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Tally Palmer was back, baby. And I wasn’t going to take even a moment for granted.
Jesse had been equally as excited for me, though his celebration had ended with me on my back on his bed, my thighs wrapped around his ears. But when we came downstairs again, it was to find a huge spread of Italian food and the guys chatting and drinking beers. Hayes had Bobbi-June in his arms, and Rocco was sneaking Norton fancy cheese. It looked almost… domestic.
“He’s growing on us, I think,” Jesse murmured in my ear. “You assume he’s going to be the arrogant fuckhead that you always see on TV, but then he’s stocking the garage with shit you need to restore the vintage Indian you’ve had your eye on for six months, even though you just mentioned it in passing.” He huffed a laugh. “Hayes definitely wanted to stay pissed at him, but Rocco told him he could drive his Ferrari SF90 Stradale. I’m fairly sure Hayes would have sucked his dick if he’d asked for it in exchange.”
Laughter burst from my lips, making the guys turn toward us. Gripping Jesse’s hand, I moved in their direction like a moth to a flame. “It smells like an Italian restaurant down here. Where did this all come from?”
Rocco shrugged. “I know the owner of a little trattoria downtown, and he was happy enough to send us dinner for a healthy tip. It’s as close to the food from home as I can get. To celebrate your promotion.”
I leaned into Hayes, kissing his lips and Bobbi-June’s chubby little cheek, then turned back to the man that was my husband. That shit still did my head in.
“Thank you, Rocco. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” I said softly. I appreciated so much more than that, but I didn’t know how to express it.
Hayes passed me the baby, and I snuggled her close. She really was getting so big. “Were you a good girl today, sweet cheeks? Were you good for your dad—” I snapped my lips closed. Oops. We probably should’ve talked about that.
Jesse just raised an eyebrow, leaning in to kiss me, amusement making his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tasted like me still, and that was a heady experience. “She was good for her daddy. We cleaned a carbie. We talked to Chet at the real estate agency. We napped in the middle of the day. It was quite eventful—wasn’t it, sweet girl?”
I chewed my lip as I looked at the baby gurgle and wave her arms at Jesse, as if she were answering him. “That’s good,” I choked out past the emotion bubbling up in my chest. “Let me feed this little one, and then I think wine is in order.”
I looked at Rocco, who was staring at us with such longing, it made my chest hurt. Yeah, I was definitely going to need wine.
THIRTY-SIX
JESSE
I strapped Bobbi-June into her car seat as we headed out of the house. We needed to pick up Christmas presents, a new carburetor synchronization tool, and to pick up the mail from the old house.
We’d left Norton behind, and he’d looked thoroughly pitiful as we walked out the door. However, I was fairly sure the housekeeper who came every day, Elva, was sneaking him dog treats. She was wonderful, but I swear to god, she’d just appeared one day and we’d scared the shit out of each other. She was sixty, at least, and she fussed over Bobbi-June like she was the most beautiful baby in the world. Which she was, but I was a tad biased.
“Mail first, sweetheart, and then we’ll hit up Target—what do you think?”
Junie gurgled in the back seat, and I knew by the time we left the gated community, she would be asleep. I tried to imagine what my dad would’ve said about me being a glorified househusband, but I couldn’t imagine it would’ve been particularly positive. He and my mom had been very big into traditional relationship roles. My mom had given up her career as soon as she married, to become a housewife and care for me. It was why she’d been so lost after his death.
I didn’t care, though. I might not say it to the rest of them, but I was loving this life.
Turning on the stereo, I played Bobbi-June The Beatles, specifically Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, because you were never too young to start your musical education. Hayes only liked dubstep, and I thought she might be a little young for Tally’s favorite band, The Daymakers, just yet.
I was singing about a yellow submarine as we pulled up in front of my house across town. The baby was sound asleep in her car seat, as predicted, which was fine. She’d get her nap done early today.
Everything looked fine, and there was a For Sale sign in front of the house next door. We’d paid a company to stage the whole house to add to its appeal, and the agent felt positive that we’d get a little more than our asking price.
A car was parked across the road, a black sedan, and I wondered if the Hendersons had gotten a new car. “Come on, sweets. We’ll check the mail slot and make sure the place is okay.” It was getting cold, and you never knew when a pipe might burst.
As I walked, I felt eyes on me, and turned. There was someone sitting in the dark sedan, and I was fairly sure I saw light glinting off a camera lens. Paparazzi?
Torn about what to do, I huffed out a frustrated breath. I hated the idea of being watched, but with Bobbi-June right there, I couldn’t go and confront the guy. If he did something insane like pulled a gun or whatever, she’d be left unprotected. This helpless feeling was a new one.
I stepped into the house, scooping the mail off the floor and tossing it on the hall table. Placing the car seat in the living room, I peeked out the window. The sedan was still there. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I called Hayes.
“Hey, what’s up?”
The guy was still snapping pictures. “There’s a guy sitting in front of my house, and I want to go see what he wants. I’ve got Bobbi-June, and I’ll lock her in the house, but wanted someone to know she was here, just in case. I’ll call you right back.”
“It’s probably just the media. Leave it, man,” Hayes said, but it sat wrong with me. Why would they be here and not at Rocco’s mansion?
“If I don’t call back in a few minutes, call the cops.” I hung up, checked Junie one more time, and turned the deadbolt on the door. “Don’t open this for anyone, okay?” I sing-songed at her, then locked it behind me.
Striding across the road, I rapped my knuckles on the car window. The guy inside only rolled it down a couple of inches. “Yeah?” He was probably in his late thirties. A nondescript-looking guy with pasty skin and dirty brown hair.
