Page 24 of My Rockstar Ex's Broken Vows

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it. Instead, she glances back toward the restaurant, like she’s debating whether to escape back inside.

Don’t let her leave.

"So, uh…" My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to, and I clear my throat. "You want to grab a beer? With me? Just to—" I hesitate, searching her face. "Just to talk. If you want."

Her eyes narrow again, and for a second, I’m sure she’s going to say no. My pulse pounds in the silence between us, each second stretching out like a rubber band about to snap.

But then she tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble. Finally, she exhales. "I guess I could do that. My son is with his dad, so my night is wide open."

Her words hit me like a curveball I didn’t see coming. A son. Sienna has a kid.

I manage to nod, keeping my face neutral, but inside, my mind races. She’s a mom. Of course, she’s a mom. Sienna always had this wild, creative spark about her, like she could turn the most mundane moment into something colorful and alive.

What’s he like? Is he dreamy and imaginative, like her? Or does he have that rebellious streak she used to flash when someone told her to follow the rules? I can picture her chasing him around the park, laughing as he runs ahead, full of stories and ideas only she could understand.

And Sienna? I bet she’s the kind of mom who paints murals on the walls of his bedroom, who lets him stay up late to watch the stars, and who makes up adventures on the fly just to keep life interesting.

"Callum?" Her voice pulls me back to the moment, her eyes flicking toward me like she’s waiting for me to change my mind.

"Yeah," I say quickly, clearing my throat. "Great. Do you know any good places around here?"

"I thought you liked taking walks around Chinatown? I'm sure you know of somewhere better than I do."

Busted. Shit. "Oh, I'm just in town for work. I, um, let me Google somewhere. I'm sure there is a place around here. Hold on…"

She raises an eyebrow, like her bullshit meter is going off, but she doesn’t comment.

“There is a place around the corner called Basement. It is a speakeasy, so not too pretentious. She adjusts the strap of her bag and gestures for me to follow her.

Goddamn, I love it when she takes the lead.

Basement

45 Mott Street, Lower East Side

7:17 PM

The bar is quieterthan I might have expected for a Sunday night. Its dim lighting throws soft shadows across the walls.

Sienna slips onto a stool at the far end, away from the other patrons, and I take the seat next to her, leaving just enough space that she doesn’t feel crowded. I am more nervous right now than I was when I signed with Pinnacle Records.

The bartender swings by, and asks us for our orders. I let her go first and take her cue. She orders a glass of wine—Cabernet, with no hesitation. I stick with a beer. We sit in silence for a moment, the air between us buzzing like an amplifier left on too long.

I clear my throat, turning slightly to face her. "I didn’t know it was you. I want you to know that."

Her glass stops halfway to her lips, and her eyes flick to mine. "At the gala?"

I nod, gripping my beer bottle a little tighter. "Yeah. If I’d known…" I trail off, shaking my head. "I would’ve said something."

She studies me for a beat. Her eyes narrow, as if weighing every word. Those hazel eyes of hers search my face for any hint of deception.

Her fingers trace the stem of her wine glass absently, and I find myself following the movement, anything to avoid the intensity of her gaze. Then, slowly, she nods.

"Hmm. If you say so," she says, but still not convinced. "Same. It was just... a weird coincidence, I guess." The way she says it lets me know she is trying.

"Yeah." I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "One hell of a coincidence. I think that is why I was so speechless when I realized it at the café. Like, what are the odds?"

She takes a sip of her wine, her fingers curling around the glass like it’s a lifeline. "So, what were you doing there? At a fancy black-tie gala, of all places? Last I checked, you weren’t exactly the tuxedo type." I guess she isn't cutting me any slack. I wouldn't expect anything less from her.

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