Chapter 28
28
L ila pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Rustic Pine, expecting the usual low hum of conversation and the clinking of beer glasses, but instead, silence greeted her. The bar, usually packed with locals, was nearly empty. The faint strains of a country song drifted from the jukebox, and the warm glow of the antler chandeliers cast long shadows across the polished wooden floor.
The scent of grilled meat and fried onions still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smokiness from the massive stone fireplace in the corner. A few empty glasses sat abandoned on tables, remnants of a lunch crowd that had long since cleared out. The only other sign of life in the place, besides Pete and Annie behind the bar, was Chet Olson, the town’s ever-reliable Amazon delivery man, who was hunched over a plate at the bar, cutting into a chicken-fried steak with singular focus.
Chet was a lanky man with a weathered face, a permanent cap of salt-and-pepper stubble, and a habit of talking to himself when he thought no one was listening. His faded blue uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as if he’d come straight from a long shift. He took a slow bite, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded to himself as if mentally rating the meal.
Annie, drying a glass with a dish towel, arched an eyebrow at him. “Good as always, Chet?”
Chet swallowed, then stabbed another piece with his fork. “Ain’t never had a bad one, Annie.” He took a sip of iced tea and glanced over as Lila and Camille walked in. “Ladies.”
Pastor Pete wiped his hands on a rag and grinned. “You’ve got the place to yourselves tonight. Everyone cleared out early.”
Lila nodded, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on a single occupied table in the farthest corner.
Blaine Newcomb and his mother—better known as the interminable Senator Claudia Newcomb, whose air of disapproval was so thick you could slice it with a steak knife.
She sat ramrod straight at a small table, her spine as unyielding as the high-backed chair she occupied. Everything about her screamed out of place—from her perfectly tailored cream-colored jacket and cashmere sweater to the way she held a martini glass between her delicate fingers, as if reluctant to let it touch her skin.
Her short, icy blonde hair was styled with precision, not a strand out of place, and her jewelry—nothing oversized or gaudy, just expensive—gleamed in the dim lighting. The expression on her face was impossible to miss—lips pressed into a thin, unamused line, nose slightly wrinkled, eyes scanning the room with the air of someone who had just stepped into a particularly distasteful situation.
Lila slowed her steps.
Claudia’s sharp gaze flicked toward them before settling on Lila. There was no warmth in her expression, no polite nod of acknowledgment—just a cool, assessing look, as if she were deciding whether to acknowledge their presence at all.
Lila swallowed the urge to react in some way. Instead, she lifted her chin and slid into an empty chair before introducing herself. “Hello, I’m Lila Bellamy. Camille’s mother.”
The woman stared back. “Claudia Newcomb— Senator Claudia Newcomb.” She turned to Camille. “You must be Camille.”
Camille nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
Blaine raised an arm and snapped his fingers, a sharp, impatient sound that cut through the low hum of conversation. Pete, standing behind the bar, caught the motion and hustled over, wiping his hands on a bar towel.
“What can I get you?” Pete asked, keeping his tone neutral despite the rude summons.
“Double cheeseburger—Swiss, no cheddar. And sweet pickles. No dill,” Blaine ordered, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.
Without a glance towards her, Blaine ordered for Camille. “She’ll have a salad with ranch on the side and a to-go container,” he said, then leaned back, smirking. “Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you want to get fat.”
Lila stilled. The casual cruelty in his voice made her stomach turn. She opened her mouth to respond, then thought better of it. It was unmistakable. This situation radiated risk. She didn’t want to add to her daughter’s predicament—a dilemma that was clarifying by the moment.
Camille’s face burned red, but she didn’t immediately respond. Across from her, Claudia lifted her martini glass to her lips, eyes glittering with approval.
Pete hesitated, his hand tightening around the order pad. His gaze flicked to Camille, waiting to see if she’d correct Blaine.
And Lord help her, despite her promise, Lila was about two seconds away from doing it for her.
Camille inhaled sharply, then straightened. “I’ll actually have a grilled chicken sandwich,” she said, voice steady. “And fries.”
Blaine’s jaw ticked. “Camille.”
“What?” She folded her arms, her chin lifting just slightly, just enough for Lila to see the spark of defiance underneath the careful control.
Blaine exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if she’d disappointed him. “Fine. But don’t complain later when your jeans don’t fit.”
Claudia chuckled softly, like this was all so amusing.
Pete jotted the order down and walked off without waiting for another word. Knowing Pastor Pete like she did, he was likely sending up a much-needed prayer.
Lila felt heat build under her collar, a familiar anger pressing in. She’d seen this before—the way some men disguised control as care, wrapped it in neat little packages of “concern” and “looking out for you.”
It wasn’t care. It was power.
Camille sat perfectly still for a long moment, her fingers white-knuckling the edge of the table. Then, slowly, she reached for her water, took a careful sip, and met Blaine’s gaze with a steadiness that made Lila’s chest tighten.
“You know what, Blaine?” Camille set the glass down, her voice quiet but unwavering. “You don’t have to worry about what I eat ever again.”
Blaine frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Camille reached for her purse, pushed back her chair, and stood. “It means I’m done.”
Lila’s breath caught.
Blaine blinked, as if the words didn’t register. “Camille?—?”
But she was already walking, her back straight, her steps sure, heading for the door with more confidence than Lila had ever seen her carry before.
For a second, the whole bar seemed to hold its breath.
Then Lila exhaled, a slow smile creeping up the corners of her mouth.
Atta girl.
Claudia lifted her martini glass, took a measured sip, and turned away as if the entire room no longer held anything of interest.
Lila had had enough. She stood and let her napkin fall to the table.
“I suggest you sit down,” Claudia told her.
“I beg your pardon?”
Claudia reached in her Louis Vuitton bag and retrieved a sealed envelope. She slid it across the table in Lila’s direction. “Inside is the name and contact information for my attorney. He’s drawn up relinquishment papers, which Blaine will sign.” She gave a pointed look. “Provided your daughter signs the NDA clause—and agrees to the nondisclosure of my son as father. She will not put Blaine’s name on the birth certificate and will maintain complete discretion, not revealing his name or claiming paternity. There is also a check in a generous amount.” Then, she added, “In case Camille still wants to change her mind.”
Lila gasped. “She’s nearly five months along.”
Claudia shrugged before lowering her voice. “These things can be safely arranged.”
Lila shook her head vehemently. “No. She’s already made her decision.”
“Fine. In that event, a bank account has been established. Monthly deposits will be made. Everything is outlined in the relinquishment papers. And I’ve discreetly arranged for court approval of my son’s termination of rights.”
Lila turned to Blaine. “Are you okay with this?”
Blaine leaned back, stretching his legs out like the conversation bored him. He shrugged and looked toward Pete at the bar, tapping a finger against his empty glass.
“Look, it’s not like I didn’t think it through.” His tone easy, almost dismissive. “The kid has a mother, and Camille will handle it. I mean, you did. Best thing I can do is step back and let her. No need to drag everyone through unnecessary drama.”
Claudia clasped her perfectly manicured hands together, her expression calm, unwavering. She didn’t so much as glance at Lila, her focus entirely on Blaine.
“That’s right, sweetheart. You have your whole life ahead of you. One misstep doesn’t define a man—don’t let it. You’ve worked too hard, and you have too much potential to be tied down by a fleeting one-night stand that was never meant to be permanent.” She tilted her head slightly, gave him that knowing look. “The girl will manage. Women always do. But you? You have a future—one too bright to let a single mistake dim your potential.”
She finally glanced at Lila, smooth and unreadable, before returning her gaze to Blaine. “You’re making the right choice.”
Pete arrived with the plate, setting it down in front of Blaine with a slight thud. The burger rested under the dim lighting, unmistakable yellow cheddar oozing over the edges of the grilled meat.
Lila caught Pete’s eye, and he gave her the barest flicker of amusement before nodding toward the ketchup bottle. No words, just a silent acknowledgment. Then, without waiting for a reaction, he wiped his hands on his bar towel and slipped away.
Blaine picked up the burger, completely unaware.
Lila folded her arms against her chest and fixed them both with a steady gaze. “This is Camille’s decision,” she said firmly, feeling the blood pump through her neck veins.
Claudia pressed the sealed envelope closer, her expression stoic. “Take it. I’m sure she'll agree.” She paused, then added, “Besides, I understand she is intent on a career in film. She wouldn’t want anything to mar her chances of breaking into the industry, even given Nick Thatcher’s help.”
The barely disguised threat slithered between them, but Lila heard it loud and clear. Disgust churned in her stomach.
These people. Cold. Calculating. So convinced they could manipulate Camille’s future with a few carefully chosen words and a check.
It was hard to look at the truth when it ran contrary to what she wanted to believe. But the thought of them near her future grandbaby made her skin crawl.
Without further hesitation, Lila took the envelope and tucked it into her back pocket. Then, leveling Claudia with a razor-sharp look, she let a slow smile curve her lips.
“You know, Senator , for someone who’s likely spent a lifetime buying influence, you sure don’t know much about real power.”
And with that, Lila spun and walked away, leaving them both to sit in their own entitlement.