Chapter 8
CAMERON
The silence stretches in the mansion's formal salon after Radha's departure. Now I'm alone with my four-year-old daughter and her stern Scottish nanny in a house that belongs to another century.
Posey sits perfectly upright on a burgundy velvet chair, her small hands folded on her navy pinafore. Mrs. Bixby stands nearby, looking uncertain whether to trust me with the child she's raised since infancy.
Edison breaks the quiet by padding over to Posey. Her serious expression softens as she reaches out to stroke his ears.
"Mrs. Bixby, is it lunchtime? I'm hungry."
"Of course, Miss Posey. Cook can prepare your usual—"
"Actually," I interrupt as I stand, "maybe we should go out for brunch. Get some fresh air."
"Dine out?" Mrs. Bixby's Scottish accent sharpens. "Of course, sir, I'll just grab my things."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bixby, but that won't be necessary. It will be a father and daughter adventure."
Edison woofs.
"With our dog," says Posey. I like the way she says "with our dog."
"Yes. Of course."
"But are you accustomed to handling young children, Mr. Crow?" she says.
"Posey doesn't strike me as much of a child. She looks quite capable of handling herself. Right, Posey?"
"Right! I'll be right back." Posey disappears, returning moments later with a cream cardigan draped over her arm and a small straw hat.
"I'm ready," she announces. "And I know exactly where we should go for lunch. The Patriot Café. Grandmother always said it's important to maintain one's presence there each week."
Edison barks once, tail wagging at the mention of going on an adventure. I notice a gleaming white Rolls-Royce waiting in the circular drive outside the window.
"That's the car of our estate," Mrs. Bixby says, noticing the direction of my gaze. "You're free to use it. The driver's name is Henry."
Once we're outside, Henry holds the door of the Rolls-Royce. Edison bounds ahead, clearly excited about a car ride.
"Henry, this is my new daddy," Posey announces to the driver with matter-of-fact politeness.
"We're going to the Patriot Café."
"Very good, Miss Posey," Henry replies with practiced formality. "Sir."
I slide into the leather interior beside Posey while Edison claims the opposite window.
The moment we move, Edison's massive head disappears outside, ears flapping in the salty breeze.
The Rolls glides through Nantucket's narrow streets lined with weathered shingle houses. Red geraniums bloom from windowsills. Postcard perfect.
We pull up to a classic New England building with white clapboard siding and black shutters.
A small sign reads "Patriot Hotel & Café — Est. 1847."
"Here we are, sir," Henry announces, already moving to open our door.
Inside, the café buzzes with energy. Patrons look Country Club style rich, lots of tennis whites and pastel dresses.
A hostess with perfectly styled black hair approaches us. "Good afternoon. Table for—" She stops mid-sentence when she recognizes me, her professional smile freezing in place.
"Table for two, please," I say before she can make a scene. "Big enough to accommodate my guitar and my dog."
"Of course, Mr. Crow. Right this way."
She leads us to a corner table with a view of the hotel's terrace and harbor beyond. Edison settles beside Posey's chair like he's appointed himself her personal bodyguard.
"Nice place," I tell Posey. "Thanks for suggesting it."
A young, blonde, server approaches our table. When I look up at her face and see that face, I feel a flicker of delighted surprise.
"Hello, Cinderella."
Her green eyes widen, and color floods her cheeks when she recognizes me.
"Cameron! I mean, Mr. Crow," she says, looking around as if afraid of getting caught flirting with a patron. "What a surprise."
I just smile.
That kiss we shared was so magical. The memory of her mouth against mine, the way she melted into that kiss, floods back. When her friends interrupted us, I was first angry, then grateful.
I wasn't shopping for a relationship. And in the short time I'd known her, Tara was a girl I could fall for hard. Too hard.
There wasn't time in my life for relationships, I warned myself. I forbid myself to ask for her number.
Then regretted it all that week.
"Hi. I'm Posey," my daughter says to Tara.
As Tara turns to my child, a variety of expressions cross her face.
Surprise. And if I'm reading her right, slight suspicion. Tara’s wondering if I had a family the world didn't know about.
"Posey's my daughter. We just met in person today. Her mother's out of the picture."
"Oh," says Tara, her voice softening. "I see. She crouches down to Posey's eye level with natural ease. "And what would you like this morning?"
"Orange juice, please," Posey says with perfect politeness. "And do you still make butterfly waffles?"
"Butterfly waffles?"
"Sam used to make them special for me," Posey explains.
"They're shaped like butterflies, with fresh berries for the wings and powdered sugar for the body. I had them when I came here with Grandmother."
A look of understanding crosses Tara's face. "I'll ask the kitchen. I'm sure we can arrange something."
As she heads away, I can't stop watching the sway of her hips, the way that uniform skirt follows every movement. Edison's head follows her too, but for very different reasons than mine.
Tara returns with our beverages. When she sets down my coffee, her fingers brush mine. The contact sends electricity straight through me. Her breath catches, and I know she feels it too.
"The kitchen says they'd be happy to make butterfly waffles," she tells Posey, but her eyes keep darting to mine. "Sam remembers exactly how you like them."
Posey's face brightens. "Really? With the berries arranged just so?"
"Just so," Tara confirms, and I catch the gentle warmth in her voice when she talks to my daughter.
"Look!" Posey suddenly points toward the window. "The dogs are having a party!"
I follow her gaze to see a collection of dogs gathered around a water trough on the café's terrace.
A German Shepherd, a Golden Retriever, and what looks like a Beagle mix, all socializing while their owners chat nearby.
"Don't you think Edison should join them?" Posey asks with surprising authority. "He's new to the island. He needs to meet the other dogs properly."
At the sound of his name, Edison's ears perk up.
"You're absolutely right."
"Can I go out and introduce him now?"
"Lead the way. I'll come with you."
Posey whispers to Edison as she scoots out of the booth: "I'm going to introduce you to the Nantucket dogs. I know only a few of them, so forgive me if I don't do it perfectly."
I catch Tara's eye across the café. She's watching me with an intensity that makes my cock harden.
The memory of Tara calling me her Prince Charming plays on repeat in my head. It’s insane timing—me, suddenly a father—but none of that erases the need simmering under my skin.
I need to get her number. Need to get her alone. Need to finish what we started that night.
Then I follow Posey out to the terrace, already planning how I'm going to get Tara Thompson back in my arms and into my bed.