck then what was she?

Sometimes it was easier being a screw up, to not have anyone expect things of her.

And when she failed . . .

Well, that was because she never had a chance to succeed in the first place.

Except, if she really wanted to succeed then she had to put that particular security blanket aside.

Courage.

“I’m happy when I’m with you,” she said quietly.

All of the tension drained from Derek’s body. “Me too.”

“Good.”

A smirk. “Good.”

God, she loved the man.

It was too early to say such craziness, but—a wicked thought popped into her mind—she could show him.

Rolling away from him, she reached for a bottle in her nightstand. Samantha had given it to her as a joke, but really, what man wouldn’t like a blowy?

Mentally, she stopped and shook her head at herself. Grown woman did not say blowy. They were confident in their sexual prowess—

Ugh. They didn’t say that either.

It was desire and fellatio, fucking and blow jobs. Come on now.

She opened the bottle.

“You okay over there?” Derek’s voice was confused.

“Yup.” She started a quick scan of the label, but then the bed shifted, Derek starting to lean over to see what she was doing.

Crap. Rapidly, she spritzed the bottle in her mouth three or four or . . . ten times. The spray was supposed to relax her throat muscles enough to take him a little deeper than normal.

If she combined the amount of occasions he’d gone down on her during the last two weeks with his speech from earlier then he really deserved something special.

“Pepper?”

“Shh,” she told him, though her words felt odd. The spray must already be working. Which was a good thing. The gag reflex was strong with this one . . . or, she mentally shook her head, with her.

Forcing her mind to stop, she tore off her T-shirt.

“Okay, I’m liking this,” Derek said, leaning back onto the pillows with a grin.

“You’ll—” She stopped because the word was slurred. Okay, deep throat gel meant no talking.

Which was fine.

She didn’t need talking. She needed his pants off.