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 alcohol 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.