Baby and the Billionaire

by Beverly Evans

  I look at him, and my eyes narrow slightly. It's the young man from the mansion on the hill.

  "You startled me," I say.

  "I didn't mean to."

  "Everything alright?"

  Sylvia's voice comes out of the shop before she does. Holding two small boxes in one hand and carrying a tote of groceries in the other, she steps through the glass door and up to the young man. She is so wrapped up in him and the perky kiss she pops right onto his slightly turned-down lips, she doesn't even notice I'm standing here.

  "Everything's fine," he says, snaking his arm around her waist and holding her against him. They are a study in contrasts. My brain isn't fully processing what I'm looking at. "I just opened the door too fast and startled her."

  The word 'her' cracks the dreamy look on Sylvia's face, and she turns toward me. As soon as she realizes it's just me, her smile widens.

  "Scarlett!" she gasps. "What are you doing down here? I was going to come by the office and bring you this." She hands one of the boxes to me.

  "Thank you. I had to go to the doctor," I say, trying to add a touch of emphasis to the words so she'll follow along with what I mean. "It's one of those days."

  "It is! You're right. Did it go well?" she asks.

  Opening the box, I see an assortment of Filene's fudge, including the elusive Creamsicle she only puts out occasionally during the summer. Pinching a piece off with my fingertips, I put it on my tongue so it can start to melt.

  "It did. Um…" I look at the man standing beside her. "Hi. I'm Scarlett."

  "I'm sorry," Sylvia says. "Of course, the two of you haven't met yet. This is Scarlett, my very best friend in the whole wide world since college. Scarlett, this is Jared. We've been seeing each other for a few weeks."

  My hand is slightly sticky from fudge, so I don't extend it to shake. Instead, I offer a wave.

  "Hello, again," I say. "I have to get going, but Sylvia, you're coming over tonight, right?"

  "Absolutely. I'll see you then."

  I nod at Jared and scurry away, dipping into the diner. The man is already unsettling for reasons I can't place. Seeing him with Sylvia ratchets it up.

  Sylvia looks sheepish when she slips into my house later that evening. I glance over my shoulder from where I'm standing, stirring chicken corn chowder on the stove. The temperature outside might not inspire chowder, but the fresh sweet corn showing up at the farmer's market called to me.

  "So, Jared," I start.

  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she says.

  "Why didn't you?"

  "It's really new, and with everything going on with you, I didn't want to be insensitive. I felt like telling you would seem like I was only thinking about myself."

  I reach for bowls and start ladling the rich chowder into them.

  "I want you to think about yourself," I offer. "You being happy is important to me, and if you like him, it's great. I want to hear all about it. Besides, all I've been doing is thinking about me. Side effect of the whole situation. I'd be happy to think about you for a while.

  "Really?" she asks.

  "Of course."

  Now is not the time to tell her he gives me a slight case of the heebie-jeebies. It's time for me to give him the benefit of the doubt. I can't believe she would purposely date someone creepy. We've just had unfortunate interactions so far.

  We settle onto the couch, and I curl my legs up under me. The first bite of chowder soothes me from the inside, and I feel tension I didn't realize was there relax out of my muscles.

  "First, tell me about your appointment. It went well?"

  "It was great. The baby is getting big. The doctor says she's right on target and about the size of a large cupcake."

  I wait for what I said to sink in. Sylvia's eyes widen as it does.

  "She?" she asks. "You're having a girl?"

  I grin. "Yes. Come late fall; our girl squad will be three."

  "I'm so excited!"

  "Me, too. I've already way overdone buying outfits online. She's not going to be able to wear everything. But your turn now. Since we're on the track of talking about babies... don't you think Jared's a little close to that category?"

  She gasps, and I laugh, pulling away from the pillow she swings at me.

  "He is not too young for me!"

  "Well, it's good you're here tonight. Wouldn't want to keep him out too late. But, I guess, it's June, so it's not a school night."

  She scoops the pillow up again and takes another swing. It feels good to laugh. Gavin still hasn't called, and I have no doubt there is going to be another issue with the abandoned house I'll have to figure out before sending it off with its new forever family.

  But I don't have to think about any of that right now. I can push negative thoughts away and not focus on anything but spending time with my best friend, thinking about my baby girl and creating the life ahead of me. The rest will figure itself out.

  Chapter Thirty

  Gavin

  July…

  The time since I was last in Shadow Creek has stretched on, but it seems even longer when my plane approaches. I got a late start out of Richmond, and it's dark by the time the pilot announces the impending descent. Sitting during flights, especially short ones, always makes me feel like I'm wasting time, so I've been up walking since we hit elevation. Pacing up and down the length of the plane while going over contracts and reading through the revised version of a presentation lets me focus. It also prevents the jumpy feeling in my legs I get when I'm not actively doing something for more than a short time.

  Now that I'm forced into the soft beige leather seat and latch my seatbelt in place. The window is too dark to see through, but I try anyway. Somewhere below me is Shadow Creek, which means Scarlett. I haven't spoken to her since I left in February, and I don't know where that leaves us.

  The dual options are what makes the last time I was here feel a lifetime away. I could find her again, and we could fall back into rhythm just like we left off. Or she could avoid me all together, preferring to leave me in the past.

  Either way, not talking to her since the one time I called her makes sense in the same way. Before I left here last, she told me we both have lives, we both have things happening that need us to be present. We can’t just break off pieces of ourselves to try to stay connected to each other. Maybe even talking on the phone would seem too lingering.

  As much as I've missed her, I feel the same. But now, as the plane lowers toward the lights of the runway, I'm debating with myself. Nearly five months have passed since I last saw her. That's a lot of time, especially when we only spent a few days together.

  Coming back to Shadow Creek this time was a last-minute decision. Beck and Ruby invited me to their Fourth of July celebration weeks ago. According to Beck, Ruby had so much fun planning the Halloween and Valentine's Day celebrations she wants to just keep it rolling on through the holidays of the year. It's to also be an anniversary celebration, coming only a few days after that milestone for them. Their July first wedding was a surprise to many who knew Beck but only to a degree. He'd always loved Ruby, the younger sister of his best friend, so them eventually tumbling together made sense. The first few times they invited me; I didn't think I'd have the chance. My business trip ran long, and I had to rearrange other trips and obligations, overlapping with the time I'd be here.

  Only a few days ago, things worked themselves out so Marla could swoop in and remind me of our agreement. To be honest, I haven't been doing the best at upholding my end of that whole arrangement. In fact, I haven't taken more than two days off since February. It's just enough leverage for Marla to wedge herself into my plans and force me to take a break. It was smoothly done, with confirmation of the pilot's schedule appearing on my desk and Darryl letting me know he'd pick me up after my dinner meeting today.

  The plane lands smoothly, and we taxi gradually into place. Being on the ground makes it easier to see out the windows, and I look at the weathered runway disappe
aring into the thick darkness around it. This is not the type of airport with sprawling paths of runways and multiple air traffic control buildings. Situated a short distance outside of town, it appears almost to have been cut out of farmland and built up just enough to accommodate a few small flights at a time. Beck's plane sits in one of the hangars along with the assortment of cars he keeps available. That started years ago when he first started traveling back home and wanted to make sure he could travel around however he wanted to.

  What many people don't realize is he also has similar setups in three other cities around the country. If he wasn't almost unbearably devoted to Ruby, there might be support for him living multiple lives.

  Bags in hand, I climb out of the plane and walk toward the sports car. It makes me laugh seeing it sitting there, waiting for me after so many months. Someone removed the rental company sticker for me, but the tags are still the temporaries slapped on after I bought the car. At least it looks like whoever claimed the car back from the snowbank and brought it here for storage cleaned it well enough that it's not damaged. I lay my bags in the backseat and head through the warm night toward Beck's house.

  The closer I get to town, the more complicated my feelings get. I'm drawn toward Scarlett, wanting to just drive right to her house and knock on the door. At the same time, I don't want to make things strange for her. Or for myself. Maybe I'm only thinking about her so much because she hasn't been available. Getting only a brief taste of what it could be like to be with her enticed me and left me wanting more. But would that fade if I had her in front of me again? My responsibilities at work aren't slowing down, and my time is just going to stay limited. Nothing has really changed.

  But has anything changed for her? She called me an adventure. Does that mean she's checked me off her list and doesn't need a re-do? I can't help but remind myself we only have each other's work phone numbers rather than personal numbers. It's impossible not to see that as fairly impersonal and distracting. Yet, I didn't argue with it. In fact, I'm the one who handed her my business card rather than writing down my number or offering to program it into her new phone, so I could then call myself and get hers.

  Fuck. My hindsight is definitely 20/20, but apparently my foresight doesn't work for shit.

  I get to Beck's house and find the lights burning welcomingly inside. Ruby opens the door and gestures for me to be quiet.

  "George is having a hard time getting to sleep," she whispers. "This happens sometimes. He usually does really well with bedtime. Last week we were running late all day, and dinner cut too close to his bedtime. He just toddled off, got his blanket, and laid down next to his crib. But sometimes it's not that smooth."

  "Is he not feeling well?" I ask, setting my bags down beside the couch in the living room.

  "I don't think so," Ruby frowns. "It's like he's just anxious about letting the day go. Like he doesn't want to miss out on anything, or he thinks he had more he was supposed to do and didn't accomplish it."

  "Tiny boy, big to-do list," I chuckle.

  She laughs. "Something like that. I'm going to make some tea. Do you want any?"

  "Sure."

  I follow her into the kitchen and perch at the breakfast bar while she moves from the cabinet to the stove. She drops a handful of tea bags into a pink enamel teapot and turns on the heat. Heading to the refrigerator, she pulls out a plate covered with a piece of plastic wrap. She sets it on the counter and sets the oven to preheat.

  "These were supposed to be for breakfast, but I have the need for them now," she says. When she steps aside, I see the plate is piled high with cinnamon rolls waiting to be baked. She leans against the counter and turns a smile to me. "How have you been?" she asks.

  I can't help but laugh. She looks frazzled and exhausted but still smiling.

  "Doing well. Busy," I tell her.

  "Is there a version of you that isn't busy?" she asks.

  "Fair," I admit. "How have things been in Shadow Creek?"

  "Good," she says with a nod. "Have you talked to Scarlett?"

  The question hits me hard, and the answer feels like marbles in my mouth before I manage to spit them out.

  "No," I tell her. "Not since I left." She nods, her lips turning down in that way people's do when they're considering something that interests them. "Why?"

  The teapot starts screaming, and she quickly yanks it off the burner. There hasn't been any sign of the sleepless baby upstairs, and she's obviously determined to keep it that way.

  "It's just that I ran into her the other day," she says.

  "Oh? How is she?" It probably doesn't sound nearly as casual as I mean it to.

  "She seems good. She asked about you."

  My eyes snap up to her, and she peers at me over the stream of tea pouring into a mug she has in front of her.

  "She did?"

  Ruby nods and slides the tea toward me. "She wanted to know more about you. I told her Beck knows you much better than I do, but I don't think she went to talk to him."

  She stirs honey into her tea, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

  "Interesting," I muse. "Thank you for the tea. I think I'm going to settle in."

  "Good night."

  Her voice drifts after me as I carry my bags up to the room I have now stayed in twice. It's becoming a habit that feels comfortable, and I'm reminded of Scarlett and my toast to the families we choose.

  The next day I manage to stay at the house long enough to eat breakfast with the bleary-eyed parents and a baby who doesn't seem to realize he missed most of his night of sleep. I'm sure the babbling and determined toddling from room to room won't last long. He'll eventually find something soft and crash, and Beck and Ruby will likely follow close behind.

  The kind and respectful thing to do would be to slip out of the house so it's quiet and they don't feel like they need to entertain me. But where should I go?

  My car remembers the way to Scarlett's office and pulls into the parking lot without me having to think about it. There's a distinct difference driving through the buttery sunlight and warmth of July compared to the unexpectedly icy February. Not constantly worrying I'm going to have to muscle the tires back in line on the street makes for a much more comfortable travel experience.

  But the loftier mood drops when I notice the parking lot is empty. The office is dark, and there's a note on the door.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Scarlett

  "We need to come to an understanding."

  The house doesn't respond. Every time I come here, it seems emptier. Even when I replaced the bean bag chairs with some actual furniture, it just keeps feeling lonelier. Wrapping metal wires around the puppy-chewed legs of cast-aside white wicker furniture brings an edgy, eccentric touch to the living room, but it doesn't ward off the echoing feeling.

  I might just go back to not having anything in the house at all. At least then, I can have something to blame when I come here, and a chill rolls down my spine.

  Wasn't I the one who said this house wasn't creepy and didn't have the same mystery as the house on the hill?

  Lies.

  "I don't know what it is about you, but you've been hanging around long enough. Fourth of July is in just a couple of days; then it's the downhill slope toward the holidays after that." I hold up my hands as if to silence the arguing house. "I know what I'm talking about. People want to be cozy when fall comes. They want to be pulling out the roasted bird somewhere that feels comfy-squishy homelike. Not somewhere that still smells like fresh paint and where they haven't figured out where the light switches are yet. Now, don't get me wrong. You're cute. Nestle a dining room table in here, give me some pumpkins and a cornucopia, and I could Norman Rockwell the shit out of this place. But that's not what we want. When the little ones head back to school, I want you sporting a new family and some scuff marks on the floor from them actually moving in. Do we get each other?"

  The house is still silent, but I'll take that as an agreement. My nose w
rinkles as I look around.

  "First, we're going to start with figuring out where that musty smell is coming from. I know it didn't smell like this last time I was in here. It was all kinds of lemony fresh to evoke memories of summer lemonade and fresh breezes. Not that it mattered, because no one showed up to the showing. Thank you, Brittany and Dale, for your panic-infused review on Zillow."

  The police still think all the trouble has been pranks but humored me with a few days of occasional drive-by’s and some officers roaming around the house to gather any evidence that might exist. It's amounted to nothing, but the house has gotten a reputation. And if there's one thing that can screw you up around this town, it's a reputation. It's like the old song I remember playing on the oldies station when I rode around with my grandmother. “Back Stabbers”. They smile in your face, and all the time they're just judging you up, down, sideways, and diagonally, and talking about your shoes.

  Maybe not those words, exactly, but the sentiment is there.

  I go into the kitchen and dip my head down over the sink to breathe in from the pipes. Cupcake will let me know when I'm getting close to the source of the smell. My exaggerated sense of smell and quickly nauseated reaction when something is off makes her my fetal freshness consultant.

  The sink still has some of the citrus notes from the lemon peels I ground in the garbage disposal. I move on to the next room, then to the bathroom. I hope there isn't a problem with the plumbing. Arranging to have this place gutted isn’t on my list of delightful summer afternoon activities. But the bathroom is fine, too.

  Something is strange about the smell. When I first got to the house, it struck me as musty, almost old. The further I move through the rooms, the more it changes. Now it's damp and almost dirty. It gets stronger when I get into the room I've come to think of as the study. My attention immediately goes to the fireplace. Seeing it congeals memories of something familiar. Holidays when I was a little girl. It's the stale, suffocating traces of a drowned fire.