“Lovely day, isn’t it?” a middle-aged woman asked with a smile as she passed by Ginger, a tiny white dog on a leash beside her.
Ginger glanced around to see who the woman was talking to. But they’d been the only two people there, and now the woman was halfway down the street. She glanced down at her outfit, the super cute navy sundress with little multicolored embroidered flowers on the neckline and hem, and reached up a hand to her low bun. My new look has superpowers, she thought with a smile.
But then a funny feeling came over her and she frowned, trying to figure out what the hell was bugging her. The lady was nice to me, so what gives? she wondered.
She shrugged and got in her car and drove out to the shopping center she’d seen from the freeway. BabyLand was huge, taking up half the strip. Perfect, she thought as she parked. Everything baby was just what she needed to know about.
Inside the emporium, Ginger noticed a display of pamphlets with a sign: What Your New Baby Needs. That’s what I need, she thought, plucking one and scanning the long list. Jeez Louise. It listed everything from car seats to baby-wipe warmers. Well, I wouldn’t want my baby to startle from a cold wipe on his or her cute little tush, she thought. I’m definitely getting a warmer.
But then she started mentally calculating what just the basics would run her. A fortune. And she barely had two hundred bucks to her name. She’d had her eye on a fancy white wooden crib with ornate scrolls until she saw the price tag. Forget the matching changing table slash dresser. And why did a tiny newborn-size onesie cost so much? She was not going back to Busty’s, so she’d have to figure out what kind of “reputable” job she could get.
She picked up a pair of yellow baby pajamas with tiny ducks on it, her heart melting. “Are you a boy or a girl?” she asked in the direction of her belly.
“So sweet!” said a voice, and Ginger turned to see a saleswoman smile at her before turning her attention back to folding a stack of shirts that said Big Sister across the front.
Ginger smiled back, but then the smile faded. Normally when she walked into a store, the salespeople tended to hover nearby and watch her because she must have looked like someone who’d shoplift. Once, a saleswoman had been staring at her as she picked up cheap bracelets, and Ginger, in her skintight minidress, had snapped, “Trust me, lady, I have nowhere to hide it if I was going to steal it. So back off.”
The difference now? No one hovered. No one watched. No one assumed a damned thing about her because of how she looked, the way she was dressed. She looked “presentable” so she was considered “presentable.”
Now she understood why she’d gotten that funny feeling when the woman walking the dog by her car had simply made a throwaway comment about the weather, a pleasantry. Because if Ginger had been dressed the way she had when she’d first shown up in town, that woman would have tossed her a dirty look and said nothing.
I’m the same person, she wanted to scream. Why does showing less skin and wearing less makeup and having small hair make me worthier?
Because that’s how it is, she thought with a grimace. That’s why you’re in Wedlock Creek, taking the etiquette course. It’s why your hair is in a bun. Just focus on what’s truly important.
She put down the adorable onesie: $25.99. Until she got a job, she couldn’t spend money on nonnecessities, and she had several months to go before she’d need to buy baby clothes.
What she definitely did need was a job—and not at a bar. Get your life in order for this baby, she told herself. A job, and she should start looking into places to live come June, when the course was over and she’d have to say goodbye to her fancy room at Madame Davenport’s. She liked Wedlock Creek, the bustling downtown and gorgeous century-old wedding chapel she’d passed on the way out of town this afternoon. Plus James was here. And she liked James. A lot.
And considering she needed a little pick-me-up right now, she was going to find him.
Sometimes a girl just needed some James.
* * *
Just as James was leaving his office, trying to decide between chili tacos from his favorite food truck or maybe a chipotle chicken potpie from the Pie Diner, he ran smack into Ginger.
“Sorry!” he said, reaching out a hand to her shoulder. “I knocked right into you.”
“I’ll be honest,” she said. “I called your godmother to ask where you might be, and she said you go out to lunch like clockwork at one thirty every day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted a hot lunch date.”
He laughed, then realized she might take that the wrong way. “Not that that’s amusing. I mean, not that it’s not true. I mean, I’m not laughing because it’s funny.” Was his face turning the color of beets? “Forget it.”
“Just admit that you think I’m funny,” she said with a grin. “And hot.”
He gave her a quick once-over. “You do look great. Très chic.”
“Tray wha?” she repeated.
“Très chic. Very chic. Very stylish.”
“Right?” she said, giving her shoulders a little shimmy. “Do you really go out to lunch at the same time every day? At one thirty?”
“I guess,” he said. “I keep to a schedule.”
She eyed him as though that was a little crazy, then she peered at the plaque on the door of his office: JAMES GALLAGHER SOLUTIONS. “What do you solve?”
“I’m a consultant. Companies hire me to resolve workplace issues, human resources–related problems, that kind of thing.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like...employees are complaining their manager is terrible and doesn’t listen to their problems. If the human resources department can’t fix it internally, they’ll hire me to come in and work with both sides to find the solution. I have a pretty good track record.”
“Huh. Howdya get so good at that kind of thing?”
“Well, when I was in college, I did a summer internship at a company and found out I was good at solving workplace issues, helping people reach compromises. I made a name for myself there, which got me a job in Human Resources at a corporation in Brewer. I moved to an even bigger company a couple years later, and since employees move around so much, I’d get calls asking if I’d consult. Three years ago, I put up my own shingle.”
“Impressive,” she said. “I guess that makes you a people person.”
“Solving problems and being good at social stuff are two very different things. Trust me, at parties you’ll find me watching the clock and slowly inching toward the door.”
“I love parties,” she said. “So where are we going for lunch?”
“Do you like potpies?” he asked. “The Pie Diner is my favorite lunch place in town. Or we can go for pizza, burgers, Chinese, Italian, barbecue.”
“Potpies? Like the frozen kind my mom used to make in the microwave?”
“Except these are from scratch,” he said.
“Count me in. Gotta love anything with the word pie in the name.” She socked him in the ribs with a snort. “Am I right?” She snapped her fingers. “Oops. Madame Davenport told me to ‘refrain from elbowing anyone in the stomach or side, even a playful punch.’”
“I can take it,” he said, and for a moment he got caught in her gorgeous hazel eyes. She looked so pretty, once again because he could actually see her face, see her. “This way to the Pie Diner.” He nodded to the left.
“Any excuse to take your arm,” she said, linking hers around his.
He smiled. “You really do just say what’s on your mind.”
“Eh, what’s the point of playing games? I like you. You clearly like me. So I’m putting it out there. You said you were taking a break from relationships. A break is meant to end at some point, so why not now? With me. I’m probably totally your type now.” She frowned for a second, then gave her head a little shake, as if working something out with herself.
Crud. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Uh-uh. You see...”
Her face fell, then the smile, though closed lipped, returned. “Oh. Oh, no problem. I get it. You like me but not that way. I can use all the friends I can get, so no worries.”
He let out a ridiculous and exaggerated sigh of relief that he immediately regretted. But nothing about this conversation wasn’t going to be awkward. “Good.”
“Good.”
“Friends do this,” she said, wagging a finger between their arms.
“They do,” he agreed. But now he was holding his breath again. And he wasn’t sure why.
How did this woman have him so off-kilter?
“Ooh, is that a taco truck?” she said, pointing across the street. “I’m dying for a taco with the works.”
He grinned. “I had a chili taco on the brain earlier. Let’s go. We can bring our lunch to the park,” he added, upping his chin just to the left of the taco truck.
Ten minutes later, with a taco supreme for Ginger and two chili tacos for James, plus lemonades and an order of sopaipillas to share for dessert, they headed into the park. Right in front of their bench was a playground, little kids running around and climbing on the toddler structures, moms pushing babies in baby swings.
“Oh God, that’s going to be me,” she said as she unwrapped her taco, her gaze on the moms. “They make it look so easy.”
James sipped his lemonade “You just do what’s necessary. Kid falls down, you check the boo-boo. Not bleeding like crazy? Dust yourself off, kid. Little bully who won’t let your kid down the slide? You get up and announce, using the royal we, ‘We share the slide, you little turd.’”
She cracked up. “There’s no way in a million years I’d ever believe you’d call a kid, even a bully, a little turd.”
He grinned. “Maybe not. But sometimes I wanted to. Back when the quints were in eighth grade that first year it was just me and them? A few of them had trouble with jerks.”
“I guess we all go through it at some point or another. And sometimes it never stops.”
He held up his lemonade and she clinked with her lemonade.
She bit into her taco, her gaze again on the trio of mothers or caregivers keeping close watch on their toddlers on the climbing structures and slides. “I guess my days of getting serious side-eye for how I look are over. I really do look like everyone else now. And strangers smile at me now and mention the weather. It’s weird because I’m the same person I was yesterday. You know what I mean?”
He glanced at her. “Appearances mean way too much. And we all know appearances can be deceiving.”
“Exactly. I mean, is this me?” She waved her free hand up and down her torso.
“Maybe it is. You’re just not used to it.”
The frown was back. “I just don’t want people to suddenly like me because I look like this. I want to be liked for who I am. But no one gave the old Ginger a chance. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day or night.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“Anyway, eye on the prize, right?” she said, taking another bite of her taco. She grinned as she chewed. “I’ll have to ask Madame if there’s an etiquette-y way to eat a taco supreme. Do I have cheese and lettuce on my face?”
He looked at her, again unable to tear his gaze away from her warm, intelligent hazel eyes. One minute she was all vulnerability and the next desperate to save face, to seem unaffected. She put it out there, got hurt, then forced a smile. She probably had no idea how strong she was. “Nope. You look perfect.”
“Ya think?”
He nodded. “Sorry, but yes. You look great. And no, a skintight animal-print minidress and a pound of makeup wouldn’t attract me. It’s a mask in itself, Ginger. It doesn’t show who you are. It hides who you are.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, scrunching up her face. “That’s my style. Or was.”
“Is it a style? Or a cover-up? Maybe it was your way of hiding from the world. It’s an aggressive look.”
“So maybe I’m aggressive. That’s not bad.” She frowned again. “Maybe it is. I’m not really sure anymore. I guess it is. God, this is confusing.”
“Well, maybe think about how your aggression makes the other person feel,” he said. “Attacked or on the spot or bulldozed.”
“Huh. I see what you mean. I suppose when the snooty salesclerk said that thing about red lips being too much for daytime, I didn’t have to insult her. She was just giving her opinion. I just didn’t happen to agree. But I could have just said that—that I didn’t agree. I didn’t have to be a beyotch back.”
By George, she got it. He could have hugged her right then.
“I owe you one,” she said. “You’re good to have in my corner.”
He looked at her and grinned. “Technically, it’s my job, remember? I deal in issues.”
“Well, when I have a problem, you’ll be the first person I go to, James Gallagher Solutions.”
“I hope so. I’m here for you. For another month anyway.”
She sat up straight and looked at him. “What happens in a month?”
“I fly away. I relax. I lie on pink beaches. I climb mountains. I sit in gondolas. I explore ruins. I don’t have the schedules and needs of five siblings in my brain. I’ll be gone all summer on a world tour. My biggest responsibility will be what to eat for breakfast.”
She tilted her head and was quiet for a moment. “Ah, the long-awaited getaway. I can understand that. You took care of your siblings for seven years, and now that they’re on their own, you can take a breather.”
“Exactly.”
She was quiet for a moment, then tucked the rest of her taco in the wrapper and put it in the bag.
“Full?” he asked.
She nodded and glanced at him, then at the little kids playing. A woman with a baby in a sling was watching a little boy with her same white-blond hair climb up a ladder to the short tower. “I wonder if it really is all instinct. Motherhood, I mean. Like, you get handed the baby and it’s instant love, and how to be a mom comes naturally. God, I hope so.”
He smiled. “I think a lot of it is instinctive. And love. And a lot of it is prep. How many books and websites and magazine articles are written about baby rearing? I read countless pieces on the needs of adolescents when my dad and stepmother died. I had no idea how to take care of them. But I had to figure it out.”
She nodded. “I’ve been reading a little. Baby’s first year kind of stuff. Did you know babies wake up every three hours?”
He mock-shivered. “There were times when one of my siblings would wake up in the middle of night, anxious about pimples or a mean girl or a date or just missing our parents. I was up a lot of very late nights with a teenager over the years. Less so now, of course.”
“Sounds like it had to be hard. But kind of wonderful at the same time. All the family—even with the loss of your dad and stepmother. Five brothers and sisters. I wish I had one sibling. I’d never want to be anywhere else than with my family.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you’d been raising your teenage quintuplet siblings for seven years, you’d be on the first plane to Tahiti.”
“Maybe. For a few days. But then I’d want to come right back.”
He shrugged, thinking she couldn’t possibly know. Then again, he’d been an only for seven years until his half siblings had come along. For that long his life had been him, his mom and his dad. Then after the divorce, it was him, his mom and her best friend, Larilla. When the quints were born, he felt like his universe expanded.
“Quints run in your family?” she asked.
“More like they run in the town. Do you know about the legend of the Wedlock Creek Chapel?”
“I passed the chapel today. It’s gorgeous. It looks like a wedding cake.”
He nodded. “People c
ome from all over the country to get married there. Legend says the chapel will bless you with multiples, whether through marriage, science, luck or happenstance.”
“Happenstance? How is anyone blessed with multiples by happenstance?”
He darted a thumb at himself. “You’re looking at it.”
She tilted her head as if thinking about it. “Oh. Oh, right,” she said. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. And I didn’t even have to get married at the chapel to get quints.”
“Well, I’m scared spitless of one baby. You couldn’t pay me to step foot in that chapel on my wedding day.”
“Ditto,” he said. “I’ll start with one baby too.”
“In ten years.”
He gave a firm nod. “Right. In ten years. Minimum.”
She glanced at him. “Well, thanks for lunch,” she said, getting up, her lunch bag clutched in her hand. “I gotta go. Class starts soon.”
He stood up, wishing she could stay just a bit longer. He could talk to her all day.
And as he watched her hurry away, he realized how much he meant that.
Chapter Four
“How much are you going to take off?” Ginger asked the next day, looking at her newly colored, very long hair in the mirror of Hair Spa, a fancy-schmancy hair salon. Her color, though hard to really see since her hair was wet, was now like the golden blond she’d been born with instead of the peroxide blond she’d had for as long as she could remember.
Her stylist put a hand on Ginger’s shoulder. “I’m thinking two inches past your shoulders. So still long but not overly long.”
“That sounds perfect,” Amelia Gallagher said.
“Seconded!” said Merry Gallagher.
Ginger looked at the Gallagher sisters—two of James’s twenty-one-year-old siblings—who’d accompanied her to the salon today for her beauty makeover. Color, cut, makeup lesson. The sisters didn’t look anything like James, and apparently took after their mother. Amelia and Merry had dark blond hair, pale brown eyes, long and elegant noses like Meryl Streep and a polish to them that must have been honed by Madame Davenport. Or maybe some women, even very young ones, were just good at this stuff.
To Keep Her Baby Page 4
