by Mia Sheridan
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Scarlett retrieved two glasses from the cabinet, mindful to be as quiet as possible so she didn’t wake the sleeping baby. That chirping sound was enough to set any new mother’s hackles on edge.
“Is whiskey okay?” she asked, nodding to a bottle on the counter. “It’s all I have. My best friend is a liquor distributor and she gave it to me. I’m not much of a whiskey drinker, but she gifted it because of the label.” She picked up the bottle and turned it around so that the Rebel Yell label was facing him. “Private joke,” she said, her lips tilting in a wry smile as she thought of the night she’d withdrawn the first of the money she’d deposited seven years before and they’d gotten drunk and danced to Billy Idol in her living room. Later, she’d cried herself to sleep in a heap of tears and shame, but for a few minutes there, she’d been strong, she’d let the world—or at least the four walls of her living room—hear her rebel yell. That rebel yell had quickly faded to a quiet sob, but the whiskey had been on her counter since Merrilee had given it to her, a reminder to grasp that strength when she could, however tremulous and temporary it might be.
And the further reminder that Merrilee believed in her strength and supported her dreams.
“Sounds like a good story,” he said.
“Not really,” she answered too quickly, carrying the glasses and bottle to the table. They both sat down and she twisted off the cap, pouring them each a finger. She held up her glass. “To empty walls, sleeping babies, and those who arrive when you call for help,” she whispered.
He smiled, raising his glass and clinking it lightly to hers. Their fingers brushed briefly and they both pulled their glasses away quickly, making her suspect he’d also felt the zap of energy move between their skin, though his expression indicated nothing. He took a sip of his whiskey, making a face as the liquid fire slid down his throat. She grimaced along with him. “It gets better the more you drink,” she said, her voice strained.
He let out a soft chuckle. “That’s usually the problem.”
She smiled, dipping her head in agreement just as the tiny thing with the—apparently—massive lungs let out that bone-chilling chirping sound. “Oh holy hell, little one,” Scarlett murmured, beginning to stand.
Camden’s chair scraped across the floor as he came to his feet. “Let me,” he said, moving around her and picking up the baby bird in his makeshift nest.
Scarlett grabbed the mashed egg she’d made earlier and handed it to Camden who sat back down. He used one finger to rub the bird’s beak right where he’d shown her earlier and the tiny thing opened its mouth widely, accepting the food he offered. “Amazing,” she said, noting the ease with which he fed the bird after she’d struggled to get even the smallest bit into its mouth. “Were you a mama bird in a past life?”
He smiled at her and her chest felt tight to see this big, strong man holding the delicate creature with so much gentleness. “Could be. Maybe that’s why I’m so restless,” he murmured, watching the bird as he ate from his finger. “In some past life I used to be able to fly and now I merely have feet.”
She tilted her head, taking him in, her curiosity spiking again, the question rising up inside her: who are you? “You’re restless?”
He looked up, appearing almost confused for a moment as if he hadn’t realized he’d made that statement out loud. “Sometimes. Who isn’t, I guess.”
She took another sip of whiskey, watching as he fed the bird. She was restless too. It’d come on in the last few years, this . . . feeling that she was supposed to be doing something, only she had no idea what. This notion that she was walking through mist and someone was calling for her only she couldn’t see them, couldn’t get to them, didn’t know what they wanted. The feeling had dissipated slightly with the purchase of Lilith House and the new sense of purpose at starting a business, but she had to admit some of it still lingered. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I know what you mean.”
Their eyes met, gazes clashing, heat flowing between them. God. Chemistry was a bitch of a thing. It didn’t care about timing or convenience. There was no shutoff button, no dial with which to lower the damn temperature. She’d given in to it before and it’d almost ruined her. She was still picking up the pieces of her self-respect. She didn’t need, nor want to be attracted to this man. And yet, the feeling was so alluring, so good. It was like a thrilling drug that made you come alive.
And she was pretty sure he felt it too.
And yet . . . she’d sensed such bitterness in him at Grady’s earlier that day. Had she misunderstood when she’d assumed it was directed at her? She did have a tendency to second-guess her own responsibility for other people’s reactions. It was the people pleaser in her.
He nodded over to the sketches on her wall. “Those are good.” He shook his head as though he’d misspoken. “No, they’re not just good, they’re incredible.”
She felt a warm flush of pleasure at his compliment, and the sincere expression on his face. “Thank you. They’re brand-new designs, all my own. As soon as I have a proper kitchen up and running, I’m going to create each one and do a photo shoot. Then I’ll have a brochure made . . . some initial advertising. It seems like a lot when I start thinking about all the to-do items on my multitude of lists.”
He squinted at her teasingly. “You have more than one to-do list?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. I have lists upon lists. I have binders of lists. I even have a master list of all my lists so I don’t accidentally forget about any of my sub-lists.”
He chuckled, a look of true amusement flashing in his green eyes. “One thing at a time, right?”
She nodded. “Yes. That’s my motto.”
There was a weighted silence before he cleared his throat softly. “So how’d you find this place anyway?” he asked, looking around the kitchen. “I didn’t think the bank advertised its sale anywhere outside town. It’s been empty for a long time.”
She tapped the pads of her fingers on the table soundlessly, tilting her head, recollecting. “It was the most random thing actually. I had just left work. I was working in this restaurant in Beverly Hills. The commute sucked and I sort of hated my boss.” She let out a short laugh, taking another sip of her drink, enjoying the burn now. “Anyway, I was walking to my car, tired, irritable, flour in my hair, you know, just living the glamorous life of a pastry chef, when a breeze picked up and this piece of trash—or so I thought—blew up off the street and stuck to my shirt. Well, I peeled it off and took a few steps to toss it in a trash can, when I happened to glance down at what it was. A flyer. This newsletter, with meeting times and whatnot, a church thingy, I think, and at the bottom was a picture of Lilith House and information about the sale. Well, I recognized the name because my friend Kandace had attended the school here. I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk just . . . stupefied.” She looked off to the side, remembering the feeling that had filled her chest, this sudden, overwhelming . . . fire to do . . . something. “I went home and looked up the pictures online and it just seemed . . . perfect.” She gazed behind him. “I mean, it had literally plastered itself to my body. It felt like fate.”
Camden had stilled, his eyes latched on her face. “What are the odds?” he murmured.
“Exactly. What are the odds?” Her gaze moved behind him as she pictured that unexpected moment. That flyer, it was like . . . it was the permission she hadn’t known she needed to make the first move to see her dream become reality.
“You believe in fate then? You think that brought you here?” He looked so serious, like every cell in his body was hanging on her answer.
She thought about it for a moment, gave it the consideration it deserved. “Yeah. I do.” She swirled her drink. Her body felt warm and loose. “I’ve felt it before too. I felt it the night I met Haddie’s father.” She looked down, feeling shy suddenly talking to this man she barely knew about such personal things but well, he was sitting across from her with a baby bird in his hands, and the alcoho
l had loosened her tongue. “Things obviously didn’t work out between us, but when I met him . . . it was like I felt this pull, some master plan, that almost seemed to come from outside of myself, moving me toward an unplanned fate. I know that sounds dramatic but it’s the truth. It was like . . . Haddie was meant to be created, she was meant to be here, despite everything falling apart once that happened. She was the point of it all and so there should be no regret.” Emotion welled up inside her, the love she felt for her daughter, and she let out a soft laugh. “My goodness, I’m a loose-lipped drunk, aren’t I?”
Despite her embarrassed smile, Camden’s expression remained intense, almost pained. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
He glanced down at the bird, his muscles visibly relaxing. He appeared almost sad. “I was thinking that I like that idea . . . that everyone who’s here is here to serve a purpose.”
She nodded, her heart giving a sharp kick. She thought again of that night, how even with the fateful pull she’d just described, she’d almost talked herself out of it. She remembered how she’d gotten up the nerve by channeling Kandace, her free-spirited friend who she knew would tell her to throw caution to the wind and live.
Seize the day, Scarlett. She could practically hear Kandi’s voice in her head, even now.
The bird was asleep again, his ravenous appetite sated for the moment. Camden got up and returned his container to the dim corner of the counter. Scarlett took another sip of whiskey, enjoying the warm flush of relaxation as it spread to her limbs. She had to be mindful not to drink so much that waking up through the night would be difficult. When Camden sat back down, she nodded to the baby bird. “Seriously, I have a new respect for mama birds. Even Haddie didn’t wake that frequently when she was an infant.”
His lips tipped. He swirled his drink, silent for several minutes, his expression registering conflict. “Can I ask why Haddie’s father isn’t in the picture?”
She liked that he was curious about her too. But from the expression on his face, it almost appeared he didn’t want to be.
She took a quick sip of the whiskey. She’d been telling the truth when she said that the more you drank, the easier it went down. She was indeed feeling loose-lipped. Still, out of habit—and by threat of legal ramifications—she opened her mouth to give her stock answer, that Haddie’s father had been a one-night stand, that when she’d told him she was pregnant, he’d said good luck and goodbye, which was true. Mostly. Instead, she found she wanted to tell this man the truth. She didn’t even really know why. Maybe, like she’d just thought, it was the liquor, or the way he’d held the baby bird so tenderly in his strong, masculine hands. But now, she realized, even more than those two things, it was that he’d come so quickly to her rescue tonight. It was the way his eyes tracked over her features like for that singular moment, his world revolved around the mystery of her thoughts. Maybe all those things combined made Scarlett relax her shoulders and tell this man—this virtual stranger—the truth when she’d divulged it to no one else except Merrilee and her mother. “Haddie’s father is Royce Reynolds.”
He tilted his head slightly, no recognition in his expression.
“Seriously? You don’t know who Royce Reynolds is?” Momentary amusement bubbled up in her chest. She’d finally told someone her “big secret” and he didn’t even know who the mega-famous superstar was. Hollywood’s golden boy. People’s Sexiest Man Alive.
“No. Who is he?”
“He’s an actor. No, more than that. He’s a star. Big time. When I was twenty, I was working for a catering company that had been hired to host this party in LA. Royce Reynolds was there and he struck up a conversation with me. He was charming. I was star-struck. I knew he had a girlfriend—they were constantly splashed across the tabloids, but . . . he mentioned they’d recently broken up and I believed him.” She took a quick sip of her drink. She liked to think she’d have declined his offer to go back to his room had she known he was lying about the breakup, but . . . well, she’d been young and dumb and giddy over his attention. And like she’d said, there had been that pull. “He invited me back to his room and one thing led to another.” His jaw tightened for a moment and then loosened. If she’d blinked she might not have seen it. Had that been . . . jealousy? Or disapproval? It made her doubt her decision to be this open with him. She took a deep breath. She was already in the middle. May as well cross to the other side.
“Anyway, a couple months later, I found out I was pregnant and I called to let him know.” She cringed internally when she thought about the hoops she’d had to jump through just to get a message to him. She’d honestly been surprised he called her back at all. Or remembered who she was. “He seemed rattled . . . all but hung up on me. I was scared. Alone. But I thought, well, he doesn’t want anything to do with this and so I’m on my own. Next thing I know, though, his wife—the girlfriend he said he’d broken up with, who he’d married the week before in some secret ceremony—is at my door. She kindly requested that I sign a non-disclosure agreement saying I would never make Royce’s paternity public and if I did so, I would be sued.”
“He sent his wife to confront you?”
Scarlett nodded. Yeah, that had been humiliating. Royce hadn’t even had the balls to come meet with her himself, to look her in the eyes, ask if she was okay. She would have signed the paperwork either way. She was capable of caring for her baby, even if it meant barely making ends meet. She wasn’t going to try to force him to acknowledge their child if he had no interest. Yeah, she would have signed the paperwork either way. She just might not have taken the money if it’d been him who came to see her.
She didn’t tell Camden about that though. She still felt such deep conflict on that subject. He might look at it as selling out her own daughter. And why shouldn’t he? Wasn’t that sort of what she’d done?
He was looking at her in that way again, but now she didn’t welcome it. Now she wanted to hide.
“Is that why you moved?”
“No. Royce and his wife live in New York City. I only met him because he was filming a movie in California. I wasn’t . . . you know . . . running away from him or anything.” Although in a small sense she’d done just that. She refused to even glance at tabloids in the grocery store, she no longer watched shows that included entertainment news, and she rarely went to movies, and if she did, she made sure to show up after the previews had aired.
“Does Haddie know who her father is?”
“No, and now I have to swear you to secrecy, because . . . lawsuits and all. If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”
His eyes softened. “Scarlett, your secret’s safe with me.” He watched her for another minute before saying, “I should go.”
“Right. Yeah, of course. I should try to get some sleep anyway before . . .” She nodded back to the sleeping baby bird.
Camden stood, picking up their glasses and placing them next to the sink. Scarlett headed out of the kitchen toward the front foyer and he followed. When she got to the door, he was suddenly right next to her. Her breath stuttered and she looked up at him. He was so close, and though it was dim in the foyer, the flickering light of the gas lamps picked up the lightness of his eyes, mesmerizing her. Her gaze washed over his features, the perfect combination of hard and soft. She took in the rigid set of his jaw, and the fullness of his lower lip, the sharp line of his cheekbone, and the velvet fringe of his lashes. His eyes went to her mouth and for a heartbeat she swore he was going to lean in and kiss her. Her pulse jumped, her ribs tingling. She wanted it, his lips on hers. Instead, he took a small step back, though his gaze didn’t waver. “You won’t be able to let him go,” he said.
“What?” The word was barely breath.
“The nestling. He’s at the stage where he’ll imprint on you if you care for him.”
“Imprint?”
“Consider you his.”
She broke eye contact, her gaze sliding away from his intense stare. “Oh,” she murmured. “Should
I—?”
“There’s nothing to do about it. It’s just nature. He can’t control it any more than you can.”
Their gazes tangled. Just nature . . . She’d thought something similar earlier, about the chemistry that sizzled in the air between them. Just nature. Indeed. “So . . . he’ll be mine forever?” she asked.
He paused a beat, his gaze narrowing very slightly. She got the odd sense that something akin to anger stirred within him. They were communicating with each other in a language she didn’t fully recognize, the uttered words barely scratching the surface. “Is anything forever, Scarlett?” His hand covered hers on the doorknob and at the feel of his warm, rough palm, she pulled away, swaying slightly now that she had nothing to hold on to. Apparently, the question was rhetorical because without waiting for her answer, he turned the knob and walked out into the night.
Scarlett engaged the lock quickly and leaned back against the door. She brought her hand to her heart, feeling its steady beat under her palm. She startled at the sudden high-pitched chirping but then let out a slow, steady breath, grateful for the distraction from her chaotic emotions.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Haddie stepped gingerly through the grass, dropping the last of her Skittles as she made it to the far side of the shed. She had collected the bag left near their front door when her mommy had gone inside with the baby bird, and there had still been a few handfuls of candy left. She scooted around the small, wood structure, moving quickly to the other side, before pressing her body against the rough, splintery wood.
Overhead, the sky was alight with stars. She needed to get back inside as quickly as possible before Mommy noticed she wasn’t in her room playing on her iPad anymore.
Her heart gave a jump when she heard the soft crunch of grass. The thing was nearby, just at the edge of the woods behind the old structure where she stood. Haddie closed her eyes, trying again to feel its weight and letting out a frustrated gust of air when she, again, sensed nothing at all.
