Tasty Mango: A Billionaire and Single Mom Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  I glance at Donovan. I didn’t think some of this through. Getting Rebel to latch is often a tussle of boy and boob.

  “We can start with the bottle,” I say.

  “Would you like your baby sling?” she asks.

  I nod, and she heads back to the galley as I settle in one of the swiveling chairs. “I like her,” I tell Donovan.

  He moves to the seat beside me, kicking up the footrest and leaning his head back in his hands. “We all do. She takes good care of us.” He yawns. He’s probably been going nonstop since leaving France to pick me up.

  A noise beneath the plane startles me. Rebel senses my sudden lurch and lets out a cry.

  I pat his back. “I’m sure we’re going to be in for some tears as this gets going.”

  “No worries,” Donovan says. “We have everything well in hand.” His eyes are already starting to droop.

  So the man is human.

  Bianca returns with the bottle and sling. “Let me help you get settled. Give me that sweet baby so you can buckle in. Simon takes off smooth as glass, but sometimes we hit some turbulence.”

  I set the bottle on a small table bolted between our chairs and pass her Rebel. The seatbelt is smooth leather, unlike the merely serviceable ones on regular planes. I pull it around my waist and tighten it. The sling goes across my shoulder easily, and I open it wide.

  Bianca nuzzles Rebel. He’s stopped crying. “All right, I’ll give you up,” she says, and passes him back.

  When he’s settled in the sling and quietly slurping the bottle, I relax.

  “Anything else before I strap myself in?” Bianca asks.

  “I’m good,” I say. I glance at Donovan. I think he’s out cold. “Does he always fall asleep this easily?”

  “Not always. But he was in an anxious state flying over here to get you.” She walks to a cabinet over the padded bench and extracts a pillow and a blanket. “But I can see why it was so important.”

  She sets the items on the cushion with a wink and heads back through to the galley.

  A long minute passes. Rebel drinks greedily. He’s always fast on the bottle. I wonder if the other pilot is going to show.

  But as Donovan said, right as it seems everyone’s ready to go, boots clang on the metal steps, and a willowy young black woman bursts through the doorway. “I’m here. Don’t leave me.”

  Donovan opens an eye. “Glad you could make it, Starr.”

  Starr whips around to close and secure the door behind her. She stops short when she sees me. “Now I see why we flew back to the States.”

  Something metallic clangs right outside the door. I assume that’s the stairs being disengaged and moved aside.

  “I told you,” Donovan says.

  Starr gives me a nod and a grin. “Don’t put up with any of his smart-aleck remarks. I don’t.” She disappears into the cockpit. Shortly after, the engines start up with a rumble and whine.

  I look down. The baby has already slurped almost all of the bottle, and we haven’t even taken off. Uh oh. I glance at Donovan. He’s belted into his seat, eyes closed again. I don’t know if he’s asleep.

  I guess if the boob comes out, the boob comes out. He saw a lot more of me when Rebel arrived, if he was looking.

  Whew. This is a lot.

  I realize I’ve told no one I’m coming. Not even my sister. As the plane starts to taxi, I fumble to pull my phone out of my bra, the only place I had to stash it.

  I quickly tap out a text to Magnolia. Donovan came to fetch me. Headed to France. See you tomorrow. Talk more later. About to take off in his jet.

  I lean down to kiss Rebel’s head. He’s fallen asleep. “Now this is a story to tell my grandchildren,” I whisper.

  I tuck the bottle into the folds of the sling and lean back in my chair.

  As the plane goes airborne with both the boys asleep, I can’t even believe where I am right now. I don’t know how I’ve managed it, but I’m on my way to France with a billionaire by my side, and a baby in my arms.

  10

  Donovan

  I jolt awake to the darkened interior of the plane.

  Damn. I must’ve been exhausted.

  I rub my eyes and look around. The chair next to me, where Havannah and Rebel were when I fell asleep, is empty.

  I listen carefully. The engine drones. Starr and Simon are certainly in the cockpit.

  The sliding door to the galley is closed. I assume Havannah is in the bedroom portion. Bianca probably turned down the bed for her and the baby.

  A blanket drapes over one of the seat rows in the front of the plane. I unbuckle and creep up there to see who it is.

  Bianca. Back-to-back overseas flights have gotten to her, too. I’ve asked a lot of her in the last couple of days. I won’t wake her.

  Havannah must be in the back. The double doors seal the noise from the front of the plane to the back pretty effectively. She and the baby could be either asleep or awake. I wouldn’t have heard them.

  I press the button, and the first panel slides open. The second panel is already open, showing me that, indeed, the bed is turned down.

  I can see Havannah’s legs at the end of the bed.

  I’m about to creep back to my chair when Havannah sits up, her golden hair shining in the half-light.

  “You’re awake,” she whispers.

  I move carefully into the room. The baby is asleep in the center of the bed.

  “You doing okay?” I ask.

  She pushes her hair back. It’s fallen from the elaborate updo she had when she got on the plane.

  “I’m a little milk sticky,” she says. “I’d love to clean up.”

  I glance down at Rebel. He’s totally zonked. “Take a quick shower. Whatever you need. I’ll hang out here with the baby.”

  “You sure?” she asks.

  “Definitely. I’m not scared of him.”

  She smiles. “If he wakes up and cries, absolutely come get me.”

  “We’ll be fine. You go on.”

  “Thank you.” She leans over and kisses my cheek. She does smell milky. I feel a wave of nostalgia, not so much for my own mother, who was probably putting whiskey in our baby bottles by the time we were six months old. But for family. Home. I’m not immune to the idea.

  It’s a far cry from my normal life. But it feels good. Real.

  She glances around the room. “Do you know where my luggage is?”

  “Bianca should’ve placed the small one on the shelf underneath the sink in there.”

  “Great. Thanks. I guess I’ve taken all your usual spots.”

  “It’s for a good cause.”

  Her teeth flash white in the half-dark, then she heads for the bathroom door. Her dress is wrinkled, and her hair cascades down her back in a tangle.

  But I like this version of Havannah. If she’s anything like me, very few people get to see this side of her. The less-than-perfect, not-made-up version.

  She closes the door and bumps around a bit, moving her luggage. Then the water turns on.

  I shrug out of my suit jacket and set it on the end of the bed. The baby sighs in his sleep, and I freeze. When he’s quiet again, I carefully sit on the corner, trying not to rock the mattress beneath him.

  I’ve never slept on this bed. Never even seen it pulled out. Most traveling jaunts are spent working or talking on the satellite phone in the main cabin. The bed creates a nice setup. I like it.

  The shower door slides on its rails in the room next to us, and I become acutely aware Havannah is naked on the other side of the wall. I remember our searing kiss before she decided to come with me on the trip. A test drive for her, maybe. I intended to keep it light. Failed at that, for sure.

  I’ve never dated a mother before. Particularly one so new. I don’t know how that will impact our ability to spend private time together. Or if she’s even ready for that.

  She makes no mention of the baby’s father, ever. No one did, not even the hospital. When the nurse thought it wa
s me, no one corrected her.

  I assume Havannah will reveal the story when she’s ready. It’s not time. We’re still in the early getting-to-know-you stage.

  A giant thud breaks the quiet. Then a muffled curse. Havannah must’ve dropped the shampoo bottle.

  I smile to myself until I realize the baby’s eyes are open. His mouth pinches in a line, then a grimace.

  Uh oh.

  His tiny cry strikes me straight in the heart.

  I scoot closer and place a hand on his belly. He quiets for a moment, then the howling grows in intensity.

  “No, no, Rebel,” I say. “Let Mom take a shower.”

  Clearly he doesn’t understand my message, because the cry rises in volume.

  Oh boy.

  Havannah probably won’t be able to hear us in the shower. If I can figure out what’s wrong quickly, she won’t be interrupted. I pick up the baby and hold him on my shoulder like I’ve seen Havannah do.

  For a moment, this placates him. I hum, trying to keep the peace.

  But then the cries are renewed. I pat his back, suddenly realizing there is a smell coming from him.

  “You have a bad diaper, little bloke.”

  I jiggle him more intensely, wondering if we can make it until Havannah is out.

  The cries so close to my ear sound like his soul is tearing. I have to do something.

  The diaper bag sits on a small table beside the bed.

  “How hard can this be?” I whisper in his ear as I place him back on the bed.

  Being put down gives his misery new vigor. I glance through the galley to the front of the plane, wondering if Bianca will save me.

  But I don’t want to wake her. I don’t want to admit defeat.

  I quickly close the doors to the galley so the sound will be contained to our part of the cabin.

  “Let’s do this, baby,” I say. “Work with me.”

  For some reason, my plea helps. Rebel quiets down, waving his arms in the air.

  “I’m glad we understand each other. You know I’ve got to do this and do it properly.”

  He tries to get his fist in his mouth, but only bonks his eye. His mouth opens for another shriek. I tap his nose. He’s shocked into silence at the touch. “Give me a minute. We’ll get this done.”

  I rapidly sort through the diaper bag. There’s a mat that folds out. I bet this is what you change him on. I place it on the bed and move Rebel over to it.

  He remains quiet, and I assume this means he understands I am doing the right thing.

  “I got this,” I tell him. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

  Except Rebel isn’t so sure. His eyes squeeze tight, and he cries again. I go back to the bag and find a nubby thing. A pacifier!

  I hold it for a second. Which way does it go? The plug part is symmetrical, but the piece that goes against his face is not. I turn it so it’s shaped like a smile. That makes sense. I put it up to his lips, and he sucks on it, hard.

  “See? I’m a quick learner.”

  Rebel continues to suck as I dig through the bag.

  I pull out a diaper. At least I recognize those. There’s a small plastic case next to them. I open it, and yes, soft wet wipes.

  “Crackerjack,” I tell him. “You’re as good as done.”

  His pacifier pops out, but before he can cry again, I pluck it off the changing pad and stick it back in his mouth.

  “Work with me here.”

  His arms wave as I examine the outfit he’s wearing. It’s all one big piece that snaps down the front. Why would anyone put a child in this when they need diaper changes? Why not pants?

  Nevertheless, this is what I have to work with. I begin unsnapping at the neck and go down, exposing his round belly and the top of the plastic diaper.

  The one I’ve chosen is a match. I’m doing this right. The snaps go all the way down both legs. I pull them all open with flourish, then realize maybe I should have looked at how they went together.

  I have to push on. His legs come out, and I realize his outfit will get soiled when I remove the diaper.

  Naked it is.

  I pull one arm out a sleeve, and the pacifier flies again.

  I snatch it up and plug it back in, but by the time the second arm is free, it’s rolled across the bed.

  “Nope, nope, nope. No tears,” I say, plugging it in again.

  Good grief, a job that should take three minutes is going to take twenty.

  The water still runs in the shower. I’ve got this. I’m determined to change this baby and dress him before Havannah can come out. If she has any doubts that I can handle anything, this will show her.

  Finally, the complicated outfit is off. The baby lets out a shiver.

  Oh. He’s cold. How can I keep him warm and change his diaper simultaneously? I can’t return a block of babysicle to Havannah.

  I hurry. Little tabs on the side of the diaper are made of Velcro and pull off easily. But as soon as the diaper falls away, I’m met with a sight I could never have imagined.

  The baby’s poo is mustard yellow and oozing everywhere. What’s wrong with him? Poo should not be this color or consistency!

  Is he sick? Is flying on a plane doing something terrible to his insides? Do we need to doctor? An emergency landing?

  I’m sure we’re over the ocean.

  Oh God.

  I snatch up a wipe and begin cleaning up the mess. It’s sticky and wet and everywhere. It quickly gets all over the changing pad. I use the wipe to clean it up.

  The diaper’s overflowing with it. No wonder he was so upset.

  I don’t know what to do. I set the diaper aside, but as luck would have it, it flops over and the yellow poo smears all over the sheets.

  I’ll deal with that later.

  I go through two wipes. Three. Four. There seems to be an endless amount of the yellow poo. I don’t know what to do with the dirty wipes, so I stack them on top of the diaper.

  Rebel kicks, and his foot catches the pile of wipes, scattering them on the bed and streaking his knee.

  This is a nightmare.

  I move the entire stack away from him, and my hand is also covered. I grab another wipe, trying to clean his knee and my hand.

  I can’t believe it’s come to this. The child is clearly ill. The sheets are covered in runny yellow poo. And I’m down to the last wipe.

  I take it out of the pack, hoping Havannah has more stashed somewhere. I wipe and wipe until it seems the child is clean.

  I place it on the stack with the others.

  “Okay. Are you better?”

  The pacifier falls out again, but Rebel no longer cries. In fact, he almost looks like he’s smiling.

  “See, all better.”

  But even as we speak, another ooze of yellow comes out of his parts.

  “What?” I grab the least-messy wipe and clean it up. “How much more is in you?” What if it’s serious? Should I get Havannah? Will she panic? Am I panicking?

  I am. I poke my phone and call my brother. He has a baby. Surely he knows about these things.

  It’s almost one a.m. in New York, but I know my brother when his wife is away. He’ll be burning the midnight oil.

  He picks up on the second ring. “Why are you calling me on the satellite?”

  “I’m in the air.”

  “You’re supposed to be in France.”

  “I came back to the States.”

  “Just to go back again?”

  I need stop this line of talk. “Dell, shut up and listen. I fetched Havannah and the baby. We’re going to the wedding.”

  “She agreed to that?”

  “She’s in the shower on the jet.”

  “What do you need me for? You need a big brother talk about women? See, Donovan, when a man loves a woman very much, and they—”

  “Dell. Shut up. This is serious. I have baby Rebel here. I’m in charge of him while Havannah takes a shower. I think he’s sick.”

  “Did he spit up? That’s
normal.”

  “No. His diaper is full of yellow sludge! Something’s wrong!”

  Dell laughs so loud and for so long that my whole body flushes hot. “What the hell, Dell? This isn’t funny!”

  He continues laughing. I consider hanging up, but I need his help. “Dell! Do I need to find a way to land this plane? I don’t know how far we are out. I’ll have to ask Simon for the closest landmass with a hospital.”

  He manages to rein it in. “Donovan, new babies don’t have the same color…” He dissolves into laughter again.

  “Same color what?”

  “Poop. Theirs is yellow. That’s normal. It’s because they don’t eat solids. Grace had yellow poop until she got real food. The baby only drinks milk. That’s what it looks like on the other end.”

  I let out a long breath. “Okay. I get it.”

  “So you’re changing your first diaper?”

  “I am.”

  “Did you find the wipes?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you memorize how to put the outfit back on?”

  “Negative. I realized my error after unsnapping it all.”

  “I’m not going to be able to help you there. It’s like the worst kind of puzzle to solve. You should get him some stuff from Arianna’s baby line.”

  “Fine.” I hesitate. “How do you know which way the diaper goes?” I lift the baby’s legs again. “Do the tabs go from back to front or front to back?”

  “Find the cute pattern. That goes in the front.”

  I turn the diaper around. There are dolphins on one side. I shift those around to the front.

  “Lift him up by the legs to slide the diaper under, then bring the front up so it’s about the same height as the back. Then stick the tabs.”

  I lift Rebel’s legs and slide the diaper under him. “Got it.”

  “One thing different about boys than girls,” Dell says, “is you need to cover their—”

  I stop listening as an arc of pee straight from Rebel shoots through the air. It lands on the clean diaper, the sheets, and my hands. “Fuck!”

  Dell dissolves into laughter again. “You didn’t cover the important bits.”

  “I did not.”