She nods, gaze falling to the rumpled covers. “I’d just like to know if you think children will ever be on the horizon for you. If they are, I can wait, see if this works out between us. I have some wiggle room biological-clock wise.” She pulls in a breath, fingertips brushing back and forth across my chest. “But I don’t know if I can give up the dream of babies forever, even for something as good as this.”
“I understand. And yeah, I think I want kids. Someday. It’s just a lot to wrap my head about right now with everything else that’s going on. You and me becoming you and me, and Rafe and I moving out of the farmhouse.”
Emma looks up, eyes wide. “You’re moving? Where?”
“Not far. Just to Santa Rosa. Rafe found a space downtown that’s perfect for what we both need,” I say, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. But then, Emma doesn’t care about playing it cool. “There’s enough room in the retail area for motorcycle sales and beer tasting, with plenty of space in the back for Rafe’s repair work and my brewery equipment. And there’s a two-bedroom apartment upstairs, so zero commute.”
“That’s amazing,” Emma says with a big smile. “So you’re going for it. Making the brewery dream come true.”
I laugh softly. “Yeah, I hope so. We’ll see if I’m any good at making beer on that scale. I’ve been making home brew for years, but nothing this big.”
“You’ll make amazing beer. No doubt in my mind. And I love the idea of combining motorcycle sales and a brewery. They fit together perfectly, right?”
“That’s what Rafe and I are thinking.” I run some of our early marketing ideas past Emma as my hand drifts down to her ass, cupping the firm mound I’ve missed so much the past few days.
“Sounds solid.” She tips her head to one side as she bemusedly studies my face. “Patting my ass really does help you think, doesn’t it?”
I grin and give her cheek a squeeze. “I told you, butt-fondling gives me great ideas. Like taking you on a tour of my new place after you’re done in the tasting room tomorrow.” I brush a lock of hair from her face. “And then we can stop by the hardware store and get a key made for you. I want you to come over and let yourself in any time.”
“Sounds perfect.” She leans in, kissing me soft and sweet. “I’ll get a key made for you, too.”
Exchanging keys.
It’s not making a baby, but it’s a big step, one that feels so right I’m hard again in seconds.
Soon Emma’s breasts are in my hands and her breath is coming faster as our kisses grow deep, desperate. We break apart long enough for Emma to grab a condom and roll it on my length, and then my hands are around her waist, guiding her down onto me, rocking into her as she rides me with languid strokes of her hips that drive me wild.
This woman makes me so hot for her, but it’s the look in her eyes that breaks my heart wide open. She’s all in, hiding nothing, giving me every piece of her, trusting that I’ll handle her with care.
And I will, I swear it to myself and to her, my voice rough with the effort it’s taking not to come too fast. “I love you, baby. So much. I promise you won’t regret this.”
“Never,” she says, breasts rising and falling faster as she nears the edge. “Never. Oh God, Dylan. I’m so close…”
I groan as she rocks faster, making my balls tighten as I reach the edge of my own release. And then her spine arches and her head falls back as she comes so hard I can feel every pulse of her body, even through the latex between us.
A beat later, I’m gone.
“Yes, Emma. God…” I grip her hips tight, pinning her to me as I come, pulsing deep inside her. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me. So perfect.”
And she is.
This is.
I’ve never been with someone who made falling in love feel so effortless.
We spend the rest of the night eating sandwiches in her kitchen, taking a glass of wine into bed, and talking until it’s pitch black outside and the night sky is full of stars. We make love again, slow and close, with her spooned against me as I glide in and out of her from behind, and though I miss taking her bare, I know this is for the best.
We’re on the right track now. I feel it in my bones, in my gut, in my heart that is oh-so-quickly becoming hers to do with as she pleases.
The thought would have scared me once, but not now. I trust Emma and she trusts me, and it’s going to be nothing but smooth sailing from here on out.
I truly believe that, right up until the moment I arrive at Emma’s house on Thursday evening, ready to take her on a tour of my new digs, only to find her gone, her drawers empty, and a note with my name on it lying on the bed.
Chapter 22
Emma
Turn around! Go home! Stop the insanity before it’s too late!
But it’s already too late.
It was too late last night, but of course I didn’t know that when I was making Dylan promises I won’t be able to keep.
I didn’t know the truth until nine thirty this morning when, instead of dashing out the door to the tasting room, I was dashing into the bathroom to throw up everything I’d eaten for breakfast…
I curse softly as I sit back against the shower door and pull my phone from my jeans pocket. When Carrie answers, I don’t bother with formalities, “Don’t come up today. Stay home. I’m sick and I don’t want to infect you if I’m contagious.”
“Oh no,” Carrie says. “Bummer. I was looking forward to seeing you and watching the magic happen in the tasting room.”
“Me, too.” I sigh. “But I just finished being sick, and I know how much you hate vomit. I feel better now, so it might just be a touch of food poisoning, but—”
“Or a touch of knocked up,” she cuts in, making me blink in surprise. “You’ve heard of morning sickness, right?”
“Of course,” I say with a shaky laugh. “But I just had my period. There’s no way I’m pregnant.”
“But you said it was super light, right? I remember you did, because it made me think I should keep an eye on you, just in case. My friend Casey from college spotted all through her pregnancy. She didn’t even realize she was knocked up until she was almost five months along. After she’d broken up with Gareth and had been drinking like a fish for weeks to drown the heartache. But the baby was fine. So don’t worry if you’ve had a glass or two. I’m sure you’ll both be fine.”
I huff, shaking my head. “Good to know, but I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.” But even as I deny the possibility, my heart beats faster, and a wonderful, dreadful feeling rises inside of me.
If I’m pregnant, it will be a miracle, the answer to a prayer.
But if I’m pregnant it will also mean that Dylan won’t have dodged that bullet after all. The one he made it clear he was so grateful to have avoided. He’s not ready to become a father. He doesn’t want this baby. And maybe he won’t want me, either, once he realizes what’s happened.
“Just take a test,” Carrie says, her voice penetrating the panic and excitement coursing through me. “And then call me back. I want to be the first to know. And then we can talk about how you’re going to break the news to Sexy Farmer.”
“I’ll take a test later today. I have to get to work right now,” I lie, needing time to think before I commit to sharing this news—or lack of news; there’s still an excellent chance I’m not pregnant—with anyone. Even my sister.
“Okay, but if I don’t hear from you by tonight, I’m jumping in the car and coming up there to put a stick in your pee myself.”
“Gross.” My stomach snarls at the thought. But I don’t feel sick. I just feel…empty, like I need a piece of bread or something to calm the stomach storm.
“This from the girl who showed me how to put in a tampon?” Carrie asks.
“That’s different. That’s big sister call of duty stuff.” I come to my feet and head for the kitchen. “I’ll call you later, okay? I promise.”
As soon as I hang up with Carrie, I call Neil
and tell him something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it to the tasting room until later. He assures me they’ll be fine with the extra hands I called in, and the last obstacle to learning the truth ASAP is easily removed. I consider heading for the drugstore to grab an over the counter test, but in the end, I call Dr. Seal’s office and make a ten-thirty appointment with the nurse practitioner, instead.
If I am pregnant, I need to know if the baby’s okay—bleeding for several days doesn’t seem like a good thing, even if it was a light flow—and they’ll be able to do an ultrasound at the office.
I focus on making a logical decision and gathering data. I do my best not to worry about Dylan or how a positive outcome might affect our future until I know for sure there’s something to worry about.
I manage to stay relatively calm until approximately ten forty-eight a.m. when a transvaginal ultrasound reveals a tiny dot.
A tiny dot that is my baby.
My baby…
I’m pregnant…
I’m pregnant and the baby is just fine.
The nurse tells me that a little bleeding in the beginning is normal, but to come back in if I start bleeding again. She congratulates me, reminds me to keep taking my prenatal vitamins, gives me a list of foods I should avoid now that I’m pregnant, and sends me to the front desk to make my next appointment.
But I walk right past the front desk out to my car, where I sit in the parking lot for a solid half hour, devising a plan that I hope will make everything okay.
Or as okay as it can be considering I’m thrilled to the depths of my being at the news of this miracle baby, and the man I love doesn’t want to be a father.
Three hours later, I’m almost to Carrie’s house, with enough clothes in my suitcase for several weeks, and half of my heart left behind me in Mercyville.
I have no idea if my plan is going to work, but I’ve done the best I can, and I can’t bring myself to regret this life growing inside of me. I’m already in love with this tiny miracle human, willing to do whatever it takes to keep him or her healthy, happy, and safe.
Even if it means giving up the only man who ever made me feel loved for exactly who I am.
Chapter 23
Dylan
Dear Dylan,
I’m so sorry. I hate to say one thing and then do another, but after thinking more about what we talked about last night, I realized I can’t put off trying to become a mom for a year or more. Especially in light of the fact that you’re not sure you want to have children someday. (Which I totally understand. I don’t judge you at all for feeling the way you feel and wanting the things you want.)
But I’m older than you are, Cougar Bait, and I have fertility problems that may make it impossible for me to conceive if I wait. Believe me, if that weren’t the case, I would absolutely wait, because you are worth waiting for. You are the kindest, sexiest, most thoughtful and fun man I know, and I’m honored that you want me to be your girl.
But a baby is one of my big dreams.
It’s something I have to reach for with both hands. If I don’t, regret will eat me up inside and make me unfit company for all the people I love. And I don’t want that for them or for me.
Or for you.
I care so much about you, Dylan, and that’s why I’m going to stay with my sister in Berkeley and work with a non-profit sperm bank near her house. I’m making the decision to try to become pregnant on my own so you won’t feel pressured to make any commitments—or DNA contributions—you’re not ready to make.
I’m trying to do what’s best for both of us, but I understand if this changes your feelings about moving forward with a romantic relationship. Just know that I have treasured our time together so much.
You’re so special to me and you always will be.
All my love,
Emma
I reread the note she left for the fifth time, but repetition doesn’t make it any easier to take.
I pace the floor in front of the bed where we made love last night, feeling sick, frustrated, and so unexpectedly filled with rage I know I’m not going to be able to think this through rationally on my own. Not until the red haze has cleared, anyway.
But I don’t have time to wait for the anger cloud to dissolve. With every passing minute, Emma is getting farther away from me, on her way to make a decision that feels more wrong with every repeat reading of her letter.
So I pull out my phone and call Tristan, hoping a calm head can help me sort out my next move.
He answers on the third ring, “Hey, Dylan. What’s up?”
“A lot,” I say, continuing to pace. “A hell of a lot, and I could use your advice.”
I fill him in on the situation. By the time I reach the part about walking into Emma’s place to find a note and no Emma, my pacing has expanded to the rest of the house. I prowl through cozy rooms that are empty and lifeless without Emma here to light them up, so worked up it feels like I’m about to come out of my skin.
“But this is a shitty decision,” I continue. “What happens if the baby gets sick down the line? Or hurt in an accident? Or what if he or she needs blood or stem cells or God forbid, a kidney or something? That sperm donor is going to be exactly zero fucking help.”
“True,” Tristan says. “But I’m sure that’s something Emma’s considered. It sounds like she’s trying to do the best she can considering the two of you are in such different places when it comes to having children.”
“We’re not in such different places,” I snap back. “I just needed some time. Why couldn’t she give me at least a few months?”
“Did you ask her for a few months?” Tristan asks, always ready to call me on my bullshit.
I sigh, bracing a hand on the back of the couch. “No. I didn’t. I was vague as hell. But if I’d known she was going to do this…”
“If you had, you might have said something different, but would you have meant it?” Tristan prods. “There’s no shame in not being ready, you know. Having a child is the biggest commitment you can make. You’re right to be taking it seriously.”
“I know, but…” I shake my head, eyes closing. “But all I can think about… I keep seeing a little girl with blue eyes like Emma’s lying in a hospital bed, and no matter how much we want to, there’s nothing Emma or I can do to help her.” I open my eyes, staring at the blood-red of the poppies stitched onto Emma’s throw pillows. “Neither of us are a match for the kind of blood or whatever it is she needs, and we’re just…fucking powerless. And I know that’s worst-case scenario thinking and chances are nothing like will ever happen. But what if it does?”
Tristan is quiet for a long moment, but without him in the room, I have no idea if he’s wearing his thinking face or has simply been rendered speechless by my crazy.
“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?” I ask after several silent beats, pacing into Emma’s office. “That I’m overthinking the way I did when we were kids and I hid your dirt bike so you couldn’t follow Rafe to the stunt track.”
Tris laughs. “I forgot about that. God, I was so pissed at you when I found out.”
“I was just trying to keep you safe,” I say defensively.
“I know, and you were right. I would have busted my face. I could barely ride in a straight line at that point. But getting back to the matter at hand… I don’t know if you’re overthinking things, but the fact that in your imaginary scenario you and Emma are together at this little girl’s bedside…” He pauses, giving his words time to hit.
And they do. Hard.
“The baby should be mine.” The anger clouds evaporate as I achieve bright, crystal clear clarity. “I want to be the father of that child.”
“Sure sounds like it,” Tristan says. “But maybe you should take at least a day or two to think things over before you do anything rash.”
I charge through the house, grabbing my jacket from the back of the couch on my way. “Like drive to Berkeley, find Emma’s sister’s place, and hold a boom
box playing love songs up outside her window until she agrees that I’m the only one allowed to get her pregnant?”
“Yeah,” Tristan says dryly. “Like that. You’re already on your way out the door, aren’t you?”
“Getting in the truck now,” I say, slamming the door behind me.
He laughs. “Then good luck. It seems like Emma makes you happy. I hope you two can work everything out.”
“Thanks, man. Talk to you later. I appreciate the advice.” I end the call and roar up Emma’s driveway, plotting the fastest route south.
Chapter 24
Emma
It’s after five o’clock by the time I reach Wonder Time Toys, and Carrie is almost ready to clock out. “Just give me fifteen or twenty minutes to finish the order forms with Phil, and then we’ll get out of here, get some sushi, and make big plans.”
“I can’t eat sushi,” I say numbly, shell-shocked by the events of the day. A part of me still can’t believe I’m pregnant, even though I’m the proud owner of a black and white printout of the precious dot growing inside of me.
“That’s right! Sushi’s off-limits for the preggers, isn’t it?” She waves a dismissive hand. “Then we’ll get Cuban or soul food or something, whatever sounds good to you. Ten minutes and I’m all yours.”
“Take your time.” I motion toward the far corner of the store. “I’ll amuse myself in the baby area.”
“The baby area! Oh my God, we’re going to have a baby! I’m going to be Aunt Carrie!” She bounces up and down in her motorcycle boots with a squee of excitement that makes me laugh.
Who would have guessed my tough nut of a sister was secretly so baby crazy?
I just wish I could be as completely thrilled as she is. I really am so happy, but I’m scared, too. There’s no way Dylan hasn’t found my note by now—he was supposed to get to my place around three-thirty—but so far, my cell has remained silent.
The Baby Maker Page 16
