The Baby Bargain

by Layla Valentine

  While they took a tour around the apartment, my dad put an arm around my shoulder.

  “You did good, kid,” he told me. “I think that one’s a keeper.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, Dad. I did really good.”

  We didn’t have time to sing Ashton’s praises any further—the party was starting.

  As the doorbell began to ring, I grabbed Levi from his crib, hitched him onto my hip, and strode towards the elevator to greet our small group of guests. People entered, one after another, dazzled by Ashton’s swanky home. I greeted friends, family, and a few coworkers that Ashton and I had invited.

  Everyone was anxious to coo over Levi’s cute little get-up, and whisper congratulations to me on “taming the beast.” I never tired of the praise; after all, they were right—I’d landed a wonderful man.

  Folks were relatively prompt, everybody filtering in before noon. I chatted with friends I hadn’t seen in far too long, and found that none of them blamed me for disappearing while I’d needed to focus on Levi, and myself.

  See, in my head, they were all annoyed that I didn’t have time for girls’ nights out, or any of the other hijinks we used to get up to. But, in reality, they all loved squeezing Levi’s cheeks, and playing with his little toes, and each in turn said they’d clear their schedules for brunch whenever I got a free weekend. My heart glowed with the continual reassurances that they were not, in fact, mad with me, but were instead thrilled to see me happy at last.

  After catching up with my friends, I moved on to a group of my relatives, including my cousin Jessie, who had driven down from Oxnard.

  I pulled her into a big bear hug, and thanked her for making the trip.

  “Pfft, don’t be crazy,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I wanted a chance to see you, now that you’re officially not moving onto my couch.”

  “Thank you again for the offer, though,” I replied.

  “You’re welcome. Any time, girl.” She laughed, and added, “Between us, I think this apartment might be a small step up from my living room.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, I got pretty lucky; that’s for sure.”

  The afternoon flew by, conversation, snacks and mimosas flowing smoothly. At some point I can’t quite pinpoint, Ashton lifted Levi from my arms and into his own, then proceeded to carry the baby around the party like a proud papa. Seeing Levi nestled in Ashton’s grip always got the better of my hormones, and today was no different. There would be time to show Ashton that later, though.

  Eventually, it came time to sing “Happy Birthday,” and the partygoers did so with gusto. Sure, we were pretty off-key, but Levi was too young to know that. Birthday cake was passed around, and a few gifts were unwrapped. More than one joke was made about gifts being superfluous with Mr. Swann Innovations himself in the picture, and I had to agree. But I was thrilled to find that folks had brought a litany of homemade items which were way more meaningful than anything store-bought could have been. Levi received a knitted hat and blanket, customized stuffed animals, and even an origami mobile decorated with multi-colored paper cranes.

  The party was, by all accounts, a great success. We’d planned for it to run two hours, maybe three, but then somebody started a game of charades, and before I knew it, six o’clock had rolled around, and we had to reluctantly usher people out the door; it was nearly the birthday boy’s bedtime, and while he’d been well-behaved all day (he’d even napped during the party), I knew we’d be pushing it if people stayed any longer.

  I thanked all the guests for coming, and each in turn hugged and kissed me and Levi on the way out the door. To my surprise, more than a few exchanged numbers with Ashton, promising to text him about one thing or another. I realized that he had worked the room, and made a dozen new friends in the process; if there was one thing he’d learnt in business, it was the art of the schmooze.

  My parents were the last to leave, and they did so reluctantly. But after a few more embraces, and reassurances that they’d see their grandson very soon, they stepped into the elevator and were whisked away.

  Exhausted, I looked around Ashton’s once-immaculate apartment. Paper plates littered the countertops, some soy sauce had been spilled, and dirt had been tracked in from shoes.

  “I’m sorry about the mess!” I called out, unsure of where he was.

  In answer, he emerged from a broom closet, bearing cleaning supplies. “Don’t apologize,” he said warmly. “I had a great time—totally worth the aftermath. Did you?”

  I walked towards him, and nestled my head against one of his powerful shoulders.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “It was so fun. You were amazing.”

  The nerves in his voice were audible when he questioned, “You think so?”

  From my perch on his neck, I twisted upwards to look at him and confirm, “I know so.”

  He kissed me lightly on the nose, then proceeded with his tidying up. While he handled that, I grabbed Levi and gave him a much-needed bath. In short time, the apartment was restored to its former glory, and Levi was snuggly in his PJs.

  With Levi in my arms, I walked into the kitchen and asked Ashton, “Wanna help me put him into bed?”

  “Of course,” he replied, as though it were second nature. How quickly we’d fallen into this lovely routine.

  Together, we strolled to the guest bedroom, which now served as Levi’s bedroom. It was kitted-out to the nines with a state-of-the-art baby monitor, crib, dressing table…the works. It was everything I’d always wanted my son to have.

  I passed Levi to Ashton, saying, “You do the honors.”

  He smiled at the trust I was showing, and slowly lowered the baby into his crib.

  “Should we sing him a lullaby?” Ashton asked.

  “Sure. Do you have one in mind?”

  He hesitated, thinking, and finally replied, “Yeah. It’s kind of strange…it’s an old Texan song my mom used to sing to me when I was young.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I assured him. “Take it away.”

  Ashton shuffled his feet, cleared his throat, and then began to sing.

  In a startlingly beautiful voice, he sang about the rolling plains of Texas, groves of Sycamore trees, winding rivers with plentiful fish, and cherry groves that grew in the shade. It was haunting, and powerful. By the final verse, I found myself moved almost to tears. He closed the chorus, singing, “my heart to Texas true.”

  The air was heavy, as if we’d somehow been transported to the dense heat of his childhood home.

  I broke the silence, whispering, “That was incredible, Ashton. Your voice…and that song…thank you.”

  His eyes glistened, foggy with memories. “Thank you,” he replied. “I haven’t sung it in a long time—not since my mother passed.”

  “I hope you’ll do it again sometime soon,” I said.

  He turned to me with a beatific smile, and just as he was about to lean in to give me a kiss, Levi gurgled in the crib.

  Turning my head to look down at my baby, I found that Levi’s mouth was making shapes, more purposefully than his usual babbling.

  Ashton and I held our breaths, both able to sense that something was happening.

  At last, Levi said, “Dada.”

  Oh my God. Did he just say his first word? And was his first word—

  “Dada,” Levi repeated.

  “Oh my—” Ashton breathed. “Was that his first—”

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “It was.”

  Levi rested his head back in the crib, obviously done with his exertions for the night, and I pivoted to face Ashton, who was flushed.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry that his first word wasn’t, you know, ‘Mama.’ I feel bad.”

  “Ashton, it’s okay. It means my son likes you. That means more to me than anything in the world.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive,” I replied, then added, “Provided you mean to stick aroun
d, that is. As long as you don’t abandon us out of the blue, the way Levi’s biological father did…well, as long as that doesn’t happen, then I’m thrilled that my son’s first word was ‘Dada.’ There was a time, not all that long ago, when I thought he’d never have a real father figure. You’ve just proved me wrong.”

  “I do mean to stick around,” Ashton said. “I couldn’t be more overwhelmed—no, honored. And, to show you that I mean it…”

  Without warning, Ashton slid down to one knee. My hands flew to my mouth, as the world seemed to stop spinning.

  Chapter 21

  Harley

  Time had stopped completely, and Ashton was saying, “Harley, before I met you, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever have love, or a family that loved me. You’ve changed my life, and more importantly, you’ve changed me.”

  He blushed a little as he continued. “I’m sorry I don’t have a ring—I was planning wait at least a little longer before I asked you—but I couldn’t exist for one more minute without knowing that we could spend the rest of our days together.”

  He took a deep breath, paused, and then continued, “So, Harley Phillips… Will you marry me?”

  “Screw the ring!” I crowed, and we both broke into laughter.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Um, it’s a big, big yes. I don’t care about jewelry, I just want you. Can I have that?”

  “Can you have me?” he replied. “Harley, you have me—mind, body and soul. You’ve had me since the moment I met you.”

  I couldn’t stand it any longer—Ashton was on his knees, and right where I’d wanted him all damn day. Screw it. I was going to give into my lesser angels.

  “You may not be able to give me a ring just yet,” I began coyly, “but I know something else you can give me.”

  With that, I lifted up my skirt, revealing to Ashton that I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  His eyes went wide with appreciation, and in the blink of an eye, before I was able to get my bearings, he’d lunged from kneeling to position himself between my thighs. He rose swiftly, wrapping his hands around my ass to stabilize me, and suddenly, I was in the air.

  I squealed with delight, my head almost brushing the ceiling. “Take me to the bedroom, like right now!”

  His words were muffled by my thighs, but he managed to enunciate, “Okay, but you’re gonna have to direct me there.”

  Laughing, I began to call out directions as though we were doing some kind of elaborate trust fall: two steps forward, three steps to the left, one to the right, walk backwards. Occasionally, on our journey down the hallway, my GPS skills were interrupted by my own moans; Ashton had begun to tauntingly flick his tongue against my clit, and I grasped onto his head as waves of pleasure rocked through me.

  At last, we managed to stumble into the bedroom, where Ashton promptly threw me down on the bed. I grinned at the animalistic glint in his eye; he was just as hungry, if not hungrier, than I was.

  “Do you realize I’ve been thinking about your pussy all day?” he asked gruffly. “And now I’m gonna have my way with you. Take off your clothes.”

  I did as I was told, whipping off my dress and bra. The white sheets were soft against my tanned skin.

  “I want to watch you pleasure yourself,” he ordered as he too began to undress.

  I was more than happy to oblige. I let my fingers trail down my stomach, past my soft, downy hair and to my clit, which I began to stroke with soft, teasing touches. Ashton had completely stripped, and the mere sight of his naked body near pushed me to the brink. The curvature of his toned arms, the deep indentations above his hips, the girth of his hard cock. Every part of him inspired my fingers to move my fingers faster and faster.

  He stayed at a tantalizing distance, watching me but not making any moves.

  “Ashton,” I pleaded, “come here.”

  “What was that?” he mocked.

  God, was I gonna have to beg for it?

  “Please.”

  He sighed, and ran a thumb across his jawline. “Be specific. Paint me a picture of exactly what you want.”

  “I want you.”

  “More specific.”

  Horny and frustrated, I elaborated, “I want you and your gorgeous cock to fuck me ten ways to Sunday. How does that sound?”

  A Cheshire-Cat grin transformed his face, and with that, he threw himself on the bed like a jaguar attacking its prey. He removed my hand from my now engorged clit and flipped me over onto my stomach.

  As he slowly closed the distance between us, I felt his hard dick teasing the soft skin of my inner thighs. I wanted him inside me, but I also wanted the delicious sensation to never end. Decisions, decisions.

  His breath was heavy in my ear, and I sensed that our breathing patterns had aligned. We were in perfect, ineffable unison.

  “Now,” I whispered.

  With an unruly groan, he plunged his cock deep inside of me. I gasped for air, as if emerging to the surface for the first time in minutes. Indeed, being with Ashton felt like swimming through uncharted territories, and only his body could keep the waters from getting too murky.

  He stroked in and out, in and out, his tip hitting my G-spot over and over, the curvature of his cock harmonizing with the shape of my intimate places.

  I registered a sound somewhere in the distance, and only later did I realize that they were moans growling out of my chest.

  His thrusts grew faster, and I knew that we were both on the brink.

  “Yes, Ashton,” I cried, ready to be pushed over the edge.

  Ashton obliged, and even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew that his mouth was spread wide in a roguish grin.

  “Okay,” he replied, and with no prelude, he brought his finger around to stroke my clit, intuitively aware that his touch would take me over the brink.

  “Oh, yes!” I screamed, as he increased the pace of his thrusts in sync with his stroking, bringing us both crashing over the edge into orgasmic ecstasy.

  I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that before we rolled off one another, lying side by side on our backs, chests heaving. At last, Ashton turned towards me, eyes half-closed from exertion. A blissed-out smile pulled at the corners of his cheeks.

  “What are you so giddy about?” I laughed.

  The smile grew wider, and Ashton said, “Marrying you.”

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  No one ever tells you before you get engaged, but planning a wedding is a full-time job. You need a venue, caterers, floral arrangements, a DJ, rings, and a really, really nice dress. I don’t understand how any married couple in the history of the world has ever managed to pull it off, let alone all of them.

  But, ignore me—I’m just whining about getting to plan the most perfect day of my life with the most perfect man I’ve ever met. The work was hectic, sure, but at the end of it, I’d get to be married to Ashton Swann. If I had to organize a wedding on the moon, I’d do it. Anything to be with him.

  Our efforts were already paying off in spades; we’d booked a vineyard just a few miles outside San Bravado, chartered a small fleet of private jets to fly our guests down, and I’d purchased maybe the most beautiful dress I’d ever laid eyes on. I don’t want to give too much away, but I can tell you that it’s white. Shocker, I know.

  You know what else makes planning a wedding hard? Having a fiancé who’s busier than ever at work. But I guess that was kind of, technically, my fault.

  Remember how I was evicted from my apartment because some developer had bought up the land? Remember how I was given twenty-four hours to move myself and my baby son out, and I almost had to quit my job and start over in Oxnard? Remember how gentrification nearly ruined my happily ever after?

  Well, Ashton was having none of that. In the months since we’d moved in together, he’d begun to quiz me on what life was like renting in San Bravado; he took copious notes on rising rent costs, developer and landlord rights, and my impressions of how the neighbor
hood had changed since I was a kid. He studied up on the areas where I was fuzzy on details, until at last, he’d complied an almost biblical amount of information on the town’s housing crisis.

  Once Ashton was satisfied that he comprehended the housing crisis as well as—if not better than—the urban planners and local government, he launched an initiative backed by Swann Innovations, entitled Home Stay.

  I won’t bore you with the intricate details, of which there are many, but in essence, Home Stay bought up small city blocks, designated them as low-rent and rent-controlled, and leased them out to residents who fell below a certain income bracket and were intent on staying San Bravado for a significant amount of time.

  Home Stay was heralded as a phenomenal success, and though it had only been up and running for about four months now, it was already billed as a game-changer in the housing market. Many other companies in town were already following some version of Ashton’s example, meaning that the city of my childhood would be saved.

  So, sure, his workload had quadrupled. But could I really fault him for it? He was a real-life, honest-to-God superhero. No longer was he following in his father’s troubled footsteps, pushing his feelings down while making heaps of money. No, he was working to improve other people’s quality of life, people like me (well, at least, past me).

  I was so proud of him.

  Fast-forward to a Monday morning just like any other Monday morning. By the time I had awoken, Ashton was already off at work, as usual. He always left me a small note in perfect handwriting on the kitchen counter to apologize for leaving early, and to say that he loved me to the moon and back.

  After about ten of these notes, I’d joked one night that he could lay off; he didn’t have to feel obliged to write an elaborate card every time, but he’d shaken his head and insisted that penning them made him happy. Apparently, my wonderful fiancé liked to imagine me waking up to a tangible reminder of his eternal love.