“He hasn’t left yet,” Madame said, straightening the piles on her desk again despite them already being very tidy. “Sometimes you have to put people together for different reasons. Like you and Tyler. There’s a reason for most things.”
Ginger narrowed her gaze again. “You’re being rather cryptic.”
“I have a lot of faith in the heart,” Madame Davenport said. “And things falling into place.”
But... “Are you saying I belong with Tyler in the end?”
Madame’s expression gave nothing away. “Only you can decide who you belong with, my dear.” She consulted her electronic tablet. “Your cocktail party assessment will be at 6:00 p.m. Good luck, Miss O’Leary.”
And with that she was asked to please send in Sandrine.
So Madame had worked behind the scenes to put her and James together, despite her knowing how James felt. That seemed odd. And unlike Larilla Davenport.
Unless...she truly believed there was hope? That regardless of what James thought he wanted, they belonged together? A man who didn’t want kids for ten years, and a woman about to have a baby?
Please. There was no hope.
And there certainly wasn’t any hope with Tyler—not that she wanted there to be. So what was up with that?
For lunch, Ginger, Sandrine and Karly went to the Pie Diner for their amazing potpies. They were celebrating good news—Karly had gotten her promotion to assistant editor at the Wedlock Creek Gazette, and Sandrine was feeling very empowered at having quit her job, especially because she’d gotten an even better job as a hygienist at a bigger practice with a big increase in salary. Ginger might not have something to celebrate, but at least she had the lead on the apartment and a new friend.
At five, Ginger was in her room getting ready for the cocktail party assessment, having no idea what to expect. Madame wasn’t forthcoming about the guest list. Would James be there? Tyler? Her classmates? She really didn’t know.
She wore the new emerald green sheath dress she’d bought the other day at Jazzy’s. The saleswoman had been right about how the dress could go from work to an evening event. Different jewelry, different shoes, and voilà, a different look. Ginger hadn’t had a clue about any of this stuff three weeks ago. Back then, her evening look was about adding ten more coats of mascara.
She glanced around her room at the etiquette school. She didn’t want to leave here. Madame had new students arriving on the first of the month, so she had until then, but that was less than two weeks away. Hopefully Lora Solero’s apartment would work out.
Ginger gave herself a final once-over, declared herself cocktail-party-assessment-worthy and headed down the gorgeous curved staircase. She’d miss this descent. She’d miss the oil paintings lining the walls, and the gorgeous old rugs. When she stepped into the front parlor, there were several groups of people chatting by the wall of bookcases, and another four or five people mingling by the floor-to-ceiling bay window, where a waiter wove through with a tray of appetizers. Another waiter held a tray of sparkling water and wine.
Ginger didn’t know a soul here. How was that possible? Well, except for Amelia and Merry, but they were deep in conversation with someone else.
“All alone tonight?” a man asked, taking two glasses of white wine from a passing waiter’s tray. “You look like you need this,” he added, foisting one of the glasses on her. “God, I hate these parties, don’t you?”
Ginger put the glass down on the little table beside the sofa. The guy was early thirties, okay-looking, with great blond hair. “Actually, I love parties. Chatting, meeting new people, seeing friends, the delicious little hors d’oeuvres.” As a waiter passed with sparkling water, she took one of those.
“You don’t drink? I couldn’t get through one of these snoozefests without booze.” He chuckled as though that were hilarious.
“I don’t drink because I’m pregnant,” she said, patting her tummy. “Just beginning to show.”
“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t see a ring.” His gaze slid to her left hand.
The last time she thought someone was being judgy about her lack of wedding ring, she was wrong, so she decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Though he sure as hell was being rude. “No ring. I’m on my own.”
“You should buy yourself a cheap gold band so people don’t think you’re—oh, you know,” he said with a laugh and took a sip of his wine.
She narrowed her eyes. “That I’m what?”
“Going to be a single mother,” he mock-whispered as though that were disgraceful. “The bigger you get, the more visible that ringless finger will look. It’s like announcing to the world that you got pregnant and who knows what happened to the father.”
Who the hell did this schmuck think he was? “Well, my story is my truth,” she said. “I don’t feel ashamed, if that’s what you were getting at. Oh, I see someone I need to say hello to. Enjoy the party.”
She rushed off as fast as she could, her heart pounding. What a horror show. Who did Larilla invite to this shindig? She moved over to an empty spot by the bookcase, glad she didn’t actually recognize anyone. She needed to catch her breath.
“Hello,” a woman said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Bea Blauman. The town librarian.” She gave Ginger a warm smile and extended her hand.
Ginger shook it. “How nice to meet you. I’m Ginger O’Leary. I love to read. I’ve been busy with school and a new job, but I intend to stay put in Wedlock Creek so expect to see me in the library a lot. Can’t wait to get my library card.”
Bea smiled. “Great.” She listed the library’s hours, including the two days a week it was open till eight at night. “See you soon, then. Lovely meeting you, Ginger.”
As the woman moved on, Ginger hoped there’d be more like her and fewer like the idiot with the good hair and awful conversation skills. Talk about an etiquette fail.
“Well, I must say, you certainly clean up well,” someone said.
Ginger turned to find a woman sizing her up. Um, okay. What now? Ginger tried to place her, wondering if she knew her from around town, but she was pretty sure she’d never seen the woman before. She was around forty, with a strawberry blond bob and bangs, and red-framed eyeglasses. Ginger would definitely recall the glasses, so she doubted she’d run into this lady before.
“I remember when you first showed up in town,” the woman continued. “It’s quite amazing that a person can go from so—” she leaned closer and lowered her voice “—so trashy to this. I mean, excuse my French, but...” She looked her up and down, then leaned close again. “You seriously looked like a hooker. It really is a testament to Larilla Davenport that you changed to this degree.”
No, it’s a testament to Larilla Davenport that you’re still standing, lady. Ginger wanted to take the mini mushroom quiche from the little plate in the woman’s hands and fling it in her face. But she refrained. “My name is Ginger O’Leary,” she said, extending her hand. The woman looked surprised, but shook it and introduced herself as Megan Nally. “I think it’s quite unkind to refer to anyone as trashy or looking like a hooker. Makeup and clothing don’t define a person. I’m the same woman I was three weeks ago.”
“Oh please,” Megan said, waving her hand. She snagged a smoked salmon cake, which looked delicious, and popped it into her mouth in one bite. “Clothes make the man. And the woman. Everyone knows that. You looked like a real you-know-what before.”
“I don’t know what,” Ginger said through gritted teeth, though she tried to adopt a pleasant expression. “But you’ll have to excuse me. Enjoy the party.”
With that she slipped away, reining in her anger until she could get outside. How dare that horrid, judgmental woman! Ginger breathed in the lovely evening air and counted to five.
Oh, who the hell cares what some stranger thinks. I know who I am.
“A plus,” a voice
announced from behind.
Ginger turned around. Madame Davenport, the beyond-rude blond guy, and überjudgy Megan Nally stood there, all lightly clapping.
What was going on?
Ohhhh. The light bulb pinged on over her head.
“That was a test? How awful!” Ginger mock-scrunched up her face. She really should have anticipated it, but she thought tonight would be more about mingling and making appropriate small talk. Which she supposed she had.
“All the cocktail party assessments are individualized for the student based on her most burning questions,” Madame Davenport said. “Yours had been about what to do when someone insults you to the point that you want to throw a scone at them. You asked how to handle that multiple times. It was your burning question because it brought together two areas that were getting the better of you in difficult situations—pride and impulsivity. However, you knew exactly how to handle yourself with rude party guests. You correct the other’s bad behavior while remaining in control, and then you simply walk away. You even went the step further of politely excusing yourself, which earned you the plus.”
Huh. I think it’s quite unkind to refer to someone as trashy... Clothes and makeup don’t define...
She had done that. And she had walked away. Politely. When she’d felt like dumping a platter of mini empanadas on Megan Nally’s head.
She thought she hadn’t changed all that much, but of course she had. In the best ways.
* * *
“Wow, that Megan lady is lucky you didn’t punch her lights out,” Tyler said as he and Ginger walked down the clothing aisle at BabyLand. They’d met for coffee after the cocktail party assessment, and Tyler had broken down in tears again in line because the woman in front of them ordered a skinny, no whip, iced Americano, which was his ex’s exact order. Hey, sometimes the smallest things could trigger the biggest emotions.
Ginger had suggested they skip the coffee and go somewhere else, somewhere that wouldn’t remind him of whatshername, but every place Ginger mentioned had him tearing up again until she’d mentioned offhandedly that she had to make a mental note to schedule a morning at BabyLand to start thinking about how she’d outfit her nursery. Now she had a steady paycheck—and a good one too—and hopefully by tomorrow, her own place to put a crib.
“Perfect,” Tyler said. “My ex had no interest in motherhood yet, so being at a baby store won’t remind me of her. In fact, nothing will trigger any memories there.”
Which was how she’d ended up in BabyLand at 7:15 p.m. with Tyler Witowsky, holding on to her store-generated list of must-haves and her own little “registry adder,” a little clicky device that allowed her to point and click at any item she wanted to add to her registry or wish list. That gorgeous white sleigh crib—on the list. Adorable lemon yellow sheets with tiny moons and stars—hers to be. A mobile, changing table and pad, all the necessities for diaper changing, for that matter, including that delicious-smelling baby lotion.
“Huh, I guess this is more boring than I thought,” Tyler said with a grin.
Ginger conked him on the shoulder with a stuffed monkey, then zapped it with her registry adder. “Must-have.”
She turned at the sound of sniffling. Oh God. Tyler was crying again.
“I thought nothing here could trigger you,” she said gently. “What happened?”
“My ex wanted a pet monkey. Like on that old show Friends? Remember? Ross’s monkey, Marcel? We watched all the seasons together. It was our thing.” He broke down in a fresh round of sobs.
Oh brother. Ty sure was a crier. She shoved the monkey behind a bigger stuffed dolphin. “Let it out,” she told him, drawing him into a hug. “Cry it out—it’s the best way to heal. You’re dealing with your sad feelings and that’s the key.”
She heard a sniffle, and felt him reach up to dab under his eyes. He put his head on her shoulder. “I’m really glad we’re friends, Ginger. You’re great.”
“Aww, thanks,” she said, patting his back and giving him a big squeeze.
The sound of something thudding to the floor made her turn around. Oh God.
Standing there, with an entire display of stuffed globes at his feet, was, inexplicably James Gallagher.
Why he would be at BabyLand, particularly right before closing, was beyond her. But so was speech at the moment. Her breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t get words out, which was a good thing, since all she could think was, Dammit, you look so good. His blue shirt was almost the same color as his eyes, and he wore her favorite sexy jeans, the faded Levi’s that molded to his incredibly sexy body.
He grabbed a bunch of globes in his arms and muttered a “Sorry” to the salesclerk standing nearby. The woman chased after a few errant globes that had made their way under displays.
Ginger headed over to help pick up the ones around James’s feet. “How fitting is this?” she asked. “You literally have the world at your feet.” She tossed a stuffed blue globe in the air and caught it. She closed her eyes and touched her finger to a random spot on the plush globe, then opened her eyes. “I landed on Brazil. Going there?” she asked.
Holy moly, she was losing her mind. This was the rambling nattering of a person who was completely off guard.
The fog cleared somewhat. “Forget all that,” she said. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“What in the world—is that a pun?” he asked, no mirth in his voice as he practically tripped over a globe just behind his foot.
She shook her head. “Actually no. What are you doing here?”
“James Gallagher Solutions received an invitation to Antonia Solero’s baby shower. Geneva’s throwing it at the bakery. It’s right before I leave. So I thought I’d pick up a gift from us before I get too crazy with settling up and packing.”
“I see,” she said. “You could have asked me to pick up a gift. I would have.”
“Well, you’re, um...” He coughed and glanced up the aisle, where Tyler was standing there with the stuffed monkey, staring at it as if willing himself to be immune to it. So far, no tears. “Busy,” he finally said. “I happened to see you two on Main Street last night. I guess the date went very, very well.”
Oh my God. He thought—
Do. Not. Correct. Him. She was back in her new Ginger look, which she knew appealed to him. So if he thought she and her blind date last night had hit it off to the point that they were still on the date in a baby store? All the better for James. Because he did care so much about her, James needed to think she’d found her man, her father for Bluebell, and that was exactly what he must be thinking right now. He could sail off for the independent, no-responsibility, no-wife-or-baby seas secure in the knowledge that she was A-OK.
Do not burst into tears, she sent telepathically to Tyler. You’ll give me away!
“We really hit it off,” she said, tossing a smile at Tyler, who was still staring very seriously at the stuffed monkey. James probably thought the guy took stuffed animal purchasing very seriously. Which was a good thing in someone she was passing off as Bluebell’s future father.
She sighed inwardly at how silly and unnecessary all this was. Yet how necessary at the same time. She loved James with all her heart. And because she did, she had to let him live the life he really wanted, the life he deserved after all he’d sacrificed.
“Well, I’ll let you two get back to your shopping,” he said, grabbing a stuffed globe the salesclerk had missed and tossing it back on the display. He eyed Tyler, then her, and then beat the ole hasty retreat.
Taking her heart with him.
* * *
James left BabyLand without a gift for Antonia Solero. As if he could think straight, let alone choose a suitable shower gift for a client. He practically staggered outside, his hands clammy and a buzzing sound in his head.
He’d seen them embracing with his own eyes. They were now
a couple. Ginger had found someone she liked—clearly a lot. And from the intense way the guy had been focused on that stuffed monkey in his hands, he took the buying of stuffed animals very seriously. That had to be a good thing. And since Larilla had set her up—he was pretty sure he was the something or other of someone from her book group—the man had to be a good guy. Larilla would have had him vetted. She liked Ginger that much.
Crud. So did he. He more than liked her and knew it, but every time the word love poked its way into his consciousness, he punched it away. You could love someone who, say, wanted to move to New York City when you were not a city guy, and there you had it—not gonna work. Unless one of you gave up your true nature. Not that living in a city or not was the best example for what was keeping him and Ginger from being a couple.
He’d never have the freedom he craved if he was with Ginger.
He’d never be able to just pack up and go. Spend a weekend in Vegas. Go mountain climbing in Utah. Get rip-roaring drunk with his college friends. Not that he saw them much anyway.
And not that he necessarily wanted to do any of those things. It was just that he hadn’t been able to do anything these past seven years.
But Ginger with another man? The thought made him seriously sick to his stomach.
He stalked to his car and drove around for a while, wondering if they were still in BabyLand, picking out baby socks for Bluebell. He drove home, glad to discover none of his sisters were around. One look at him, and they’d interrogate him to find out what was bothering him.
What he couldn’t understand was why the idea of Ginger with someone else bothered him so much. A quality father for her baby was the whole reason she’d come to Wedlock Creek and gone through the three-week etiquette course. To become a woman who’d attract the kind of man she wanted for Bluebell’s dad.
He let out the sigh of all sighs as another thought began inching its way into his consciousness. He tried to bat it back, but it kept coming.
To Keep Her Baby Page 15
