Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  “So, we’re buying books?” she asked, wincing at her strangled tone. Notwithstanding everything going on around them, she was keenly aware of his touch. Heat flowed from the tips of his fingers to the sensitive spot between her thighs.

  “Possibly.”

  Except there was no effort to browse the offerings. Mystery. Manga. Romance. Nonfiction. Test Prep . . . Surely the store had to end at some point?

  Mike stopped at the entrance of a faux jungle. Tall “trees” towered above them, the leaves offering canopied access into a section strewn with multicolored beanbags, miniature tables and chairs, and cutout cartoon characters.

  A massive pressure settled on her chest, making breathing difficult. She pushed against his hand. “No. The pictures were one thing. I don’t want to read to little kids, or see a kid’s reading group—­”

  “That’s not why we’re here.” He pulled her to stand in front of a wooden bookcase labeled “Pregnancy & Childbirth.”

  Her heartbeat slowed and she inhaled shakily, the panic receding. “I don’t understand.”

  “Even if you’re giving the baby away, you still have to go through the pregnancy. I’ve done a little research. Have you?”

  “Not really.” She’d been afraid to, convinced that delving into the subject would make it a reality. It’s why she’d postponed taking the pregnancy test, but at a certain point there’d been no mistaking the symptoms.

  “So I thought we could learn about it together.”

  Just when she thought she had him figured out, he flipped the script on her. It was unsettling.

  “Why are you doing all of this?”

  “Because this is my child, too. And we both want to make sure you have a healthy pregnancy, right? To give Nugget the best start?”

  She rubbed her belly. “Of course.”

  “Good.” He smiled and she got a little light-­headed.

  She could shield herself from his sexiness when he was being all arrogant and overbearing. How was she supposed to resist him in sweet and protective mode?

  He pulled a book off the shelf and read the title. “So You’re Expecting. Now What? This appears to be the bible for pregnancy.” He leaned a shoulder against the bookcase and started flipping through the pages. A few minutes later, he was still reading quietly to himself.

  She trailed her fingers along the base of her neck. “Uh, Mike?”

  “Hmmm?” He didn’t look up.

  “Is this supposed to be fun?”

  That got his attention. “I don’t know about fun, but we need to do it.”

  “But we could do what you’re doing on the computer. Let’s try something different. Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh my God! You’re so suspicious. Just do it.”

  He did.

  “I’d forgotten how bossy you can be.” His voice dipped an octave, sending ripples of pleasures through her. “I like it.”

  “I’m taking your hand—­” She did. He had great hands. She shivered. Magical hands. “And holding it up to the books. Now pick one.”

  He hesitated before hooking a finger in the spine of a book and pulling it from the stack.

  “Okay, open your eyes.”

  He held up the book. It’s Coming in Nine Months.

  “Sounds like a horror movie.”

  She laughed. “Pick a page and read a random piece of advice.”

  “ ‘Every belly button will pop out at some point,’ ” he recited. “ ‘Just look on the bright side: you can clean out all your navel lint.’ ”

  “Eww, gross.”

  “I get the feeling we’ll encounter fouler things than that.”

  “My turn.”

  Those great hands covered hers. In the blackness tinged with red, she could feel the heat radiating from his body and discern the faint trace of his crisp cologne blended with him in a unique scent she’d know anywhere. Her nostrils flared.

  Her fingers tripped over ridges and pointed edges until it landed on a wide expanse of grainy smoothness. She pulled. There’s a Baby in There, Bruh! “ ‘Its nine months up, nine months down. It took a while for her to put the weight on. It’ll take her that long to lose it. And her body will never be the same. Hang in there. And be sensitive.’ ” She closed it and wrinkled her nose. “Wow, I can’t tell if he’s offering wise words or being an asshole.”

  Mike picked again. The Nature-­all Mother. “Oh, I get it. Nature-­all—­”

  “Natural . . .” Indi bobbed her head.

  “ ‘Don’t let the doctor throw away your placenta,’ ” he said, his forehead wrinkling more with each word until it resembled a shar-­pei. “ ‘Take it home and plant it. Grow roses to commemorate your baby’s birth.’ ”

  Her eyes widened. “Is she for real? How am I supposed to ask the doctor for that?”

  Mike shook his head. “Don’t look at me. I’m not doing it.”

  Indi pulled a book written by a celebrity mom. Fabulous & Fertile. She rolled her eyes.

  “ ‘Girlfriend, get used to the sex dreams. They’ll be vivid, realistic and they will give you the best orgasms of your life.’ ”

  Hey now. . .

  “Game over,” Mike grumbled, taking the book from her. “Everyone’s a fucking critic.”

  ON THE EDGE of the Towne Center—­across from an old brick building bordered by an abandoned lot—­they sat on an outdoor patio and ate frozen yogurt as the late afternoon sun warmed the surrounding environs. Another bite and Indi closed her eyes in appreciation, the cool, yummy treat a soothing balm to the emotional hurricane that hurled her back and forth all day.

  “It’s so good,” she said, wincing as the cold dessert froze her teeth.

  Mike pointed to her waffle bowl with his neon-­green plastic spoon. “How can you tell? You have so many toppings in there, I’m surprised you even taste the yogurt.”

  “What? Everything melds. I have peanut butter, milk chocolate, and white chocolate frozen yogurt, topped with peanuts and toffee bits with caramel and milk chocolate fudge sauce. It. All. Melds.”

  “You make my teeth ache just listening to your description.”

  “My point is I’m not trying to taste the separate elements. It’s the taste of all the flavors blended together that interests me.” She waved her vibrant purple spoon like a royal scepter. “Don’t worry about me. Enjoy your boring creation.”

  “Strawberry cheesecake is not boring. It’s a classic.” He scraped his last bite from the cup then set it down on the table. “And not worrying about you isn’t an option anymore.”

  And just like that she was propelled back into the fray. She scrunched her eyes and stared at the building across the street, a colorful mural depicting ­people of different ethnicities sitting at a table holding hands, a bounty of fruit and vegetables spread before them, covering one side.

  “Who knows you’re pregnant?”

  “You. And I ran into Chelsea’s assistant, Jill, and she guessed. Other than that . . .”

  “You haven’t told Chelsea?”

  A white delivery truck pulled into the empty lot next to the building. A man jumped down from the bright red cab, a clipboard in his hand.

  “It’s not something I wanted to tell her over the phone. Have you told anyone?”

  “Only Jonathan and Ryan.”

  She tried to swallow past the knot in her throat. “Have you told her?”

  “No.”

  She appreciated that he didn’t feign ignorance. She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “Are you going to?

  “Dr. Kimball said we might be able to find out the sex at the next ultrasound. Do you want to know?”

  It shouldn’t matter that he didn’t answer. They weren’t a ­couple. They weren’t even going to raise this child together. They were essentially stra
ngers brought together by circumstance, like two college students who rode together to the same town during vacation, and went their separate ways when they reached their destination. How he lived his life—­and the ­people he invited into in it—­was none of her business.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to find out.”

  “Why not?”

  “I like the idea of being surprised that day. Truly surprised. And it’s not like knowing changes anything. ‘You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit,’ ” she finished in a sing-­song tone.

  “Excuse me?” Confusion was sexy as hell on him. Everything was sexy as hell on him.

  “Something I heard a mother tell her kid. I worked at this resort in Charleston and one day, they assigned me to the nursery. This woman came in and dropped her son off so she could make her spa appointment. He started fussing because she gave him a baggie of animal crackers instead of goldfish, and she told him—­”

  “ ‘You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit,’ ” he repeated.

  “Exactly.”

  Indi had given her notice at the end of her shift. She’d never been a kid person, and the idea of watching children while their parents enjoyed their lives, wasn’t on her top ten list of ways she wanted to spend her time.

  “You’re basing your decision to discover the sex of our baby on a children’s adage?”

  “Seems to fit.” She bent her head, but peered at him through her lashes. “Would you find out?”

  “Of course. To plan. To think of names and decorate the nursery.”

  As the delivery guy unlocked the back of the truck and climbed into the cargo area, the wide wooden doors of the building opened and ­people attired in blue T-­shirts with yellow lettering streamed out. From this distance she couldn’t see their faces, but their swinging arms and energetic steps telegraphed a jubilation and purpose she envied.

  “That won’t be my concern.”

  “Possibly.” He tapped a finger against the table. “But you’re not raising the baby, so your concerns don’t matter. The ­couple you’re giving the baby to may want to know.”

  It was difficult not to wallow in her indignation at his stark statement, but he was right. Some of the decisions she’d make if she were keeping Nugget wouldn’t apply in this circumstance. She’d probably need to consider that . . . later. The commotion across the street was a suitable distraction. “I wonder what’s going on over there?”

  The delivery guy hefted a box from the back of the truck and handed it to one of the assembled volunteers, who carried it into the building. He repeated the handoff, forming an assembly line, and giving Indi the opportunity to see the distinctive calligraphic C on the side of the packages.

  She turned to Mike. “Are those boxes from Computronix?”

  “Come on.” He took her hand and cut across the street, against the light. She looked around for a police cruiser, certain there would be serious repercussions for another crime committed while on bail. Even if the crime was only jaywalking.

  A big guy with curly red hair and a full beard broke away from the activity and strode over to meet them. “Mike, what a wonderful surprise! We didn’t expect you to personally supervise the delivery.”

  He was dressed like the others—­jeans, sneakers, and the blue shirt. Up close, she could read the yellow writing.

  The Youth Alliance.

  “Griffin.” Mike shook the other man’s hand.

  Griffin squeezed Mike’s forearm with his free hand. “This is unbelievably generous of you and Computronix. Our kids will flip.”

  Indi’s gaze followed another large box as two volunteers transferred it from the truck to the building.

  Flip for what?

  Mike curved an arm around her waist and shepherded her forward. “Meet my friend, India Shaw. Indi, Griffin Adorno is the head of the Youth Alliance, a program for the city’s homeless youth. They provide a temporary place for kids to stay while finishing school and undergoing job-­placement training.”

  “That’s wonderful!” She knew how much a program like that was needed. While her various foster providers—­she’d never make the mistake of calling them families—­could be accused of gross emotional neglect, she hadn’t been subjected to physical or sexual abuse. Others weren’t as lucky.

  One of the reasons a place like the one offered by the Youth Alliance could literally be the difference between life and death.

  “Thanks.” Griffin shoved his hands into his back pockets. “We’re funded from a collection of sources: state and city grants, foundations, and donations. But 75 percent of our budget comes from federal money. This year we learned we’re losing the bulk of that federal funding.”

  “Why?”

  “Federal monies for the homeless are limited and they want to funnel it toward areas that are shown to be the most effective. And according to them, that’s permanent housing. Which is great for the adult homeless population, but not so much for the youth. We thought we’d have to close our doors.” A smile brightened his face and he slapped a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “But then we got a call from Mike. Computronix is providing us enough funding for the next five years.”

  Her jaw dropped. “How many beds?”

  “Thirty-­seven.”

  She pressed splayed fingers against her chest and turned shocked eyes on Mike. She had a rough idea of how much money it took to fund these types of programs. That was close to a million dollars.

  “That’s not all. He’s donated the equipment for a new computer lab and gaming room.”

  Say hello to a million.

  “Just remember our deal,” he told Griffin.

  “I will. No press.” Griffin’s eyes darted to a spot behind them. “However, it looks like I won’t be able to prevent this. We were going to record a message and send it to you, but now that you’re here . . .”

  A group of teenagers stood at the base of the steps that led into the building. A soft count of three and they broke into an a cappella arrangement. Their voices blended beautifully and the harmonious sound washed over her, raising goose bumps on her arms. The spectacle was moving. These kids were so grateful they were expressing themselves through song. Mike moved closer to her and reached for her hand, entwining their fingers.

  A crowd formed behind them, ­people holding up their phones to capture the moment.

  “ ‘I want to thank you for giving me the best day of my life

  Oh, just to be with you is having the best day of my life.’ ”

  The crowd burst into applause when the kids finished. Mike went forward and shook hands, bumped fists, and even received a few hugs and kisses on his cheek. Afterward, ­people stayed and gave of their time, helping to unload the truck—­which had to be like one of those clown cars with infinite space inside.

  “This is why you brought me out here today? So I could see this?”

  He nodded.

  “You’re amazing,” she said. “That has to be the most generous thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “We were in a position to help, so we did.”

  She’d been around her fair share of ­people with money. They either spent it like water or refused to part with it. But if they gave it away, they all wanted the credit for doing so. And yet Mike didn’t.

  “You could’ve given to lots of charities. Why this one?”

  One that was so close to her and what she’d gone through.

  “I wanted you to see another side of me. To know that I care and can do good for the world.” He placed a hand on her belly. “But mainly, I hoped to convince you to not give Nugget up.”

  “Mike, I can’t raise him.”

  “Don’t give him up for adoption.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “Give him to me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  INDI STARED AT the TV and snuggled further into the
cashmere throw she’d found on the comfy sectional.

  Mike wanted to raise Nugget. How? He worked long hours. Who was going to take care of the baby? A nanny? His family? Or was he assuming he could slot Skylar Thompson into the role? Indi would’ve laughed if her constricted throat had allowed it. He was an idiot if he thought Skylar was the type of woman who’d happily sign on to raise his biracial baby from a one-­weekend stand. And Indi didn’t intend to place Nugget in a situation where the parents resented his presence.

  She should go along with her initial reaction to his request. Tell him no. She’d be doing him a favor.

  A character’s reaction on the screen clued her in to her disinterest. Reaching for the remote, she paused the DVR, aware that she’d failed to comprehend anything that had happened on the edgy sitcom for the past five minutes. The lack of light from the screen rendered the room dark, the only illumination provided by the city lights shining in through the large windows.

  She hadn’t seen Mike since he’d made his request this past weekend. She’d needed the two days apart. There was too much exposure. To him, to Nugget, to projections of a future they’d share together. She was susceptible to thoughts she didn’t want to think, feelings she didn’t want to feel.

  As if conjured by the strength and frequency of her thoughts, the door opened.

  Indi froze.

  Steps on the hardwood floor, the jingle of keys, and then the door closing. A sigh, and a world of weariness encompassed the sound.

  That moment of vulnerability touched her more than all the bombast, charisma, and swagger. She’d spent a lot of time concerned about how this pregnancy was affecting her—­rightfully so. But hers wasn’t the only life disturbed by her unexpected condition. And yet he was willing to take responsibility in a way she would—­could—­not.

  She peered over the back of the sofa and watched while he laid his keys, phone, and briefcase on the entry table and loosened his tie. Even after what had to have been an exhausting day, he looked sexily disheveled, in an I’ve-­worked-­fifteen-­hours-­but-­I-­can-­still-­ravage-­you way.