by Mia Faye
And for what? I hadn’t even met the daughter this was all supposed to be for.
The only positive was the money, which Tyler was hopefully putting to good use. But beyond that, the teensy plus I had imagined would make it all worth it, that time spent with Cam, no longer seemed worth the hassle.
I requested an Uber and waited for it at the store window. I looked around, but my stalker seemed to have vanished. I wasn’t convinced, though. I knew he was somewhere, waiting for me to emerge. No doubt, he would get in a cab himself and follow me.
I kept looking through the back window, trying to figure out which car he could be in. I knew I wasn’t in danger, but I still felt on edge, and I finally understood what Cam had meant. Just the feeling of being under a microscope, that knowledge that I was being followed and monitored… it was incredibly unsettling.
When we arrived, I got out of the car, still distracted, still looking over my shoulder. I was so distracted I didn’t immediately realize I was headed in the wrong direction. I walked all the way to the entrance to my own apartment before it hit me. Damn it.
I pretended to pull out my phone, look keenly at it, and then swivel, ever so slowly, away from the building and set off in the opposite direction. I doubted anyone watching me would be fooled. That was all the evidence they would need if they were; she doesn’t even know where she’s supposed to be living.
I made my way to Cam’s building and got into the elevator. Only then could I breathe freely. I let out a sigh of relief, and I realized I had been balling up my fists. The nails on my fingers had dug into my palms, leaving red groves in the skin. A thin sheen of sweat dotted my forehead.
Breathe, Yvette.
I rushed to Cam’s apartment, retrieving the spare key from the flowerpot, where I knew it would be, and letting myself in. The smell of his house hit me right in the face. I looked around, and it took me a second to understand why I felt so calm, why the fright that had been with me the whole ride here was suddenly ebbing away. I felt safe. In the space of only a week, this place had somehow started to feel like home.
Chapter 21
Yvette
One of my favorite things about Cam’s house was the kitchen, which was wonderful to cook in, but especially the refrigerator. It was always stocked with an assortment of things. Prime cuts, vegetables, simple do-it-yourself meals. It was perfect for a bachelor who didn’t have time for complicated recipes. And, factoring in the fifty or so take-out menus Cam had lying around, it meant there were always several options whenever one got hungry.
Or when they walked into the house unexpectedly after being chased by a stranger in a suit and decided they might as well make dinner.
I stood in front of that freezer for almost ten minutes, going back and forth over the alternatives. Chicken again? Steak? Something vegan? Or I could bake. It had been a while since I did, and it would be the perfect activity to take my mind off things. But I dropped the idea as soon as I thought of it. The baking equipment I had borrowed from Cam was still at my house. So, I settled for a simple dish I could make in minutes: spaghetti and meatballs.
I was setting up the counter, readying myself to cook, when I heard a soft knock on the door. Not the doorbell, as one would expect, but a dull, almost timid little rap, which I only heard because the house was eerily quiet.
My heart stopped for a second. My first thought was that it was the man in the dark suit, that he wasn’t a private investigator after all, but a serial killer who had tracked me all the way to the house and was now going to kill me. It sounded ridiculous, even in my own head, but it didn’t stop the brief hitch in my breathing, and when I went to answer the door, I paused, grabbed one of the knives from the rack, and held it behind my back.
I peered cautiously through the peephole. I saw nothing at first, which only heightened my concern. But just as I was about to dismiss it and turn back, I saw a flash of movement just below my field of vision, and I looked further down to see a mop of straw-colored hair. Intrigued, I swung the door open. My eyes traveled downward, and I was looking at a small, cute girl.
“Hello,” she said beaming. She had a couple of teeth missing, and it made her twice as adorable. She had an air of grace about her, a certain poise that was definitely beyond her years, and a sharp intelligence behind her hazel eyes.
“Hi,” I said, smiling back at her. I almost reached out to shake her hand, then remembered I was clutching a knife behind my back.
“I’m looking for my dad,” she said. Her voice was high-pitched but strangely melodious.
“Oh!” I said, the shoe finally dropping. I should have picked it up right away. The hair and eyes were totally her mother’s, but the easy charm and friendliness were all Cam. She had his confidence, too, in the way she spoke and carried herself.
“You must be Emma,” I said. “Come on in!”
I stepped aside, and she skipped past me into the house. I closed the door, then dropped the knife surreptitiously into the nearest flower pot.
Emma waltzed in, dropped her bag on the couch, and threw herself on it.
I grinned and went up to her.“Don’t you wanna know who I am?” I asked her, sitting across from her.
“You’re daddy’s girlfriend,” Emma said, matter-of-factly.
“Who told you that?” I asked her.
“No one told me,” Emma said. There was a hint of pride in her voice. “I heard Mom talk about it with Mike.”
That could not have been a good conversation. I was tempted for a moment to ask Emma what her mom had said about me. But knowing Vicki, it was probably best to leave it to the imagination.
“I’m Yvette,” I said. “But my friends call me Vee.”
“Can I call you Vee?” Emma asked, all sweet and adorable.
“Of course you can,” I told her. “And you know why? We’re going to be best friends.”
She smiled, a brief flash of pearly white teeth.
“Did you just come from school?” I asked her.
Emma nodded, but I noticed she averted her eyes. Her eyes went past me and into the kitchen, and I realized she must be hungry.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was just about to start cooking. I can make you a sandwich while we wait?”
“Ooh, can I watch?”
“Of course you can.”
She hopped off the couch and skipped after me into the kitchen. I walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out an avocado, onions, tomatoes, and a pack of ham. I grabbed the bread from the counter and pooled all the ingredients there as well.
Emma pulled out a stool and mounted it. She was watching me so intently, her eyes wide as I buttered single slices of bread. She offered to dice the onions and tomatoes for me, but I shook my head. I worked fast; the first layer was avocado and onions, the second mayonnaise and ham and tomatoes on the third. It was a simple sandwich, but I was suddenly feeling immense pressure not to disappoint her. As a child in middle school, I was suddenly desperate for her to like me.
I pushed the plate over to her and smiled.
She grabbed the sandwich and took a bite. Her eyes lit up, and she took another big bite. A rare flush of pleasure washed over me. She didn’t say anything else until she was done eating. And she ate quickly; within moments, she was brushing crumbs off her face and beaming up at me.
“Another one?” I asked her, but she shook her head.
“Do you know when Daddy will be back?” she asked instead. There was something about the way she looked over her shoulder that put me on alert. I didn’t know what, but something wasn’t right.
“Emma? Is there something you want to tell me?”
She shook her head a little too hard, and her eyes popped. I had not been around kids much, but I knew guilt when I saw it. “Are you sure?” I asked her. I leaned in so I could look into her eyes. She looked back for only a second, and then what little resolve she had crumbled, and she blinked and buried her head in her hands.
“I want to speak to Dadd
y,” she said through her fingers. Her voice was heavy, and she suddenly sounded distressed.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, patting her gently on the shoulder.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed Cam as I walked out of the room. The phone rang a few times before I remembered that Cam had told me he was heading into a meeting. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to answer the call. But just before I hung up, Cam’s voice filtered through, urgent and slightly panicked.
“Yvette? Are you okay? Did you get home?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Cam, thanks.” I glanced once over my shoulder, then decided to walk further down the hallway. “Emma is here,” I said simply.
“What?”
“She just showed up at the door, asking for you.”
“My daughter Emma?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she okay? Did something happen?”
“That’s just it. She looks fine, but something seems off about her. I mean, as best I can tell, having just met her.”
“She’s supposed to be at music practice right now,” Cam said, and now the concern in his voice was audible.
“I think you should speak to her.”
“Okay.”
I turned and speed-walked back to the kitchen. Emma’s eyes looked slightly moist when I handed the phone over to her. I thought about it for a moment, then I backed up and went to stand in the living room. It felt like I would have been intruding on a private moment.
“Daddy?” I heard her say, all sweet and innocent, and I felt a stab of affection for her. I wanted to just go up to her and wrap her in a hug.
I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but random words floated over to me, and I could tell from the increasing pitch in Emma’s voice that Cam wasn’t very happy with her. And he was letting her know it.
A little over a minute later, I felt a gentle tug on my leg, and Emma was looking up to me, handing me back the phone.
“Hello? Cam?”
I gave her another little smile, then peeled away and back down the hallway.
“So, it looks like she ran away from home,” Cam said.
“What?”
“Yup. She is supposed to be going for her music lessons. Her mother usually has her picked up from school and dropped off at her teacher’s home, but today, she talked the driver into taking her to my place instead.”
“But why?” I asked, impressed at her resourcefulness despite her age. “Why would she do that?”
“It’s a long story,” Cam said. “But I know she didn’t want to go to music classes at all. Vicki made her, and she’s been resisting it ever since. I guess this is her being rebellious, ten years too soon. Anyway. I hate to ask, but do you think you could take her home? I’ll text you the address. I don’t want Vicki coming back home and thinking I took her from class again.”
“Uh, are you sure about that?”
“There’s not much of a choice, Yvette. I’m kind of in the middle of something, and even if I leave right now, I won’t make it home in time to get her and still drive her home. Not before Vicki gets home from work.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll text you the address just now.”
The line went dead.
I walked back to the kitchen slowly, my mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, I understood Cam’s concern about Vicki finding out Emma wasn’t where she was supposed to be. I could just imagine the kind of fuss she would kick up, and what it would mean for their battle for custody of Emma. A battle that was so far happening under the surface, but the tensions were definitely rising, and I had no doubt they would spill over pretty soon. This was just the kind of thing that could push them over the edge.
But on the other hand, there was Emma. As little time as I had spent with her, I could already tell she was willful and vibrant. Smart, self-reliant, and naturally happy. I hated to think she was being forced to do something she didn’t want. I wasn’t a parent, obviously, but it seemed kinda cruel to pack her up and send her right back to Vicki when she clearly felt the way she did.
There was a hidden dimension to all this, too. One I wasn’t sure Cam had even considered. Emma having run away was actually a good thing. It could help his case if the custody battle ever came to be. I was sure it wouldn’t look good to a judge that Emma had run away from her mom.
All of which meant I was torn when I walked back into the kitchen and looked into the beautiful little face of Emma.
“What did Daddy say?” she asked, her expression wary.
My phone vibrated. I glanced at it and saw the text from Cam. And then I met Emma’s eyes once more, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. “Do you know how to make a pie?” I asked her.
She didn’t get it at first. There was a brief hesitation, and then her features went from confused, to cautiously optimistic, and finally settled into reluctant glee.“I can stay?” she asked her smile wide.
“We’ll let your dad take you home when he gets back, okay?”
She nodded.
“But don’t do that to him again. He was really worried about you, and he already has a lot on his plate at work.”
“I won’t.”She elbowed herself off the chair and came running up to me. The hug took me a bit by surprise.
Cooking with her turned out to be a lot of fun. She had this bubbly energy, and a genuine curiosity to learn. I decided the best way to teach her was to let her do it along with me. So, I created two sets of everything. Two sets of ingredients, two mixing bowls, two baking pans. She would watch me do something and then repeat it. We had a lot of fun, throwing things around, starting and escalating a mini food fight (which she won because she was surprisingly athletic), and, finally, sliding our pies into the oven.
I got to know her a bit better, too.
While stirring her bowl, she suddenly turned to me, all serious, and asked how I had gotten her father.
“What?” I sputtered, wondering if I had misheard her.
“You and Daddy,” she repeated. “How did you two become boyfriend and girlfriend?”
I couldn’t help smiling.“Why? Is there someone who wants you to be their girlfriend?”
“Yes. There’s a boy in my class, Harry. He always wants to sit with me at lunch. He brings me little gifts every day, and yesterday, he held my hand while we waited for his mom to come to pick him up.”
“Do you want him to do these things?”
“I guess…”
“Do you like him?”
Emma blushed.“A lot of the girls in my class say he’s cute, and one of them stopped speaking to me because Harry and I are always together.”
“Sounds pretty serious. Listen, Emma. You don’t have to do or be anything right now. You’re young; you have the rest of your life to find a boyfriend, okay? But you and Harry can be friends. That way, you don’t have to stop hanging out with him, and you don’t do anything you don’t want to.”
She nodded sagely. After that, she turned into an open book. She spilled all her secrets, from the teacher she hated in school, her mom’s persistence with vegan meals, and the stray cat she had befriended outside Mike’s car shop.
We were having so much fun I completely lost track of time. Suddenly, it was almost ten, and as we pulled the pies out of the oven, I heard the sound of the door opening and Cam calling out from the living room. I meant to ask Emma to wait in the kitchen while I went and spoke with her dad. But she was too fast for me. At the sound of his voice, she squealed and ran from the kitchen. I followed behind her, slightly anxious.
I heard Cam’s surprised exclamation. I saw him lift Emma and twirl her a bit as he hugged her. And I saw his eyes scan the room, find me, and narrow in confusion. And something close to anger.
Chapter 22
Cameron
The most annoying and simultaneously adorable thing about Emma was just how hard it was to be mad at her. She did this thing where sh
e nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and the warmth was too much for you to stay mad. Or she turned on the charm, widened her eyes, and dropped her voice by an octave, so that you were smiling despite yourself, and returning her hug, and you couldn’t remember why you had been made in the first place.
It was much easier, however, to be mad at Yvette. Especially when she looked guilty herself and made no efforts to hide it. But I would deal with her later.
“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” I asked Emma, putting her down.
“Vee and I were making pies!” Emma said excitedly. “Come on; I’ll show you.”
She grabbed my hand and tugged as hard as she could, turning and walking in the direction of the kitchen. I gave Yvette a withering look as I walked past her, but the comment that rose to the tip of my tongue died when I saw what had become of my kitchen. Either a tornado had blown through, or it had recently been the scene of a shootout. Everything was everywhere. Food on the floor and counters. Dishes everywhere. But there was also a pleasant scent hanging in the air, of baking and chocolate.
“Come on!” Emma prompted again. She pulled me to the counter and patted the nearest chair. I smiled reluctantly, then settled in. Emma called Yvette over and pointed at the pies.
“Mine first!” she declared, and the pride in her voice was unmistakable.
Yvette grabbed a fork and dug into the smaller of the two pies on the counter. She carved out a piece and served it on a saucer, then pushed it over to me. It was almost comical, the way they were both staring at me expectantly like they were contestants in a competitive cooking show, and I was just about to send one of them home.
I took a forkful of the pie and chewed slowly, tentatively. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but it was much better than that. Sweet and tasty and fluffy, it almost melted in my mouth.