Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
TALLY
But I swallowed it back. Even when he announced he'd made chicken parm—MY WEAKNESS—from absolute scratch.
Even when he poured me sparkling apple juice in an actual wine glass like I was some kind of queen.
I inhaled that food like a death row inmate getting her last meal.
Jesus Christ, his sauce should be illegal—fresh tomatoes he boils and peels himself, simmering all day like he's channeling some ancient Sicilian grandmother.
Which technically he is—his mom was Sicilian, though somehow blonde while the rest of her family looked straight out of a Roman fresco.
It took superhuman restraint not to climb him like a fucking tree right there at the dinner table.
To not rip his clothes off and ride him until neither of us could walk straight.
But I CAN'T. We're "platonic roommates" now.
The second we cross that line, my brain will short-circuit, convince me this is real, and I'll bolt so fast I'll leave a me-shaped hole in the wall.
The ONLY way this works is if I mentally file him under "Geoffrey from college"—strictly roommate territory. Nothing more.
Tonight, I finally get to see my girls. First night out since Brinley popped into the world and strapped me to the house like some kind of adorable ball and chain.
Celeste and Olivia have visited, sure, but there's a difference between them coming over while I'm trapped in mom-mode versus me strutting into our Venice Beach hangout as just Tally again.
And holy shit, do I feel amazing. Cameron's been on night duty for five days straight. After hibernating for a full twenty-four hours that first night, I've been sleeping like the dead every night since. Eight nightly uninterrupted hours will make you feel superhuman after months of zombie-mode.
That prescription for the baby blues must be working too, because I've finally had that moment everyone talks about—that lightning bolt of pure, overwhelming love for my daughter.
I'm not just seeing a tiny screaming machine anymore; I'm seeing this perfect little person.
She's actually a good baby when she's not demanding food or diaper changes (which, yeah, still happens two or three times a night, poor Cameron).
The rest of the time she just lies there, making those little baby noises, waving her tiny fists and kicking her feet.
And that smile—fuck me—when her whole face lights up, it's like staring into the sun.
I pull up to The Sea Glass, our beach-side watering hole, and spot the girls at one of the outdoor tables. After a round of hugs, they all just stare at me.
"What?" I ask, patting my face. "Do I have spit-up on me somewhere?"
Celeste tilts her head. "No, it's just... you're glowing. Like, actual new-mom glowing."
I snort. "Trust me, a week ago I was the poster child for sleep deprivation.
My skin was this special shade of greige—you know, when you're so tired you're both grey and beige?
But Cam moving in has been a game-changer.
Five days of actual sleep has done more for me than all the fancy serums in the world.
I've slept more this week than I did during Brinley's entire first two months combined. "
Celeste's hands fly up in a T-shape. "Hold up. Cam moved in? With you?"
I nod. "Yeah, but we've got rules."
"Rules?"
"Boundaries. We're not a couple. No hooking up, no cuddling, nothing like that."
Celeste gapes at me like I just announced I'm giving up oxygen. "You're kidding me. Why on earth?—"
"Girl," Olivia cuts in, waving her hand like she's overheating, "I cannot fathom how you resist climbing that man like a tree every damn day.
Especially when he's doing all those sexy domestic things—cooking dinner, folding laundry, handling diaper duty.
Sweet Jesus." She fans herself harder. "The first time I saw a man that fine changing my baby's diaper, I'd be dragging him to the bedroom before he could wash his hands. "
I exhale slowly. "Look, I know it sounds crazy.
But my head's a complete mess right now.
If we keep the physical things off the table, I can convince myself he's just some guy sharing rent.
" I let them process that ridiculous notion—Cameron Kensington, walking magazine cover, relegated to 'roommate.
' "Plus, I told him we're both free to date other people.
Not that I'm looking." I shake my head. "It's this weird primal thing—I'm only interested in him.
Like my body chemistry is locked onto the father of my baby.
His scent drives me wild while random guys do nothing. Pure biology. Can't fight nature."
I absorb the reality of our situation. Cameron could be with anyone.
So could I—at least in theory. But who am I kidding?
My eyes slide right past every other man on the street like they're invisible.
Meanwhile, there's Cameron, rocking Brinley to sleep while I get a full night's rest. There he is, drawing me a bath with just the right amount of bubbles, brewing coffee exactly how I like it, or cooking dinner without being asked.
There he is, bonding with my mother - a few days ago, I walked in to find him and Mom hunched over the chess board, his forehead creased in concentration as she studied him with grudging respect.
A day later, they were at the baby grand together, his fingers following hers across a haunting melody she'd written years ago.
Every damn time he does these things—these perfectly Cameron things—I have to physically restrain myself from dragging him to bed and keeping him there for days. Instead, I swallow hard and look away.
Celeste shakes her head. "You're playing with fire. You're telling Cameron that he can date anybody he wants? And what if he takes you up on it?"
My stomach knots at the image of Cameron with someone else—his hand on another woman's back, that smile directed at her instead of me. I dig my fingernails into my palm.
"It's fair," I manage. "I can't give him what he needs.
The whole wife-and-mother package? That's not me.
I'd suffocate. With Cameron being nothing but a roommate, I can breathe because there's no pressure.
But he deserves someone who wants the whole deal, and I care enough to step aside if that happens. "
“Really?” Olivia asks. “Tal, would you really be okay if Cameron meets somebody else?”
I force a casual shrug, though my throat tightens.
"If Cameron meets his dream woman, I won't stand in his way.
Sure, I'll miss having him around—he's been amazing with everything.
But he wouldn't abandon us completely. He'd probably even help find a nanny to pick up the slack if he remarries somebody else.”
Celeste and Olivia just sit there, giving me those looks.
The ones that say they can see right through my bullshit.
And they're right. The thought of Cameron with another woman makes me want to punch something.
Or someone. But what choice do I have? He deserves to be happy, and I'm a walking disaster area.
I suck in air through my teeth, blinking back the hot sting behind my eyes.
Cameron kissing someone new. Cameron's hands on someone else's body.
Some faceless woman wearing his ring, carrying his baby.
Jesus. If that happens—when that happens—it'll gut me like a fish.
That's the kind of pain you don't come back from.
I raise my glass. "Listen, this meeting tonight was not supposed to be ‘the poor Tally’ show. Now come on, ladies, fill me in on all the gossip I've been missing since Brinley was born."
Olivia nearly spits out her wine. "Oh my God, you won't believe this bride I had last week. Demanded we serve sushi—at an outdoor wedding. In August."
I scrunch my nose. I love sushi, but it needs to be fresh. Sushi at an outdoor wedding in August. No. Just no.
“What about you, Celeste?” I ask.
Celeste scrolls through her phone, then holds it up to show me a photo. "Max took this of Violet at the beach house. And I just sold a series treatment to Netflix. I’ll be the showrunner!”
We all clink our glasses at that one. Celeste is so amazing. Just a few years ago, she was struggling to sell any of her screenplays. Now she’ll be developing a whole series!
"And Patricia?" I ask, my voice dropping.
Celeste's eyes light up. "Mom's scans came back clean again. Remember how gray she looked a few years ago? Now she's planning a cruise with Cameron and Max’s dad."
I nod, thinking about the experimental treatment Max paid for—the one her insurance wouldn't cover. The one that costs more than my yearly mortgage payments.
“So, give me the Hollywood dirt,” I say. This is our ritual - Celeste is a screenwriter and her hubby is a major movie studio CEO, so she knows it all.
Then Celeste lunges forward so abruptly her necklace clatters against the table, her voice dropping to a hiss.
"So Bryce Harrington? Complete nightmare on set.
Threw an actual tantrum—like, screaming, stomping, the works—because they gave him green M&Ms instead of blue ones.
Fired two PAs on the spot." She stabs her finger against her wineglass with each syllable.
"And Madeline Frost? God. She trapped my husband against a wall at the Vanity Fair party, practically frothing at the mouth about her 'revolutionary' skin care line until security had to intervene.
" Olivia and I lock eyes, electric with gossip-lust, then practically dive across the table, knocking over a saltshaker in our scramble to get closer.
Yes. This is the good shit. Just normal, everyday stuff. Coming home to my kid, but also knowing Cameron's got my back when I need a minute to breathe. Win-win-win situation right here.
Unless Cameron hooks up with someone. Then we're in uncharted territory.
But I'll dynamite that particular problem when it explodes in my face.