Chapter 27
27
T he guy eased out of the driver’s side door and leaned against the side of his glossy black pickup, the kind of truck that never saw a dirt road, let alone a hard day’s work. His arms were crossed over his chest, and one boot was propped against the tire, the perfect picture of ease, like he had all the time in the world.
Sunlight caught the expensive watch peeking from beneath the cuff of his tailored jacket—a brand most kids his age wouldn’t even recognize, let alone afford. His blond hair was expertly tousled, just enough to look effortless, and his smirk deepened as he watched them approach.
“Well, well,” he drawled, pushing off the truck with a lazy grace. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me, Camille.” His eyes flicked briefly to Lila, full of casual assessment, then back to Camille, as if her mother didn’t exist. “That’s no way to treat a guy who’s got a vested interest, now is it?”
Camille crossed her arms, glaring. “How’d you find me?”
“Wasn’t hard. All it took was a couple of casual questions, and this town was more than willing to serve up the answers.”
A tense beat passed before Camille huffed, clearly unimpressed. Shifting gears, she gestured between them. “Mom, this is Blaine Newcomb.” She turned back to him, her tone flat. “This is my mom.”
“Well, hello Camille’s mom.” He extended a hand. “I’m Senator Newcomb’s son.”
His tone was smooth, just shy of condescending, the kind of confidence that came from knowing his last name carried weight—at least in some circles in this state.
“Speaking of moms, mine is sitting at a bar and grill in town. She wants to talk with you, Camille.”
Was he…smirking?
Lila barely hid her scowl. “That would be the Rustic Pine. Pete and Annie Cumberland are the owners. Friends of ours.” She wasn’t sure why she was rambling.
Blaine shrugged, like none of this was particularly important to him, but the way he watched Camille told a different story. “Yeah, Rustic Pine. That’s the one.” His gaze lingered on her, his smirk fading into a look of expectation. “She’s waiting for you.”
Camille shifted beside Lila, her shoulders tense. “I…I don’t know if now is a good time.”
Blaine sighed through his nose, like he was already tired of this conversation. “Cami, come on. She just wants to talk. You can’t keep hiding from this…situation.” His voice was smooth, even, but beneath the polished exterior was an unmistakable edge as his gaze dropped to her slightly swollen belly.
Lila’s gaze darted to her daughter, catching the flicker of hesitation in her expression and something else—reluctance, maybe even shame.
Lila’s stomach tightened. Understanding was now dawning.
Blaine opened the truck door like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go. We’ll take my truck.”
Camille didn’t move. “I’ll ride with my mom.”
Blaine grabbed her arm, then immediately released it.
For the briefest second, something dark flashed in Blaine’s eyes, but he masked it quickly, his smirk sliding back into place. “Suit yourself,” he said, stepping back. But the way he watched Camille, as if waiting for her to change her mind, made Lila’s unease settle deeper.
Camille turned away first, walking toward Lila’s SUV with deliberate steps. Lila followed, her pulse ticking a little faster than before.
She didn’t know the full story yet, but one thing was certain—Camille and this boy might have created a life together, but there was no warmth between them. Lila recognized his type instantly—entitled, self-assured, the kind of young man who expected the world, and the people in it, to fall in line.
He clearly thought her daughter would be no different.
But he was wrong.
Lila had spent years raising Camille to stand strong, and she sure as heavens wasn’t going to let some cocky rich kid try to steer her now.