The One Love Collection

by Lauren Blakely

  His name flashes on my screen, and my stomach dips.

  My belly flips upside down as I open the message.

  Ryder: Tune in to my show in five minutes.

  They are the longest five minutes in the history of the world. Especially because at four minutes and thirty seconds, I have to pee.

  39

  Ryder

  “It’s the end of this episode on dating and mating, and before I sign off, I have something to say.”

  Across from me, Jason gives a nod, a sign that he’s ready. I tug the mic closer as if I’m getting intimate with it.

  I suppose intimacy is a fitting word. It’s the thing I’ve shunned. The thing I fear. The thing I want desperately.

  “In the last several months, the show has changed. You might have noticed. Did you notice, Jason?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve gotten funnier.”

  I laugh. “Dude, I was always funny. Take that back.”

  “Fine,” he says in mock indignation. “You’ve gone soft, then.”

  I smile. “Some might call it soft. I like to think I’ve become less of an ass.”

  I glance at my watch, hoping that a certain someone is listening. Hoping she’ll come stand outside the studio window any second.

  Jason snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes. That’s another way to put it. You’ve had a jackass-ectomy.”

  I shake my head in amusement. “And it was a painful process, man. Let me tell you. I went kicking and screaming most of the way. But then . . .”

  He picks up the thread. “And then?”

  I picture Nicole at the diner asking me to give her half the ingredients she needed, and it’s like a bulb glows in my chest. “A certain someone came into my life.”

  Jason hums an impromptu romantic tune.

  “Our listeners might recall the series we did on ten dates to winning a woman’s heart,” I say, sneaking a peek at the window once more. A co-worker walks past us on the other side of the glass, head bent over his phone. No sign of Nicole.

  “Start with a trapeze, and you never know where it might lead,” Jason tosses out.

  I glance at the window again. Where is she? “You might very well wind up where I am, several months later,” I say, keeping my voice cool and calm.

  “And where is that, Ryder? Tell us where you are.”

  She’s still not here, but I’ve got to jump off the cliff regardless.

  “I’m in love,” I say, holding my arms out wide. “I’m madly in love with the woman I took on the trapeze. She turned my world upside down.”

  Jason smiles, but he’s quiet now because the time for banter is over. It’s all soliloquy as I put my heart on the line, for everyone to hear.

  “And I want to tell our listeners a little bit about how I fell in love with her.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of red. A curve of purple.

  I turn the chair, moving the hanging mic with me, and I see her. Her cheeks are flushed, like she just ran down the hall. Now she’s staring into the window of the studio with a wild grin that tells me to keep going. She wants to hear what I have to say. Her earbuds are in her ears, her phone is in her hand, and the stage is mine, and mine alone.

  I can do this. I can say this. The chance to be with her is worth the risk.

  “Falling in love with her was different than falling in love with our baby,” I say, and Jason’s jaw comes unhinged, and he points to Nicole’s stomach and to me, the question in his eyes.

  I nod a yes to him, but keep my eyes on her.

  “Yes, that’s right. The woman I took on the dates with me is having a baby. She’s having our baby, and I couldn’t be happier about that”—I pause for a second, realizing I don’t need to go into detail about the timing—“development. With the baby, it was love at first heartbeat. As soon as I heard the galloping horses, I was done for. No holding back. That kid is mine, and I’d do anything for my baby.”

  Nicole’s lips quiver, and I feel a starburst of emotions—love, happiness, excitement.

  “But falling for the mother of my unborn child? I’m not going to lie. When you’ve had your heart eviscerated, it’s a little harder to love again. I tried to fight it. I tried to pretend it was something else, but I’m not some unaware fool who doesn’t know better.”

  Nicole brings her hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers against her trembling lips. Her eyes widen, brimming with tears. My heart grows bigger in my chest.

  “Every day, I fell a little deeper. For her mind, her soul, her body, and, most of all, her heart. Her wonderful, huge, amazing heart that cared for me, looked out for me, and has this endless well of love.” My throat swells with emotion as I profess my deepest feelings for the woman on the other side of the window. She is stunning with her beautiful round belly, the tears streaking down her lovely face, and her fingers pressed to the glass as if she’s trying to reach me. To touch me. But she already has. “Her love, you see—it’s limitless. And I want her to know I’m not just in love with the baby—I’m in love with the woman. Mad, passionate, she’s-the-one love.” I point to her, and she clasps her hands to her heart and mouths I love you, too. Nothing in the whole wide world can contain my grin as I finish, “I am wildly in love with the mother of my child, with the woman I took on the trapeze lesson, to the cupcake shop, on the geocaching date. With the love of my life. And that’s how you love a woman. With your whole heart. Thanks for tuning in.”

  I turn off the mic, and Jason gives me a standing ovation as I leave the booth, yank open the door, and stand face-to-face with Nicole. I cup her cheeks in my hands. She is an open book. I can see how she feels written in her blue eyes. Her wet, tear-stained eyes.

  “I love you so incredibly much.” I kiss her tears.

  “And I love you so much,” she says, her voice breaking.

  We are surrounded by clapping. Loud, ear-splitting whistles. But nothing could tear my gaze away from her. “I love you, and I love Papaya, and I want us to be a family. Do you?”

  I hold a breath as I wait, but she doesn’t take more than a second to answer. Her shoulders rise, and she gasps. “So much, Ryder. So much. I want that more than anything.”

  “Kiss her!”

  The command comes from Cal, and as I glance briefly away from Nicole, I see my geometric boss, whose face is a circle of satisfaction amid the crowd. Seems everyone in the office heard what was going on, and the hallway by the studio is packed with our co-workers. They hoot, holler, and cheer us on.

  As I dip my mouth to hers, someone else shouts, “It was you who knocked her up?”

  I kiss Nicole, and give a thumbs-up affirmative to whoever asked.

  As our lips touch, everyone else fades away. I have all I want right here in my arms. Sometimes you get more than you get, and you don’t stop kissing the girl.

  Eventually we do, though. When I finally wrench apart from her, nearly everyone’s gone, but Cal’s still here.

  He claps my back then extends a hand. “Congratulations. Nothing could make me happier than seeing this transformation in you.”

  Nicole wraps her arm around me possessively. “He’s like a new man in some ways. But, if you ask me, he was always pretty amazing.”

  I kiss her cheek, and a final thumbs-up from Cal is the last I see of him before he retreats down the hall.

  We’re alone and she hands me a small box, like the one she gave me the day she told me she was pregnant.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s what I was planning to give to you this morning, to tell you I feel the same. But you beat me to it.” She swats my shoulder.

  “I still like your gifts.” I open the box and tug out a silver key chain. A sexy silhouette of a woman dangles from it.

  She reaches for my hand and threads her fingers through mine. “The other week, I thought you had only fallen in love with the baby, and I wanted you to be part of his or her life so badly. I’m so glad you want that. But I came in here today, determined to ask for
more. Because I’m greedy, and I want all of you. You made my knees weak the first time you kissed me, and you still do,” she says, and I feel ten feet tall. “When I’m with you, I feel that zing. That zing that I’ve never felt before.” She reaches for my hand and tugs it to her heart. “I feel it all the time with you. And I bought you this gift because I want you to have the baby and the woman.”

  I slide my hand down her chest, splaying my palm over her belly. “You’re a package deal, Nicole. I want the whole package. And I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel that zing.”

  Her eyes shine with happiness, then they spark with mischief. “I kind of want to skip work the rest of the day.”

  “Now, Nicole,” I say, playfully chiding her, “I’ve got a woman and a child to provide for. I can’t just go around skipping out on my responsibilities.”

  “Such an upstanding man.” She brings her mouth to my ear. “It makes me want you even more.”

  I’m honestly not sure how I make it through the next few hours until her doctor’s appointment. But somehow, I manage, and we both leave early.

  Inside the exam room, the doctor blinks when she sees me. “Hello, I’m Dr. Robinson. And you are?”

  I shake her hand. “I’m the one who made her your patient.”

  Nicole laughs. “This is Ryder. He belongs to me.”

  I look at my pregnant woman. “I’m hers.”

  The doctor gives us a nod. “All righty, then. Let’s see how everything’s going with the mango.”

  And the mango is just fine.

  Epilogue

  Nicole

  We have epic sex that night.

  Obviously.

  A man doesn’t just tell a woman he’s wildly in love with her and then not send her soaring to the heavens.

  Ryder sends me flying, all right.

  I go off the cliff three or four times. Honestly, I lose track of how many orgasms I have, and that’s fine with me. The first time, he puts me on my hands and knees, and it’s to die for.

  Next, he bends me over the edge of the bed, biting my ass before he drives into me again. Then, in the middle of the night, I wake up to find his traveling hands all over me, and with my skin sizzling, I beg him to kiss me between my legs.

  He heeds the call. And after I scream his name, he moves behind me like we’re spoons, and we do it slow and tender, like the night I knew I’d fallen in love with the father of my child.

  But it’s even better because he whispers in my ear as he makes love to me. He tells me he loves me. Tells me he’s crazy for me. Tells me he’ll always take care of me.

  And really, that’s better than an orgasm.

  But I still have one more.

  Like I said, the second trimester rocks.

  The next night, we have a ceremony of sorts. We take the baby contract, and we rip it up. At my living room table, we tear it into as many shreds as possible, and we toss it in the trash can.

  “I’m all in,” Ryder says.

  “You better be.” I tug his shirt, pulling him close to me.

  “That’s a promise. In fact,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine, “what do you say we go shopping?”

  “Shopping? Now? It’s late.”

  He shakes his head then strokes my ring finger. “This weekend. Katherine’s. You got me two key chains. Seems I’m due to get you a ring.”

  I shriek.

  That weekend, I cry happy tears as I pick out a gorgeous diamond solitaire.

  “It looks great with my two key chains.”

  “A tadpole, a woman, and a ring,” I say.

  He sweeps one hand over my stomach. “Good things come in threes.”

  The third trimester, though?

  It’s rough going.

  I’m bigger, more tired, and a little grumpier.

  But I’m also less cranky, since I have help. He helps me walk my dog. When I feel like I can barely bend to feed Ruby anymore, he takes over and gives her kibble. He cooks for me, and he makes sure I don’t just eat jars of artichoke hearts.

  Oh, and he handles the entire move to our new apartment.

  I don’t need to redo the closet since my mom finds us a new place, suitable for a new family and two medium dogs. Ryder insists I spend the entire moving day at the spa, getting pampered with my best friends.

  If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

  I wear a white dress that billows over the pumpkin inside me one month before I’m due to pop. As Pachelbel’s Canon in D plays, I walk down the aisle at a small church in Manhattan. I’m barefoot and loving it.

  Ryder wears a charcoal-gray suit, a pressed white shirt, and a sky-blue tie that I gave him. On the tie is a silver pin in the shape of a papaya. I gave him that, too.

  I hold a bouquet of yellow daffodils, and when I reach the groom I’m struck once more by the realization of how lucky I am. This wonderful, witty, handsome man is mine.

  We say our vows, and before God, my mom, my brother, Delaney and Tyler, Penny and Gabriel, Ryder’s parents, his sister Claire, his brother Devon and his husband Paul, their daughter Simone, and Ryder’s friend Flynn, I promise to love him for the rest of my life.

  He pledges to do the same.

  When he slides a platinum band on my finger, the baby kicks.

  When I give him his ring, the baby does a little jig, and then I kiss my husband. Later, I throw the bouquet, and Simone catches it.

  Her dads look terrified.

  “Someday,” I say with a wild grin.

  “You’re almost there, Nicole. You can do it.”

  Dr. Robinson shouts her encouragement, and I’m sweating, panting, and swearing.

  Nineteen hours of labor sucks. She was right. Morning sickness is nothing compared to pushing a watermelon out of your body.

  “I can see the head. One more push,” she says, her cheerleader voice ringing in my ears.

  Ryder squeezes my hand. “You’re almost there.”

  I’m exhausted, and everything hurts, but I want this baby out of me so badly. Machines beep, and nurses encourage me, and Ryder tells me I can do it. I stare at my monster belly, and I imagine that finally, after nine hard, wonderful, amazing months, I will at last get to meet my child.

  I bear down and push and push and push until . . .

  I hear a wail.

  A loud, gorgeous, beautiful cry that fills my heart with joy.

  “You did it!”

  Tears spill down my cheeks as the doctor announces, “You have a son. And he’s perfect.”

  I’m bawling, too, just like my baby boy and my husband. As the doctor hands me my son, I cradle him in my arms for the first time. It is magic and moonlight and all the stars in the sky, and I am flooded with a love that I know is infinite. Tears streak down my husband’s gorgeous face as he plants a sweet daddy kiss on our little boy’s head. “Hi, Papaya.”

  I cry and I smile at the same time. “He’s not Papaya anymore.”

  “He has a new name.” Ryder’s deep, sexy voice is thick with emotion. We already picked one. He meets my eyes, and then gazes at our baby. “Hey there, Robert Powers Lockhart.”

  My father’s and both of ours.

  Another Epilogue

  Ryder

  “Do you want to grab the sage?”

  Robert takes a wobbly step across the concrete. He doesn’t actually know what sage is. At least, I don’t think so. But he follows my pointing finger and swipes at the herb with his chubby hand. He misses.

  I help my one-year-old son and grab some from the plant.

  “Now, what about some thyme? Mommy likes that in her pasta, doesn’t she?”

  “Doggie.”

  That’s Robert’s answer for nearly everything these days. He can say mommy, daddy, and doggie. Oh, he can say Ruby, too. But Romeo? No way. That name vexes him.

  “Where’s the doggie?” I ask.

  My blond-haired, blue-eyed son points to my white and brown collie mix. Romeo lounges in the Augus
t sun that shines brightly here in the communal rooftop gardens of our apartment building.

  “Yes, that’s right. That’s our doggie. Can you say Romeo?”

  “Doggie.”

  I laugh, then snip some thyme from a miniature potted wheelbarrow where we grow herbs. The mini wheelbarrow was a gift from my wife for my last birthday. We’d tried the Wheelbarrow, and I’m loathe to admit this, but she was right. It didn’t work for far too many reasons. Mostly because she hated being upside down in what she called a ridiculously awkward and uncomfortable position. She rode me like a Crouching Cowgirl instead, and that was fine with me.

  The next day, she gave me this ceramic mini wheelbarrow, and we planted some herbs in it.

  Win some, lose some.

  But honestly, I’m winning at pretty much everything.

  I’m still working at Hanky Panky Love with my wife, but I’m there as a freelancer now, and so is she. She cut back her hours and started working from home more, and somehow we make it all fit, taking turns caring for our son. We still do our shows, and she writes her columns, too. I’ve cut back on those since my consulting business picked up. After Aaron, I nabbed a few more guys, and word spread. Now the Consummate Wingman has found a specialty niche in helping divorced guys get back out there.

  It makes me feel damn good to give these men strategies that help them build confidence to put their hearts on the line again, especially since I can walk the walk and talk the talk. I’m writing a book on the topic. I don’t have a title yet, but my publisher wants to call it Got Your Back Again. Maybe it’ll stick. The bio, though, was easy to write.