by Moss, Brooke
"Why are you here?" He stopped just short of touching me. Instead, he put his hands in his pants pockets and rocked on his heels. His eyes roamed to where I was clutching my jacket around me like we were standing in the middle of a hurricane. "Are you all right?" His eyebrows pinched together. "How's your healing? Is the incision all right?”
"No, everything’s fine." I wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted to pull him against me and press my lips to the side of his neck. Dig my hands into his hair and lose myself in him all over again. But the last thing I wanted to do was soak him with breast milk. Talk about unsexy. Ugh. "I just came to talk."
"Okay." I saw his adam's apple bob when Fletcher gulped.
My eyes darted to the nurses behind the front desk watching us. They all pretended to be busy with random things when my eyes met theirs, but I wasn't stupid. This had become a sideshow. I took a breath and held it, willing my nerves to take a rest.
Finally, I opened my mouth. "Listen, I—”
Ian released another scream, this time even louder than the last. Another gush, and not only had I drenched through my shirt, but my jacket and the sleeves that were folded across my chest.
"Oh, dear God, no," I moaned, my face crumpling.
Fletcher's arms were around me in a flash. "Lex, what's wrong? Talk to me."
I glanced down at Ian, who'd settled himself back to sleep. What a punk.
Pushing against Fletcher's chest, I tried to move away, but his grip was strong. And it felt so good. Forgetting about the wet mess, I leaned into Fletcher, drawing in his scent and letting it fill my body with familiar warmth.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," I mumbled into his jacket. "I should have called you. I should have talked to you. First I wanted Marisol to forgive me. Then once she gave me her blessing, I couldn't get over what a sloppy mess I am right now. Then I almost chickened out in the parking lot, and I had to walk to the door twice, and…"
I looked up at him. He was watching me, his blue eyes patient as I babbled. Actually, babbling didn't begin to cover it. Once I'd started speaking, it was like releasing the air from a balloon. One giant whoosh, and everything was out.
"I would pick up the phone to call you, then pass the mirror in my bedroom and see myself. Or I would go to text you, and the baby would cry and I would start to cry, too. I cry all the time, and for no reason. It’s insanity.”
Fletcher's eyes crinkled. "That's natural, you—”
"Let me finish." I sniffled. "I was worried that if I was with you right now, while I'm such a wreck, and so rumpled and tired all the time you would get turned off. I want to be beautiful for you. To be sexy for you. To be everything you deserve. But right now functional is all I can manage. I'm lucky if I get a shower before five o'clock at night."
Fletcher stroked the back of his hand down the side of my face. "I don't care. Don't you get that? Even if all I can do is hang around with you in your pajamas while you feed the baby, that's what I'll take. I just want to be with you. I want to get to know you. I want to know what your middle name is and what your major in college was. I want to know all of you, not just the physical you. Instead of pushing me away, we should be using this time to learn everything there is to know about each other."
Nodding, I felt my eyes spill over. Again. "I cry. All the time. About everything."
"Sweetie, it's normal," he said. "Your body’s been through a traumatic experience. Sometimes it can take weeks, even months, to level out. If crying at random is your worst trait, I'll take it. Besides, if you let Martha and me help you with Ian, you might get showered sooner, and find more reasons to laugh instead of cry."
I blinked up at him. Seriously, was he too good to be true? "You're incredible. I don't deserve you. Or her."
He shook his head. "You do, Lex. And we're the lucky ones, to be getting you and Ian."
"And you don't mind waiting?" As soon as I said it, I heard the hiss of whispers coming from where the nurses were standing.
Fletcher pressed a kiss to my forehead. "As much as I want you, Lex, and believe me, I do, I've waited this long. What's a bit longer?" I opened my mouth to respond, but a weird choking sound came out, and I dissolved into tears again. "Silly girl," he said, rocking me back and forth. "As if I'd mind. You’re worth waiting for. Don't you know that I love you?"
"I love you, too." My voice was barely audible as Fletcher's finger caught my chin, bringing my face up to his. This is really happening.
"I've never felt like this before. It's like I've known you my whole life." His eyes danced, and the end of his nose tickled my own. "You're amazing, Lexie Baump. And funny. And sexy. I cannot imagine wanting another woman ever, ever again."
I thought I heard one of the nurses sigh, but forgot about it the moment our mouths met. His lips—so soft, yet surrounded by his delicious five o'clock shadow—molded themselves to mine, then nudged them open. When his tongue tickled my own, I tilted my head to the side and threw my arms around his neck. A rumble sounded deep in Fletcher's chest, as he held me against his body tightly, lifting my feet off of the floor.
The only reason we stopped making out was because the waiting room filled with the sound applause. We pulled apart, looking around while all of the nurses and expectant mothers around us clapped.
"I forgot about them." He laughed and rested his forehead against mine before bringing me back down to the floor. "Go big or go home."
"That's my motto, too." I grinned, wiping my cheeks. "I love you, Dr. Baby."
"And I love you, Bump." Fletcher pressed another lingering kiss to my mouth, making the receptionist giggle.
I reached into my jacket pocket, and pulled out an envelope. "Which is why I got us these."
"What's this?" His arms loosened and when he took it from me, I noticed that there were wet spots on the front of his shirt. Oh, snap.
I covered my face with my hands. "Fletcher, your shirt…" Wincing, I glanced down at my son, who was stirring in his sleep again. Bessie the cow was going to have to feed the baby. Stat.
Fletcher's cheeks reddened, and he tugged at his white coat. "Believe me, in my line of work, this is not the oddest thing that has wound up on my shirt."
"Ugh. TMI." I nudged him. "Open the envelope. I planned our first date."
One of his eyebrows cocked upward. "So your emergency c-section didn't constitute a first date?"
"That's what Candace said."
"Kidding." Fletcher tore open the envelope and pulled out six tickets.
Two airline tickets to Tennessee, two tickets to a Rolling Stones concert in Memphis, and two admission tickets in Graceland. His blue eyes widened to the size of half dollars, and one of his palms landed with a slap on his forehead. "Is this? What the? When? How?"
I'd used my savings to create the perfect first date for us. And in three months time, we would be whisked away for a weekend of gold lamé and rock and roll. "Will you go out with me, Dr. Baby?"
"Will I ever." He cupped my face, letting the tickets fall to the floor with a flutter. "You're amazing. I'd be a fool not to marry you today."
My insides whirled like a top. "Let's get to know each other first. And then I'd be a fool not to say yes."
Again our faces crashed together, and the room exploded into cheers. This was it. Dr. Fletcher Haybee, OB/GYN was mine. And I was his. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have found the one person who—
Ian's scream cut through my inner monologue, and the two of us dissolved into laughter. I couldn't ignore him much longer, otherwise we would both need a new shirts.
"Duty calls," I whispered against Fletcher's lips.
"Here, let me." He bent down and started to unbuckle Ian's straps, soothing words coming from his mouth like honey while I looked on.
When Fletcher lifted Ian out of the seat, his eyes blinked open. His red cheeks faded back to his normal shade of porcelain as Fletcher held him in his arms. As if on cue, the room hushed and then my son offered Fletcher his first wide, unabashed,
toothless grin.
“Come on, Lex.” Fletcher said, winking at me. “You can feed him in my office.”
We were a family now.
The end.
Epilogue
Fletcher
“Are you ready, babe?” I poked my head in the door of the restroom and looked around.
Lexie turned on her heel and put her hands on her hips. The taffeta of her dress swished when she moved to shut the door. “Fletcher, shame on you! You know you’re not allowed in here. Get out!”
“Fine.” I put up my hands and backed away slowly. “By the way, you look hot.”
I heard her laughing as the bright pink door shut with thump, and strode back out to the waiting room of the Elvis Chapel of Love with a bounce in my step.
When I came around the corner, I was met with a motley crew of anxious looking faces. Brian, Candace, and their kids; Marisol, and her latest flavor of the month, some day trader named Doug. Darren and his newest girlfriend, Yvette, who was even denser than Pandi had been. Corbin, his daughter, Rayna, and a pregnant Andrea, who’d discovered her pregnancy while in Korea for the adoption. And Martha, who was bouncing Ian on her hip like a pro.
And then, of course, Pastor Irm, who’d approached me with a reassuring smile. “They kick you out of the bathroom, son?” he asked, straightening my bow tie.
I could hear the sound of classic Elvis music being played in the nearby chapel, and hoped the chaplain remembered the list of music I’d slipped to him upon our arrival. These Baump women could be so picky about their tunes.
“Sure did,” I replied, giving Irm a clap on the shoulder.
I actually really liked the guy. He was kind and seemed to make Lexie’s mom happy. I didn’t even mind his sermons, even if Lex had to nudge me every few minutes to keep me awake.
In the six months since Lexie showed up at my office with tickets, much had changed.
She and Ian moved into my brick bungalow, and we spent our nights together eating dinner around the table as a family, renting movies, and taking turns folding laundry. Lexie became the mother Martha hadn’t ever had. She became her girl scouts leader, spent every Sunday afternoon giving Martha cooking lessons, and read with her every night. They’re tighter than tight, and Martha recently started calling Lexie mom—something that tugs on my heart every single time I hear it.
And as for Lexie’s son?
Well, all it took was one gaze into those wide eyes and one glimpse of his head of red curls, and I was sunk. I’d considered him my son from the moment I lifted him out of his car seat at my office that day, and officially adopting him two months ago was tied with Martha’s birth as the second best moment of my life.
What was the number one moment?
That would be when Lexie and I found a small chapel in Memphis where we were married just hours before the Rolling Stones concert. We spent our first night together after having been married for seven hours, scoring backstage passes from a bouncer, and watching Keith Richards make love to his guitar like the petrified God he is.
It was amazing. Everything I’d been imagining it could be after a year of knowing Lexie and fantasizing about taking her to bed. Well worth the wait. She was every bit as sexy and I’d known she would be. And what was best part of our impromptu honeymoon? We spent the next morning touring Elvis Presley’s shag-carpeted palace. That was the icing on the cake.
Oh, wait. You thought I was at the Elvis chapel to get married to Lexie?
Nope. We’d been married for three months already. Actually, I was getting ready to stand next to Irm while he and Patsy took the vows. They’d finally decided to make it official after years of keeping their love a secret. Lexie and I offered to help throw them a big wedding, but Patsy and Irm declined. Since they’d both been married and widowed, and since news of their relationship had been met with mixed reviews by the congregation at the church, they’d decided that small and simple was the right way to go.
Getting Patsy to agree to an Elvis wedding? Well, that’d taken some convincing. But Lexie—and her brothers—were relentless. It was the lure of Vegas buffets and slot machines that finally won her over. Plus the Vegas heat was good for Irm’s arthritis.
“Okay, we’re ready.”
I heard Lexie’s voice and turned around. There stood Patsy in a white dress and some sort of net thingy over her face. She was already crying, and her cheeks were the same shade of pink as her bouquet of carnations. She looked unbelievably happy, and judging by the gasp next to me, Irm was beyond happy with how his bride looked.
But my eyes didn’t stay on my mother-in-law for long. It was hard not to notice my wife at her side. Her copper-colored hair was pinned back from her face on one side with a clump of white flowers, and her dark pink bridesmaid dress hugged her slender build in all the right places. Lexie’s long neck curved beautifully as she leaned close to her mother to whisper words of encouragement, and I had to make fists at my sides to keep from grabbing her and burying my face in her hair.
I loved Lexie with everything inside of me, and it seemed like my feelings for her doubled, even tripled, every single day. Our life together was the stuff dreams were made of, and I wouldn’t have traded one second of it for all the money in the world. Our little family was perfect.
After all, we were Baby & Bump.
Acknowledgments
There’s nothing in this world more important to me than my family. My husband, my kids, my brothers & their families, my mom, and my motley crew of mismatched friends. They’re all part of what makes me who I am. I really tried to create that same feeling in Lexie Baump’s world. This plethora of people, who all bring their own brand of chaos to the table, but all support and love her in their own way. I hope I succeeded.
The idea for Baby & Bump came from a Facebook comment someone left on my page one day. A girlfriend (Hi, Tanya!) made a remark about how awkward it would be to have a hot obstetrician. That one random comment turned into an idea in my head that grew and grew and grew until Lexie Baump and Fletcher Haybee had become real people to me. I owe Tanya, and all of my Facebook fans and friends, a huge debt of gratitude for all of their awesome feedback and support. All of my best book ideas come from all of you, and your interesting lives.
A big, fat thanks also goes out to my beta readers (and friends), Jess McCallan and Katie Fox, because if I didn’t make you guys laugh and beg for more stories… then it would be back to the drawing board for me. A good author is nothing without feedback, suggestions, and room to grow. Like I always say, the minute I stop listening to feedback is the day I give it all up, and become a podiatrist. Which would be awkward, considering how much I hate feet.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic, Baby & Bump really wouldn’t be worth a second glance without the critique, feedback, support, and wicked editing skills of the incredible Meggan Connors. Seriously, I gave up on this book at least a dozen times. True story. But Meggan never did. Every time I came back to it, she just smiled, read it, and offered me tips, and then patted my head affectionately when I quit again. You know, she and I have come a long way from that pitch fest group at ECWC all those years ago, and our relationship has evolved from writing acquaintances to full on friends. She listens to me gripe about my weight, and she laughs when I send her inappropriate pictures of men in kilts. Meggan’s the real deal, folks, and I’m pretty lucky to work with her. Thanks, Meggan.
As always, I have to thank my five darling little monsters. Without each of you, I wouldn’t have muddy shoes to pick up or a bazillion loads of laundry to fold. I wouldn’t be fat, and I wouldn’t have an extensive knowledge of all things Star Wars and Disney XD. But I would also be half the person I am today. So I’m pretty lucky, eh?
Half the reason I write romance is because I am living a romance novel every day. I mean, sure… my nerd and I spend most of our time fighting over the remote, listening to mind-numbing tween music all the time, and laughing at the idiocy of 80’s movies, but nobody loves me the way he does. A
nd nobody accepts me the way he does. It’s so weird, it’s almost as if my husband likes the fact that I can’t ever shut up and I laugh at my own jokes. Thanks for being my own romance hero, old man.
I hope you all enjoyed the first book of the This & That Series. It was a joy to write… even if I did start and stop about twelve times. Stay tuned for Marisol’s story next!
~Brooke
Apples & Oranges
Book 2 of the This & That Series
One broken four-inch heel, two sweat marks on a Micheal Kors cowl neck blouse, three chipped fingernails, and a broken down BMW 3 Series convertible. Not exactly a fun way to top off my debunked luncheon with my mother.
“Inútil pedazo de mierda de coche,” I hissed as I hiked across the busy street.
A woman pushing a stroller in the crosswalk glared at me. “Nice language.”
“How was I to know you’d understand?” I snapped. It wasn’t my fault she’d heard me calling my car a piece of you-know-what. Besides, who walked their baby around in ninety-degree weather? “Buy a minivan, breeder.”
A car honked their horn at me, but I ignored it. The “walk” sign had long since started flashing red, but I couldn’t move any faster, thanks to my busted shoe. Add in the fact that I’d left my iPhone under the napkin at the restaurant so I couldn’t call for a tow, and the unseasonably warm May weather was making my most recent blow-out worthless, and my surly attitude was multiplying. Being forced to walk to the nearest auto shop was the icing on the crap cake that was my day.
I didn’t walk places. I drove places. Walking was what tree huggers did because they thought car exhaust was the devil. The only time I ever walked was when I was cooling down on the treadmill after a work out, which usually involved my gorgeous trainer, and in that case, I didn’t mind. But in ninety-degree heat with a messed up shoe? I minded.
