When Morning Comes: A Surprise Pregnancy Standalone Romance (Arrow Creek Book 2)

by A. M. Wilson

  “Explains a lot.” Rhett’s voice comes from my left, and I crumple the paper in front of me and shove it into my pocket. Yeah, I’m a coward. The last thing I need is this bastard nosing into my business. I almost snort at the thought of him giving me relationship advice. The man made his way through half of Arrow Creek in the first few months since he filed for divorce. Not that I blame him for erasing the taste of his cheating ex-wife.

  “What?”

  He claims the stool beside me and gestures at the bartender.

  “Hot woman like that gives you a sultry look, and you can’t even take your eyes off your love note long enough to check out her fine ass in those shorts. No wonder you have problems.”

  “It’s not a love note,” I grumble, not even bothering with the second part of his comment.

  “You used to have a thing for brunettes.”

  I cut him a glare. “Are you looking for a fight?”

  Rhett’s grin is wicked in return. “Though it seems to me now, blondes do it for you more.”

  Turning forward again, I take another sip of my drink. This discussion tempts me to toss it all back, though he isn’t wrong on the latter comment. “What’re you doing here besides being a fuckin’ pain in my ass?”

  “Checking in on a friend. Wondering if I’d find you here drowning your sorrows in scotch. Gotta say, man, I’m surprised. Thought you’d be handling this more like a man.”

  “Fuck off,” I snarl. My skin feels too tight, and I’m bursting apart at the seams.

  The silence between us stretches as he waves down the bartender for his own drink. She places it before him moments later, and he pushes cash across the bar. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Rhett. The typical ladies’ man. Women drop their pants with one playboy smirk. Cynical as fuck except when it comes to everybody else’s business.

  He takes a lingering drag of his own drink. “For real, though. I’ll stop giving you shit, but I gotta know why you’re freaked about this. The dad gig is a piece of cake.”

  I slam down my glass, sloshing scotch over the side onto my hand. Stealing a handful of cocktail napkins, I haphazardly clean it off. “Really? You didn’t seem to think it was such a sweet gig when your wife left you for her boss. Please, do tell, how nice it is to only see your kid on the weekends?”

  “Jeez, you big bastard.”

  “You pushed,” I grunt, not the least bit guilty for laying it out there the way I did.

  Rhett shoves my shoulder. “Someone has to, or else you’ll retreat into that big fucking head of yours again. You’re no fun when you’re dark. Talk to me.”

  I finally look at him and scrub my palm down my face. “Scared out of my mind. To be a dad, sure, but out of it all, that seems like the easiest part. I’m scared of missing things, of custody battles and parenting disagreements, and I’m scared of feeling what I’m feeling for this woman.”

  “I mean this as delicately as I can, but you can’t cheat on the dead, Nate. You gotta know that this is what Janessa would want.”

  “Do you think that makes it any easier? I exchanged vows with a woman who was supposed to be my forever.”

  “Yeah,” he mutters, taking a swing. “I did, too, and look how that worked out.”

  “They’re not the same.”

  His glass clinks against the bar. “Of course, it’s not. Yours tragically passed away, and mine’s a filthy, cheating whore. That doesn’t mean life isn’t shitty and doesn’t suck. Wallowing in a bar isn’t going to help you figure out what to do about it.”

  I spin the glass in my hand, watching the light refract through it. “I’m not wallowing,” I grouse.

  He flicks a peanut shell at me from the bowl between us. “Sure, you’re not.”

  “I just don’t know the right way forward.” I pause, thinking about how much to divulge to my friend. A shaky breath escapes me. “Took me about six months to stop wearing my wedding ring. At the same time, I had the girls help me clear out Janessa’s possessions because I couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. Some days, my life with her feels like a distant dream.”

  A heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s perfectly okay to move on.”

  I shrug him off, not wanting to be comforted with these malignant thoughts. I don’t deserve it. “Is it perfectly okay to forget, though? Because I feel like that’s what’s happening. I’m moving on and having a child, for god’s sake. The feelings developing for another woman grow stronger. I never thought I’d be this… this person. I never thought I’d replace her.” The crack in my voice is like a shameless fissure, exposing me and all that I’ve kept hidden. My head falls heavily into my hands, propped up by my elbows on the bar.

  The hand returns to my shoulder and jerks me heavily left and right. “For god’s sake, man, listen to yourself. Nobody is forgetting anybody, you hear me? You’re allowed to feel things for another woman. It doesn’t mean you loved Janessa any less while she was here, but you also don’t need to build a shrine to her memory.”

  “Feels like it. Like maybe I didn’t love her enough if I can feel how I do right now about Kiersten.”

  Rhett releases a heavy sigh. “Two years is a long time.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, choking back the self-hatred for admitting these things to my friend.

  The leg of his stool drags loudly across the floor as he adjusts himself to give us a little more room. “Can I ask you something?”

  I tip back the remnants in my glass and lower it heavily to the counter. “Shoot.”

  “If you feel so much for Kiersten, shouldn’t you be with her instead of hiding out in a bar?”

  I run my fingertips across my mouth. “Sure should be, huh.”

  “And that means…?” He waves his hand in a gesture for me to continue.

  “I kissed her again. She has this thing about us just being friends, but I’m so damn conflicted about how to do that when all I want to do is make out with her like I’m a teenager. It’s easier to stay away.”

  Rhett finishes his drink in one final swallow and drops his glass to the counter with a loud clank. “Makes sense. Just makes sure you don’t avoid her to the point of pushing her away, hey? Otherwise, all this stress about your feelings will be for nothing if she doesn’t want anything to do with you. Then you’ll find yourself in a shitty situation like mine.”

  He has a point I didn’t fully consider. “I didn’t realize you were such a fountain of wisdom.”

  With a cocky smirk affixed to his face, he catches the eye of the bartender and winks. “Hey, thanks, sweetheart.” Looking back at me, he drops the arrogant act. “Call her or something. Just stop feeling sorry for yourself in a fucking bar.”

  Rhett tosses down a few more bills. “Only time I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter beneath my breath, but our little chat brought a small smile to my face. Hastily, I push the bills across the bar and exit my stool, exchanging the noisy bar for the quiet, cool outside.

  Call her or something.

  And say what? I should have asked the self-proclaimed ladies’ man what it is exactly I should say. With nothing better to do, I tuck my hands into my pockets and make the short trek back home, all the while contemplating a good excuse to pick up the phone.

  11

  Kiersten

  The hot water bubbling around my feet is heavenly, and I wiggle my toes and swing my legs as I relax in the leather recliner. I make a mental note to thank Cami for giving me the gift certificate to Escape Spa for my birthday last year. Not only will it cover this pedicure, but at least two more, and I will absolutely be using them.

  I’m not the type of girl to pamper myself. Margaritas and happy hour are my brand of relaxation. Pedicures happen in my bathroom, and my hair is naturally blond. I guess this is another one of those pregnancy changes. The more my belly shows, the frequency of random women stopping me at the department store increases. Their suggestions to enjoy the peace and quiet now before I’m immersed in shi
tty diapers, spit up, and no sleep don’t mollify me.

  Okay, so they didn’t state it as insensitively as that, but the implication is definitely there beneath their words. Once you pop out a kid, you can’t go back.

  Which is a load of bullshit advice. The changes start almost as soon as the two lines appear on a urine-soaked stick.

  I crack open an eyelid when the young woman begins scrubbing my foot. Tranquility has me close it again.

  “Ugh, right there feels sooo good.” I wonder how many times a week a pregnant woman sits in this chair groaning like the lead porn star in an amateur film. The unbridled sounds burst from me. This woman has friggen magic hands.

  My phone rings, interrupting the intensely deep feelings I’m developing for Sharon, my pedicurist.

  Nathan calling…

  I fumble the device in surprise, nearly pitching it into my footbath. His name hasn’t graced my caller ID in a while.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m good. Just getting a pedicure right now.” I swish my foot in the hot water and glance around. It’s not rude to chat if I’m the only one in the salon, is it?

  “Oh. Sorry to bother you,” he says softly. His tone simultaneously wraps me tight and soothes me like a balm.

  “It’s no problem.”

  Sharon plops that leg back into the water and retrieves my other one. Her ministrations resume and incites a very loud, porn-like bellow from me that sounds like it originated from the depths of my vagina. I forget the phone tucked to my ear.

  “Unggghhhh.”

  “Didn’t you say you were getting a pedicure?”

  “I did,” I mumble back.

  “From where? Some back-alley happy-ending masseuse?”

  “Do they have those here?” I reply in my most seductive voice, garnering a frown and an eyebrow raise from Sharon.

  Nathan coughs in surprise, and I stifle a giggle.

  “I’m kidding. Relax. Sharon’s just an expert with her hands.”

  Sharon probably wishes I wasn’t a paying client so she could slap me into next week.

  A smile reveals itself in his voice. “Anyway, I called to see what else you needed at your place for the baby.”

  “Oh, um. Not much. We have the shower next week after the twenty-week ultrasound. You’ll be there?” I gnaw my bottom lip and wait for his answer.

  “Of course,” he murmurs. “I just want to help in any way I can right now.”

  The calls to check in to see if I need anything have been nice, but when I tell him no, that’s the end of it. We haven’t spent time together since the restaurant incident nearly a month ago. Cami’s been pretty tightlipped, claiming she doesn’t know anything, but it doesn’t make sense then that he hasn’t even popped by to see me at work. We typically run into each other a couple of times a week during his rotation. The past month has been extra lonely.

  At least I have my other best friend picking up the slack. Almost as if she knows something she isn’t telling me.

  “I appreciate it. I still need the larger items, but Cami insisted I wait until after the shower before picking them up. She said she might have a surprise, but also that I’ll be receiving some gift cards that we can put to good use.”

  “Well, let me know if you need any furniture put together. I’m happy to run by and help.”

  “You’ll be the first to know, lover boy.”

  An awkward silence descends on the line. I should ask him to hang out or something … right? This is weird. I miss our easy friendship and lazy evenings hanging out with a movie and popcorn or a board game.

  A part of me regrets trying to slap a label on this situation, even if I did have the best intentions at the time. I wanted to take the pressure off him to do anything he felt he had to do, considering the circumstances. I’m a thirty-seven-year-old woman with a stable career and a house I’m halfway through paying off. I can handle raising a child.

  What I don’t know is if I could handle being stuck in a loveless marriage with my best friend, whom I already love platonically, because of some misguided intention to do the “right” thing.

  “I’ll let you go, okay? Enjoy your pedicure.”

  The moment slips through my grip like a handful of water. I inwardly sigh, feeling a bit like a coward. “Sure. Talk to you later.”

  “Later.”

  The line cuts out, and I set my phone on the armrest.

  “Man problems?” Sharon asks with a practiced air of nonchalance that doesn’t fool me for a second. She’s made it a part of her career choice to gather the town gossip, and who am I to obstruct her from doing just that? This town is so dang small that everyone’s already heard the news about me anyway.

  “Yes,” I groan and readjust myself in the chair so I can use the built-in massager. The first tickle of vibrations feels so good that I promise to start scheduling prenatal massages on the regular. “Baby daddy drama.”

  “Ah, honey. Tell me all about it. We have time.”

  I close my eyes and lay back against the headrest. Story time.

  “The sex was so off the charts it’s no wonder I got pregnant, and then I told him I wanted to be just friends.”

  Sharon dries my foot and gets started on painting my toes. “Did you lie?”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve never been good at relationships. But I’m confused how to go forward. Like how does one navigate carrying someone’s offspring at a friendship level? We’ve obviously broken every boundary that exists between just friends, and I’m not sure how to go back to the before.”

  “So it’s about the sex.”

  Is it about the sex? The mind-blowing, scorching, best I’ve ever had sex?

  “Ugh, probably. I never considered that I’d be going nine months without getting some, and he is a fine, fine man, Sharon. My hormones are already going haywire.”

  She switches to my left foot. “So ask him for sex.”

  I blow my bangs off my forehead. “Not going to lie, it feels a little skanky.”

  The incredulous look on her face is surprising and humorous at the same time. “Why? Do you expect him to be out there looking for his future wife right now just because you put him in the friend zone? He’s about to be a father. I’d bet he’s not out on the prowl right now either, and honestly, you two are probably having problems because neither of you are getting some.”

  She makes a compelling argument, and I mentally jot down all her points in case I decide to throw them at Nathan later.

  “You know what? I like you. Put me on your books for four weeks from now. You have a new regular.”

  Sharon smirks and wipes off her hands. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about this baby daddy you have. If just the thought of him can make you blush like that, he must be one hell of a man.”

  I straighten and pat the back of my hand against my flushed cheek. “Blushing? I’m not blushing. It’s hot in here, and my feet are soaking in a bath.”

  “You are all blotchy, but sure, blame it on my water temperature.”

  Two more days blow by since my pedicure and phone call with Nathan before I buck up the courage to invite him over. While I feel like we’re doing this the right, right way, we’re also doing this all wrong. Friendship shouldn’t be about avoiding one another. The label itself denotes we aren’t romantically involved. That doesn’t mean I don’t care for the man like I always have, even if I am now carrying his offspring. If anything, I care for him even more.

  We shared not even twenty-four hours of sex followed by an additional freebie orgasm a week later, but our history spans far longer. The decade of friendship we’ve built should override the circumstances as of late.

  Pulling up his name on my cell this time doesn’t send me into a nearly full-blown panic attack, but the phone rings and rings with no answer.

  I’m not leaving him a message. For one, I don’t have an excuse for calling, and for two, I feel lame telling him that I just wanted his co
mpany. That could’ve been said over text. This feels harder than making a booty call, and that’s not even what I want to accomplish.

  I toss my cell somewhere behind me on the couch and meander into the kitchen for an evening snack. Nothing makes me feel like a growing pregnant lady more than the extra two or three meals I consume in a day. I just can’t satiate the need to stuff food in my mouth, no matter the time of day.

  I guess my hunger for food isn’t the only thing I’m having trouble satiating.

  I bend over, ass in the air and head deep in the refrigerator, digging into the bowels of my shelves for something enticing to eat. A loud knock thunders my front door, jolting me upward in surprise. The back of my head collides against the top of the fridge, and I turn with a scowl. Peering through the glass pane at the top of my door isn’t the serial killer I envisioned round housing in the face for making me hit my head.

  No, it’s the infuriating man who didn’t answer his phone.

  Stomping to the door, I yank it open and lean against the jamb, barring entry to my house.

  “Can I help you?”

  His stupidly handsome smirk drifts higher at my childish behavior. I notice his full hands—a white paper bag in one and a drink carrier in the other. “I come bearing gifts.”

  My stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a growl resembling a rabid dog, giving away any chance I had at refusal.

  “You must have read the baby book. That, or you’re just a god at predicting my needs.”

  Seemingly comfortable that I’m not about to ream his ass, Nathan shoulders past me and saunters to my kitchen as if he owns the place. I don’t squander the opportunity to admire his backside in a pair of well-fitting denim jeans.

  “I’ve known you long enough to know that even when you’re not pregnant, your love language is food.”

  I startle from my PG-13 daydream, and the smirk on his face tells me he definitely caught me staring. Scowling again in his direction, I close my front door and join him in the kitchen.

  “Especially for this,” he continues and lifts the white cardboard box from the bag. The mix of cumin, paprika, garlic, and chili powder, along with whatever secrets they use to make magical loaded nachos, nearly makes me drool.