That night, as I took Daphne through dinner, bath time, and finally her bedtime routine, I savored every second of her sweet voice telling me all about the newest daycare drama and how excited she was to see her grandparents in the next few days. I appreciated every freckle on her little face, how much she resembled me. I held her as she fell asleep, harkening back to days when she was smaller, the days when I had no worries that she’d be anyone’s but mine.
Things were going to change. Had already changed. But I didn’t have to break this news to Cade, to any of the guys, until I was ready. If I ever was.
22
GAVIN
“Sir, with all due respect, this would be much easier to accomplish, logistically, if you were back in LA.”
This was roughly the eighth time this had been said, in so many words, since I’d gotten on this video call with some of my subordinates at Ratliff Records. It wasn’t an urgent meeting, nothing was on fire, but my employees clearly wanted me back in the office. Wanted my little side quest in Allie’s town to wrap up sooner rather than later.
It was nice to know they liked me enough to activelywantthe boss to come back from vacation.
Not that I’d been vacationing, really. Everything I could do out of the office had been getting itself done on my phone or my smart watch or my laptop, all of which I’d had pretty much attached to me constantly at the beach rental. I’d never really known how to take a vacation, having learned at my workaholic father’s feet from a young age. Dad always made time for me, for my two younger siblings beforeandafter they’d each moved out of California to pursue their own non-business-related dreams, but that didn’t mean we didn’t sometimes feel jealous of the record company taking up the majority of his valuable time.Mom certainly had a hard time with it, especially when we were younger.
I was certainly repeating the pattern. And yet here I was, making time for my almost-wife and maybe-childwhileworking. Dear old Dad would be proud of my efficiency, I figured.
“I’ll be back in town soon,” I reassured my Ratliff Records crew, keeping my ETA to myself, in part because I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d just realized that I had no more reason to stay here now that we’d figured out who Allie was married to. Sure, we were still waiting for the verdict regarding Daphne, but there was no reason I couldn’t get that news back in the city. Back into the rhythm of my regular life.
Then why did I still feel like Iwantedto be here, in this small, unassuming town that was nothing like the big city I called home? Like I had some kind of unfinished business? Was I haunting Allie now like some kind of horny poltergeist? Jesus, I’d never been this way with any of the women I’d slept with in the past. Not even close. What was so goddamn special about Allie Tate? Her perfect body? Her adorable face with a smile that was tailor-made to charm the masses? The fiery personality that matched her fiery hair?
And of course, then there was her voice.
Stop this immediately, Gavin. You’re acting like a lovesick fool.
I was rattled by that thought as I made an excuse to get off my business call, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Sure, there was plenty about the Allie situation that was pretty unique in the broader context of my love life. The marriage scare, for one. The potential added complication of Daphne, who kept coming back to mind even when I tried hard not to think of her. The way my friends and I had fucked Allie together in Vegas all those years ago, our group efforts to gether off heightening the experience for all of us by driving her completely wild.
And now Cade and I had shared her again, the whole experience just as erotic and twice as intimate as it had been back then. Or at least it seemed that way with the feeling of her clenching around me still fresh in my memory, not faded by years of separation and distorted fantasies.
But no matter how much logic tried to tell me that Allie Tate was just another woman, that I was as detached from her as I was to everyone I’d slept with since my father died and my ability to care had died with him, there was a heavy feeling in my gut at the thought of leaving town. Never seeing her again.
That did it. No more hemming and hawing like a little bitch, even just inside my own head. I’d stay a while longer in Allie’s town with its subpar restaurants and lack of nightlife and nothing special in it besides the Tate women—but only until we knew if the younger of them was my kid. Then, it was back to LA. No matter how unpleasant it sounded, having a deadline for when I’d leave Allie behind for good was the way to go.
I had a life—and more importantly, a business—to get back to.
23
ALLIE
Kara and Brandon’s apartment was chaos in the best way—a swirl of vibrant throw pillows and thrifted blankets, a funky beaded curtain separating the kitchen from the living room, and fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling. It was a boho Etsy-addict’s dream, and though it wasn’t the style I would have picked for my own place—I tended more toward basic Target-coded interiors—I loved hanging out here. Daphne did too, which was why she’d tagged along for this edition of our traditional girls’ night (plus Brandon).
I plopped down onto a fuzzy floor cushion next to a couple of our other friends, Jennifer and Regina, holding a sad-looking mason jar in one hand and a bottle of glitter glue in the other. Kara bounced over with a tray of boozy seltzers, handing them out like a chipper hostess. Brandon, ever the honorary girl in the squad, flopped dramatically onto the couch, wearing a pink tiara he’d snagged from Kara’s seemingly bottomless craft bin atop his blond head.
“Alright, ladies,” Kara announced, and at the interruption of Brandon’s deliberate, cartoonishAhem,she tacked on, “andgent.”
She rolled her eyes, then side-eyed her roommate as if to get permission to continue. Brandon gave a short, snooty nod that made me laugh.
“Tonight,” Kara said with a flourish, “we turn trash into treasure.”
I snorted, squeezing a blob of glitter glue onto my jar in a way that immediately looked less aesthetically pleasing than the Pinterest examples we were looking at.
“I’m just aiming for vaguely less trashy,” I amended. “I’m a singer, not an artist. Daphne’s already got me beat on the craft skills.”
As if on cue, my little girl made a loud squeal sound from her comfy spot in Brandon’s bedroom. He had a Nintendo Switch and just about every game my kid was already begging me to buy for Christmas, and since Daphne was his “honorary niece,” Uncle Brandon had no problem setting her up with video games and a cozy blanket to occupy her while the grown-ups hung out in the living room.
“You alright, baby?” I called back to my girl, and at her enthusiastic half laugh of an answer—something that sounded like “I’m winning!” backed by familiar Mario music—I settled back into my cushion.
