In this scene, after keeping Russ at a distance for so long, Sam finally opens up to him about something personal. But when she offers to give him a tour of the Buxom Boudoir Photobooth Bus, Sam decides it’s time to kick their summer fling into high gear…

“So, how are your parents?”

“Still dating, I guess,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Last I heard, which was a very brief phone call a couple of days ago, my dad is staying at my mom’s house . . . indefinitely.”

“That’s wild,” Russ said. “How do you feel about it all?”

“On the one hand, it’s cool. I’ve only ever known them as on-again, mostly off-again. Like I told you before, my dad isn’t exactly known for sticking around. But on the other hand, it’s strange for me and nice for them. They’re both really happy about it. My dad had an epiphany or something after his heart attack, and suddenly he wants to be involved. It’s just . . .”

“What?” he asked gently. He didn’t want to force her to talk about it, but this was the most he had heard her talk in weeks, so he didn’t want her to stop.

“For so long, it’s just been me and my mom. My dad’s family is really great—they always include both of us at gatherings, and they’ve never been mean to my mom or anything like that, but my mom and I are just in sync with each other.” She let out a sigh, and Russ took her hand, squeezing it to let her know he was listening. “I guess I have to get used to the idea of him being around all the time. Both because he lives here now, but also as my mom’s boyfriend. The whole thing is frustrating and weird and who knows how it will all turn out.”

“I get it, it’s complicated to let someone back in your life when you’re so used to them being one way. It was like that with me and Reid, too. Work has been a good way to defuse all the feelings.”

Sam moved his hand to guide his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his embrace. Russ loved how perfectly she fit next to him, how good she felt in his arms. He shifted slightly so he could properly hug her.

This, Russ could get used to. The sweet but still slightly salty Sam who let her guard down and talked to him about whatever came to her mind. He wanted things to stay like this. He wanted to tell her things, too.

“Feelings are overrated,” Sam said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. Too soon, she pulled back to look at him. “Would you like a tour of the photobus?”

“Sure,” Russ said, but he was reluctant to let go of her. She took him by the hand again and led him to the door.

“So, as you saw from across the way, this is the BBPB. We found it for a steal of a price, and Reid knew a guy who promised a quick turnaround on our renovation, so Cassie is the proud owner of these vintage wheels.”

“Impressive,” Russ replied. He’d been so busy with work, he’d barely spoken to Reid and Cassie at length in the weeks leading up to the flea market, so this was all news to him. The interior of the bus was delightfully retro—light wood floors with arrows and dots on them that looked like a bowling lane, a table and wraparound booth behind the driver’s seat for meetings that looked right out of a ’50s diner, and a photobooth set up behind an accordion partition at the far end. Between the meeting space and photography area, sideways bench seats had been added, upholstered in a classic black-and-white houndstooth fabric, and prints of the work that BB had done were hanging on some of the windows—pinup photo shoots and Dana and Cassie’s lingerie ad campaigns, as well as behind-the-scenes photos of the Buxom Boudoir crew, featuring Cassie behind the camera, Dana measuring a client for clothes, Kit applying makeup, and Sam decorating a set.

“This week, we went with ‘summer chic’ as the theme—gingham prints, barbecue props, oversized sunglasses,” Sam said, walking toward the photobooth area and beckoning for Russ to follow her with a very cute finger curl.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness in the back of the bus, lit only by a few strings of market lights.

“Normally there’s a brighter spotlight, and the light from the touchscreen for options, and we open the curtains. But I thought this would be . . . cozy.”

“I like cozy.” Russ kicked off his shoes and moved in Sam’s direction, but she stopped him.

“Your mark is the gold duct tape X on the floor.” She pointed to where he was supposed to stand.

“Sam.”

“Russell.”

“Are you really going to make me do this? Alone?” He hoped he sounded stern, and he folded his arms across his chest and feigned a pout.

Sam nodded, her eyes sparkling. Russ felt his shoulders ease, and he followed her directions, taking his place in front of the digital camera mounted on a tripod in front of her.

“Say cheese,” she said as she pushed the shutter button. Russ noticed that a little light started to blink in the corner, and Sam, right below it, started to unbutton her shirt.

Click.

“Russ, pay attention.”

“I am.” He was not. Russ didn’t know how to look away—all he could focus on was the way the light glinted against her brown skin. Suddenly he could see much more of it as she took off her shirt. And threw it at him.

Click.

Russ pulled the shirt off his face and blinked in disbelief, almost in unison with the blinking timer that was counting down to the next photo . . . and the next article of clothing to come off Sam’s gorgeous body.

“You’re not smiling, Russell.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her shorts hit him in the chest.

Click.

He was smiling that time. Because when the light started blinking again, Russ took off his shirt.

Click.

And then his pants.

Click.

And then Sam was in his arms once again, mouth crashing into his, hands feeling everywhere.

Click.

© Danielle Jackson, Berkley/PRH, 2023