Chapter Seven

Cam straightened the silverware on the white tablecloth for the third time, smiling coolly at the couple at the table next to his and trying to pretend he wasn’t as nervous as he’d been when he took Tiffany Williams to the movies when he was fifteen.

Rachel had texted him that morning, asking him to meet her for lunch. Which had to be a positive sign. The last time he’d seen her she’d been spitting fire and telling him to leave the past in the past, but if she wanted to see him now without even the pretext of something to do with the fundraiser, she must have changed her mind—or at least softened toward him a little.

He glanced around the restaurant she’d picked. Classy. Elegant. Not the kind of place you took someone to have a fight. She must be ready to talk. And hopefully ready to listen. They needed to clear the air if they were going to have any hope of moving forward. And he really wanted to move forward.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her last night after he left his sister’s place. He’d rationalized that maybe it was just pride. Maybe this obsession was born out of the fact that she’d walked away, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt like a second chance at something he never should have let slip through his fingers.

He’d been more upset to lose Rachel—a woman he’d known only three weeks—than he had by the combustion of his marriage. He’d told himself at the time that it was only because it took him so off-guard, whereas his divorce had been something they’d been building toward for years, so by the time they agreed to call it quits it was more relief than trauma. But now he wasn’t so sure. He seemed to have an unexplored romantic streak because he couldn’t stop thinking that running into her again like this was fate.

A throat cleared. “Cam.”

She looked stunning, her hair smoothed back into a sleek knot, a blue and green print dress hugging her curves. As composed as always—as long as he didn’t notice the strained eyes, tight mouth, and her hands clenched on the purse she held at her waist. Terrified. That’s how she looked. Gorgeous and scared out of her friggin’ mind. Was the idea of lunch with him really so horrifying?

Cam stood, shoving back his chair. “I was glad to hear from you.”

“Well. There are some things we need to discuss.”

“Absolutely.” Thank God. He started to come around the table to hold her chair, but she was already sliding onto the cushion so he returned to his seat. She reached for her water glass, downing half of it—and his spidey-senses twitched. These were not normal nerves. “Is everything all right?”

He started to reach across the table for her hand, but she quickly tucked hers in her lap, her gaze everywhere but on him. Okay, something’s up. “Rachel?”

“I should have told you before.” Her gaze flicked to the table next to them where the couple was completely ignoring them, but her face flamed as if they were eavesdropping. “I didn’t think it would be this crowded.”

Cam’s eyebrows bounced up. The restaurant was half empty, the table on their other side unoccupied, but Rachel clearly wanted privacy. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? “We can go someplace else.”

“No, this is good. It’s close to…” Her voice trailed off, and for the first time since she’d arrived at the table she met his eyes. “I almost told you by text, but my grandmother said she would disown me if I did.”

Told you by text. Echoes of two years ago played in his brain. She’d dumped him by text. Was that what this was? She didn’t want him on the Bachelor Auction anymore? She was taking herself off of it because she couldn’t stand to be around him? Here he’d been thinking they were clearing the air so they could move forward—was she getting ready to pull the plug?

Cam’s hand curled into a fist, but he kept his face devoid of expression.

“I have a daughter.”

The words fell in between them and Cam’s fist uncurled as surprise made his jaw slack. “What?”

That was the last thing he’d been expecting, but it explained a lot. Why she’d never taken him to her place. Why she’d broken up with him so suddenly.

If she’d been a single mom, worried about introducing him to her daughter, worried about bringing a strange man into her daughter’s life and then she’d found out he was married of course she would run without a backward glance.

Relief washed through his chest. Why hadn’t she told him before? Had she thought he wouldn’t want her when he found out she had a kid? He loved kids. He wanted kids. He actually liked the idea of a woman who already had one, but he wasn’t sure they’d ever talked about that kind of thing during their whirlwind three weeks together. It all made sense. Cam felt his lips start to curl. This was good—

“Her name is Sofie and she’s eighteen months old.”

He blinked. That was younger than he’d thought. She must have been—

His mind went blank as the significance of the math thundered through him. Eighteen months, plus nine months…

September.

He knew before she said the words.

“She’s yours.”

* * * * *

Cam didn’t look like he was taking it well.

Though she wasn’t sure how she’d expected him to take it. Pure, glazed, unvarnished shock wasn’t the best response, but it wasn’t the worst either.

“We have a child,” he said finally, his deep voice deceptively calm.

“A daughter. Sofia.”

“Where is she?” His gaze flicked around the restaurant as if Sofie might jump out from beneath a table and yell surprise.

“I didn’t bring her.”

Cam’s eyes locked on hers, his gaze darkening as his jaw clenched. “You didn’t trust me.”

It was a statement, not a question, but she explained anyway. “I didn’t know how you would react. I have pictures.” She scrambled for her phone, fumbling it out of her purse.

“What did you think I would do?” He shook his head sharply. “Don’t answer that.”

“I have to think of her first.” She could see his anger building and the situation slipping farther and farther from her grasp. As a peace offering, she pulled up her lock screen—an image of Sofie at the playground—and turned her phone toward him. His eyes locked on the image, something in his expression going still as she whispered, “I thought you might be upset—”

“Because you kept her from me for two years?”

His voice seemed to echo and Rachel glanced nervously at the table beside them—the couple there had been ignoring them earlier, but they definitely had their attention now. She pitched her own voice low. “You were married.”

“So that justified it.” He tore his gaze off the phone and his grey eyes seemed nearly black as they met hers. “Would you ever have told me, if we hadn’t run into each other yesterday?”

She opened her mouth, but there weren’t any words to make this better. Because she might not have. She might have left him in ignorance for his entire life. Or at least until Sofie was old enough to make her own choice whether or not her father was in her life. The screen in her hands went dark.

“I have to think of Sofie,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “I want her to have everything I never did.”

“Like a father?”

She flinched.

They’d never fought before—in the dizzy first flush of those three weeks everything had been perfect and then she’d broken things off without giving him the option. She was unprepared for him to lash out like a wounded bear—and unprepared for him to know exactly which barbs to throw at her. Suddenly she wished he didn’t know her so well. That she hadn’t been so open with him about her past back then. That she hadn’t trusted him so much. He knew everything.

She met his eyes, her skin cold and her face calm. “I hate that I was honest with you when you were lying to me.”

“I wasn’t lying,” he growled, leaning across the table. “I was waiting for the right moment, trying to find a way to tell you in a way you’d understand.”

“Then you should be able to understand why I didn’t tell you about Sofie.”

“You were just waiting for the right moment?” He rocked back in his chair, sarcasm heavy in his voice. He shook his head, disgusted. “I had a right to know.”

“Why?” she demanded, defensiveness that he was right making her voice sharp. “Because you provided the genetic material?”

“We were more than that.”

“Were we? I can’t remember.”

Except she could. Even having all those memories tainted by the belief that he’d cast her as his mistress hadn’t completely erased them. She remembered what it felt like when they’d been together. The possibility. The hope. The rightness of it.

Cam was staring down at the table cloth, his hands flat on the table, breathing slowly in and out like he was trying to force himself to calm. He had a level-headed reputation. The catcher who could calm down any pitcher and stop a bench-clearing brawl before it could start. That reputation was being put to the test today.

Finally he looked up, a man wearing his calm like an ill-fitting Halloween mask. His gaze flicked down to the darkened phone. “Can I meet her?”

Rachel’s stomach dipped and swung. She’d been expecting those words, but still they caught her right in the gut. “Of course.” She swallowed down her nerves, clenching both hands around her phone. “That’s why I picked this place. It’s close to my apartment. We can go there after we eat.”

“Let’s go now.” He shoved back his chair, already pulling a twenty from his wallet and dropping it on the white tablecloth even though they hadn’t ordered anything.

She wanted to argue, to delay, to come up with some excuse—but there wasn’t any. Cam wanted to meet his daughter. However he felt right now, she knew he would never hurt Sofie—and he wasn’t likely to calm down and enjoy a pleasant lunch with Rachel before he saw her.

She pushed back her chair. “You can follow me in your car.”

* * * * *

He had a daughter. A daughter. The words kept repeating inside him, like they were rewriting his DNA with the new knowledge that he was a father.

Cam flexed his hands on the steering wheel and concentrated on following Rachel’s car down the quiet city streets. Not too close—he didn’t want her to accuse him of tailgating—but close enough that no other cars could get between them. On his way to meet his daughter.

He’d always wanted to be a dad.

Well. Maybe not always. He hadn’t really given it much thought until the last few years when it had become a point of contention with Erika and he’d realized it wasn’t something he was willing to give up on. He loved his nieces and nephews, loved being the fun uncle, but he also wanted more. He wanted the whole shebang—first steps, dirty diapers, skinned knees. He wanted to be the one they ran to when they were upset. He wanted to be the one to put the fear of God into any potential boyfriends so they wouldn’t dream of hurting his baby.

He wanted that. And it was hard not to be pissed at Rachel for depriving him of the time he could have already spent with his daughter. Sofia. He hadn’t even gotten to name her. Or even consult on the name.

He knew Rachel had been upset when she thought he was married and he understood that, but how could she not tell him? That didn’t even seem to be on the same scale. This was his child.

They pulled into the parking lot of a modest, low-rise apartment complex and Cam followed Rachel to the lot alongside one of the buildings. He shut off the engine and closed his eyes, pulling hard on his calm. No matter how he felt about Rachel right now—and he had several choice words he would undoubtedly be sharing with her later—his daughter wasn’t part of that. He needed to make the best possible first impression. Even if she might not remember this, he would remember it for the rest of his life.

He opened his eyes and stepped out of the car. Rachel was waiting for him on the sidewalk. She didn’t say a word, turning toward the exterior staircase as he fell into step behind her.

It had warmed up overnight and yesterday’s snow was already melting, dripping off the eaves in a steady rhythm that seemed unnaturally loud, as did their footsteps as they clomped up the stairs. Her keys jingled as she unlocked the door and she called out, “Yaya, we’re here,” as she pushed it open—

And then he was stepping into the apartment, looking around, his eyes landing on his child. His daughter.

She stood on pudgy legs in the middle of a cordoned off play area, clutching an oversized Elmo stuffed animal in one arm and an empty Kleenex box in the other. He’d seen the picture, but somehow hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it. She hadn’t been real until this moment, and he realized as he stood there that she was bigger than he’d expected. Taller. With more curly dark hair flying in every direction. There was an older woman in the room as well, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the baby long enough to greet her. His daughter lifted her soft baby face toward the door, instantly dropping both items she held and thrusting her arms into the air. “Mama! Up!”

“Hi, sweet girl.” Rachel set down her bag and walked to the play area.

“Up!” The toddler demanded again, arms thrust imperiously upward, and Rachel reached over the barrier surrounding the play area and lifted her into her arms.

Mother and child turned toward him. And suddenly he couldn’t breathe.