Cici nodded again as she gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Her voice was cooler than before. Not hostile, but certainly not overflowing with friendship. “And thank you for reassuring me about Mr. Bains.”
Okay. The distance was growing. “You take care, and I’ll see you at the villa. It will be a wonderful night for Roger.”
Cici seemed to warm a bit. “Yes. Oh, and please be sure to bring your daughter. The twins think she’s adorable, and we’d all love to see her again. The more children, the merrier.”
And the more for your husband’s photo op. Elena smiled and left Cici to drive away through the L.A. streets, back to her big house behind its guarded walls.
* * *
Elena thanked Pete for all his help as he was leaving out the front door. Then she returned to the kitchen where Delia and Elissa waited, hoping to fake a happier mood for her friends. But she didn’t have to fake anything. Delia pulled out three brown, unlabeled bottles dappled with condensation and set them on the table.
“Ladies, this is elixir. Homemade ginger ale brewed by my wife. I’m going to make it intogin–ger ale and we are going to celebrate.”
Delia popped the bottles open, sliced, zested and juiced several limes in the blink of an eye, and added them to the ginger ale with a generous pour of Bombay Sapphire. The results were spectacular—sweet and bite-y and sour and quenching. After two (or maybe three, but who was counting?) she announced, “It’s time for pasta!” She pulled out the biggest stock pot she had and filled it with boiling water and a ton of salt. Fifteen minutes later, they were digging into pasta with sautéed garlic, capers, sundried tomatoes, olives, cheese, and roasted chicken—and loving life.
“Drunk pasta,” Delia called it. “Different every single time you make it.” So Elena didn’t bother asking for the recipe, but she never forgot the richness, the savory notes, and the hysterical conversation that floated above the plates and the glasses of alcohol. The laughter, the camaraderie. She finally felt like L.A. was hers. That she’d definitively made the right decision for herself and her daughter. She loved her apartment, the beach, and she loved the two women currently sharing the kitchen with her.
And she loved Camden. He was such a good man, with her and Tina’s best interests at heart, always. Even now, he was swinging by Bette’s house to pick up Tina, then he’d get her and they’d all go home—together. The way it should be. The way she wanted it to be for the foreseeable future, she realized. Elena decided she would ask Camden’s thoughts on living together, but she had her suspicions that he would be all for it.
Elena was surprised when her phone rang and Bette’s number came up. Still a little tipsy, she answered, careful not to slur any words. Bette asked if Tina could spend the night, suggesting that perhaps Elena and Camden would enjoy a little ‘adult time.’ She happily took Bette up on her offer and thanked her profusely, while trying to ignore the absolutely surreal feeling of having one of Hollywood’s biggest stars for a babysitter.
Camden came by later to pick her up, and Delia and Elissa begged him to stay. They physically pulled Camden into the kitchen, shoved spoonfuls of drunk pasta into his mouth—which he didn’t appear to mind—finally grabbing a bowl off an open shelf and filling it with the amazing stuff. As for thegin-ger ale, he turned it down, since he was the designated driver.
By the time they got out of there, he was practically carrying Elena to his truck. She’d long-since sobered, but she was drunk on happiness, on contentment, on all things good.
“Are you okay?” Camden asked from the driver’s seat.
“I’ve never been better,” she answered, and meant it. She rolled down the window, stuck her arm out, and let the air carry her hand in the breeze. “I have friends here, Camden. I mean, I love Rachael to pieces, but I was afraid she’d leave me behind. That we’d drift apart. We haven’t,” she said, holding up her hand to reassure him, “but she’s so busy, and I don’t want to hold her back. I want to make my own way, you know? And I think I am. I finally am.”
She reached over and grabbed Camden’s hand. “And I’m glad you’re here with me now.” She took a deep breath. “I’m…also glad that Tina is gone for the night.”
Camden chuckled. “Babe. I’m not the kind of man who would take advantage of a woman.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
“No, I stopped drinking over an hour ago, so I’m not drunk, I promise. At least not on alcohol. I might, however, be drunk on happiness.”
“Well,” he drawled, and gave her an appreciative look, “only if you promise you’re of sound mind and capable of making responsible decisions.”
She slipped her hand over his thigh, fingers exploring until they found the eager bulge in his jeans. His throaty groan shot heat straight to her core.
“Driver faster,” she purred.
Twenty-One
Camden drove faster, straight to his house. He wanted the privacy—even though Tina was at Bette’s for the night, he still felt like Elena’s apartment walls were too thin. And he had to admit, part of him wanted to show off his home to Elena, to prove that he could provide a good life for her and the Mermaid.
While it wasn’t a mansion, Camden had done well for himself, buying his house when the market was down and doing home improvements through the years. It helped that the entire neighborhood had gone through a renaissance, while maintaining its original character. He was happy to see Elena’s face light up when he pulled into the drive. Security lights lit the front yard and house, so she could see the brick façade and the careful landscaping.
“This is your place? It’s lovely. The SEALs must have paid well.” She slapped her hand over her mouth and turned Camden’s second-favorite shade of blush—the first being whenever he had her under him. “I’m sorry, that was crass,” she added from behind her fingers.
“Crass? You just sent my ego through the stratosphere, Gorgeous.” He parked in the garage and went around the SUV to open her door and help her down, then led her inside. “I was worried that after seeing where Jake grew up, you’d be less than impressed.”
Elena tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “No offense to the Collins family, but I have different tastes. I’d just get lost in their house all the time if I lived there. Though,” she looked up at him through her thick, dark lashes, “I do have a certain fondness for their library.”
God, she was killing him. He couldn’t get her to his bedroom fast enough. “Do you really? I wonder why.”
She pretended to pout. “Maybe I can remind you.” She turned and ran her hands up his chest. Her fingers glided deliciously along either side of his neck and tangled in his hair.
They stood in the mudroom leading to the kitchen. He swooped her up and quickly carried her through the house. “Let me give you the grand tour. This is the kitchen. It’s where I keep my food. This is the TV room where I kick Jake’s ass at video games. That’s Toby’s bed, where you can see he’s crashed out instead of defending his master’s castle. Good boy. This is the hallway, there’s the guest bathroom with the fancy soap my mom bought me and told me never to use. To the right is a guest bedroom where you’ll never stay. And this,” he swept into his bedroom and plopped her on the bed while she laughed hysterically, “is the most important room in the entire house and the only one you need to see in detail right now.”
