Baby Surprises 7 Book Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  “Nothing I can’t put off,” I said. “I have interns doing most of the legwork for me.”

  “Then why don’t we go for a little trip, just you and me?”

  “A trip? To where?”

  “Somewhere that’ll give you the chance to get to know me.”

  His coy smile suggested that he wanted to keep some of it a secret.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re on.”

  Chapter 31

  Johnny

  It was the next morning, and the two of us were about ready for our trip.

  “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t drive,” said Kendra. “And I can definitely carry my own stuff.”

  “Not a chance in hell I’m going to let a pregnant woman lug around her suitcase,” he said. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I did that?”

  “My my, Johnny Maxton,” she said with a smile. “Devil-may-care rock star and perfect gentleman.”

  “What can I say?” I asked as I popped the trunk of her car open and heaved in both of our suitcases. “I’m a complex dude.”

  She chuckled. “Fine, but at least let me drive.”

  “No way,” I said as I twirled the keys in my hand. “I’ve spent the last God-knows-how-many months having other people take me here and there. I’ve been itching to drive like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Okay, fine,” she said. “But at least tell me where we’re going.”

  I opened the passenger door for her and let her in. Once she was inside, I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  “Remember how I told you I grew up in a small town?” I asked.

  “I do,” she said.

  “Well, that’s where we’re headed.”

  “Seriously?” she asked as we pulled out onto the road. “We’re driving all the way to Oregon?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Not much of a drive—only a few hours.”

  “And where are we staying when we get there?”

  “With my parents, of course.”

  I pulled a left toward the highway.

  “Are you serious?” she asked.

  “I am,” I said. “Why—that not work for you?”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s—I don’t know.”

  “Let’s hear it,” I said. “This thing of ours isn’t going to work unless we’re totally honest with each other. About everything.”

  As soon as I’d said the words, I realized I really didn’t know what “this thing of ours was.” Sure, we were having a kid together. But were we a couple? I put the question aside, figuring we could work out all the finer points down the road—maybe literally.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to meet your parents,” she said. “It’s just that when I do, it’s going to make this whole thing really, really real.”

  “That bump on your belly not real enough for you?” I asked.

  She laughed.

  “There are different stages of ‘real,’” she said. “And meeting parents is definitely one of them.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” I assured her. “They’ll be crazy about you. I can tell.”

  “Or they’ll see that I got knocked up by you and go crazy,” she said.

  I reached over and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said. “Trust me.”

  Silence fell over the two of us while I drove down the highway. After twenty minutes or so, the clouds that seemed to perpetually hang over Seattle broke, and the sun began to shine down from a mostly clear sky.

  “Put on some music,” I suggested.

  Kendra gave a little nod that let me know she thought that was a great idea. She turned on her radio and flipped through the stations, landing on a hard rock station that happened to be playing one of Memphisto’s songs, one from our second record.

  “Oh,” she said. “Heard of this band?”

  I smirked. “Cute.”

  Kendra reached for the dial to flip the station, but before she did, I found myself taken away in memory.

  “What’s that look?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You looked like you were a million miles away,” she said.

  “It’s nothing,” I told her.

  “Come on now,” she said. “It’s like you just said—if this is going to work, we can’t have any secrets, no matter how small.”

  She had me there. And it wasn’t like it was that big of a deal.

  “Just thinking about this album,” I said as the song played. “Thinking about where I was when we recorded it.”

  “As in the city?”

  “No,” I said. “As in where I was in life. It was the peak of my partying and drinking and all that crazy crap. I remembered we had this huge party to celebrate when we laid down the last track. We were all at my apartment, the place full of industry people and other musicians and random celebrities. There was booze and drugs and girls—I could have anything I wanted. Or, at least, anything I thought I wanted.”

  “What happened?”

  “What happened?” I said. “Nothing happened. I tried to have fun despite knowing deep down that I wasn’t. And this went on for months, me thinking that there was something wrong with me. I felt guilty, too. I had everything a musician could dream of, and all I could think about was how I wasn’t satisfied.”

  “But that wasn’t it, right?” she asked.

  Her attention was fully on me as I drove and talked.

  “It wasn’t,” I said. “But that didn’t stop me from feeling guilty as hell. Can you imagine talking to the lead singer of one of the biggest rock bands in the world, seeing everything he had, and hearing that it just wasn’t doing it for him?”

  She chuckled at the absurdity, seeing my point.

  “You’d want to punch him in the face, tell him to appreciate what he had,” I said.

  “What do you think it was, though?” she asked. “That was making you feel that way?”

  “That’s what I’ve spent the last few years trying to figure out,” I said. “But…I don’t know. Since I’ve met you, since you’ve told me about the baby, I feel like for the first time that I’m at least moving in the right direction.”

  Her expression softened, a small smile forming on her lips.

  “That’s…good to hear,” she said.

  The song ended, and Kendra changed the station to something more upbeat.

  “Okay,” I said. “Enough talking about myself. What about you? How have you been handling all of this?”

  “Mostly been scared,” she said.

  “Of being a mom?”

  “Yeah, among other things. Scared of being a mom, scared of dealing with the pregnancy on my own, scared of how my life was going to change.”

  “And what about now?” I asked. “You don’t need to worry about being alone anymore.”

  “You’re right,” she said with a smile. “I don’t. But even before you came back into the picture, I’d been feeling different about all of this—less scared, more excited.”

  “That so?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “At first it was all so surreal, but now I’ve had the chance to get used to it and realize what a miracle it is what’s happening. I mean, there’s a little person growing inside of me right now, a little boy or a girl. And even though I’ve never met them, and I won’t for a few months yet, I already love them so much I can hardly stand it.”

  I reached over and squeezed her hand again. “I can tell you’re going to be great at being a mom.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. “I feel better, but I sure as hell don’t feel ready.”

  “I’ve met plenty of parents,” I told her. “And I’d always ask them about having kids, what it was like, how they adjusted. And you know the one thing they all said?”

  “What’s that?” she asked, clearly curious.

  “That you’re never ‘ready.’ Even for the couples who had it all planned out and had the toys bought a
nd the nursery painted and ready to go. They said that when that baby comes out, all you can think about is how much your life has changed. How as much as you thought you might be ready, it’s nothing compared to how you feel when you hold that squirming little kid in your arms for the first time.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “That’s exactly what I’ve heard. So, I’m letting myself be excited. And now that you’re back, I don’t have to be scared anymore. I mean, I’m still scared, but it’s the good kind of scared.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh.

  “I feel like I’m talking nonsense,” she said. “You know what I mean?”

  I squeezed her hand again and smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  Chapter 32

  Kendra

  Over the next few hours, Johnny and I swapped DJ duties, playing different stations on the radio and pulling up our favorite tracks on our streaming apps.

  “I have to say,” I said. “I thought I knew about some pretty obscure bands. But you’ve got me beat.”

  “It’s all I’ve ever cared about,” he said. “Ever since I got my first cassette player, all the way back when, I’ve been obsessed.

  “Cassettes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re in your thirties? You’re not actually a fifty-year-old guy with thousands of dollars of plastic surgery going on, right?”

  He flashed me a grin.

  “Come on,” he said. “You can’t buy good looks like these.”

  He gave me a wink, letting me know he was screwing around.

  “Seriously though,” he said. “I’m barely older than you. You didn’t have cassettes?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I guess three years really does make a huge difference. My first albums were on CD, and I remember going to the record store and buying them. They had those giant white plastic cases.”

  “Oh yeah!” said Johnny. “I remember those.”

  “And I spent every penny I had buying up CDs until I found out about records and turned into a vinyl snob.”

  “Same story here,” he said. “Got my first record player and my first guitar around the same time. And once I had them both it was done—my fate was sealed.”

  “Yep,” I said. “My parents tried to get me to learn piano or guitar or anything so I could play like them, but I never stuck with the lessons. For me, it was about finding new bands and sharing them with other people. In high school, I started making mixtapes of my favorite songs and passing them out to friends.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just made them as fun little things for a few close friends, but before too long, they started making their way around the school. People would come up to me and ask if I could make them a copy the next time I put out a mix. And that’s when I realized that while maybe I didn’t know how to make good music, I sure as hell could sniff it out.”

  “Can’t have one without the other,” said Johnny. “I’d be nowhere if I didn’t get discovered when I was younger.”

  We kept on driving, turning off the interstate and eventually arriving on a small, two-lane highway bordered on both sides by massive, towering pines. The clouds had returned, but the gray sky wasn’t ominous or dreary. It was a cool, cozy day in the Pacific Northwest.

  “Almost there,” said Johnny, pointing to a sign that read “Pine Bluff, 32 miles.”

  “And your parents know we’re coming,” I asked.

  “They know,” he said. “And they’re mega excited.”

  “I hope I live up to whatever expectations they have,” I said, a tinge of anxiety forming in my belly.

  “Trust me,” he said. “They’re so happy that I’m bringing a girl home that you could look like you just crawled out of a sewer.”

  “Do they know about…you know,” I said, putting my hand on my belly.

  “They don’t,” he said. “I wanted to keep that a surprise.”

  “How do you think they’re going to react?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” he said with a wink.

  Before too long, we passed a sign that read “Pine Bluff, pop. 8,433.” I could spot large houses through the trees, winding driveways leading up to them. We eventually arrived on the main street of town, charming shops, a hotel and restaurants packed along it.

  There were families out and about in the downtown area, enjoying the chilly but pleasant day. Among the businesses, I spotted clothing shops, a florist and a coffee shop. It was an idyllic small town among the pines.

  “This isn’t at all what I was expecting,” I said.

  “In a good way?” he asked.

  “In a very good way. I was expecting some little logging town or something out in the sticks. But this is actually really lovely.”

  “You sound surprised that a small town can actually be nice,” he said with a grin.

  “Oh, I don’t mean it like that,” I said. “Just always been a city girl.”

  I continued to watch the town pass through the windows, already charmed by it.

  Johnny pulled into an open spot and killed the engine.

  “Your parents live downtown?” I asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “They’re a little way further. But I thought we could stop and stretch out legs.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I said.

  We both got out, my muscles crying for joy as I stretched my body out from the long car ride.

  “Come on,” he said. “This way.”

  I hurried to his side, and he took my hand right away. We walked along the wide sidewalks of the town, the sky still that same quiet gray, a gentle fall breeze blowing softly down the road as cars passed.

  “It’s so quiet,” I said. “But in a good way.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I spend so much time in cities that I forget what it’s like to be in a place where you don’t hear constant honking horns and people screaming at each other from their car windows.”

  “I know,” I said. “You just get used to that.”

  We continued on, passing people who recognized Johnny. But they didn’t react to him like adoring, starstruck fans. They reacted like he was an old friend they hadn’t seen in a while.

  “They all know you?” I asked.

  “Definitely,” he said. “Pine Bluff is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. Perfect size for that, too. It’s small enough to feel like you’re among friends but big enough to where it doesn’t feel like everyone’s in your business.”

  “I can dig that,” I said.

  We eventually stopped in front of the large windows of a coffee shop called Dale’s. The name struck me as somewhat familiar.

  “Why do I feel like I know this place?” I asked.

  “Because this is the coffee shop where I played when I was younger.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I said, nodding. “I remember reading about it in some articles about you.”

  I looked into the windows of the shop. The space was both spacious and intimate at the same time. There was dark leather furniture here and there, and lots of bookshelves packed with colorful spines.

  “I don’t know about you,” he said. “But I could go for a coffee.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  He opened the door and we both stepped in. There was a smattering of people there, all of them studying or reading or having quiet conversations. Mellow acoustic music played on the speakers. The toasty air was heavy with the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. I took a moment to let the scent flow through me, a big smile forming on my face.

  “And maybe a muffin while we’re at it.”

  “What the lady wants, the lady gets,” he said with a smirk.

  “Holy crap!” came a booming voice from behind the counter. “Is that Johnny?”

  We both turned our attention to a tall, lanky man behind the counter. He was a skinny guy dressed in a big, thick brown sweater and skinny jeans, a horseshoe of sandy hair on his balding head. Behind styl
ishly big glasses were eyes opened wide in excitement.

  “That’s him, all right,” he said, stepping out from behind the counter.

  The couple dozen people there had noticed the commotion, and now all eyes were on us. The man approached Johnny and threw his arms around him.

  “Damn, Josh,” said Johnny with a smile. “You really know how to spoil the carefully crafted ambience of the place.”

  Josh let go of Johnny and stepped back from him.

  “Can’t believe you’re back,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s been years.”

  “I know, I know,” Johnny said. “Tours have been keeping me away.”

  Johnny turned to me.

  “Josh, this is Kendra Peters,” he said. “Kendra, this is Josh Barnes. He’s the guy who let me play here when I was just a kid who barely knew three chords.”

  We introduced ourselves, and I noticed that the people there were excitedly chatting, clearly eager to talk to Johnny.

  “Come on and have a seat,” said Josh. “I’ll bring you something to drink.”

  Johnny and I took a small, round table near the windows. Before too long, Josh showed up with a pair of steaming cups of coffee and a plate topped with two very delicious-looking blueberry muffins. It took all the restraint I had not to shove one down in a single bite.

  “So,” said Josh, sliding into one of the open chairs. “What brings you back to our humble town? And with a gorgeous lady in tow?”

  Josh gave me a wink, and I couldn’t help but blush a bit.

  “We decided that we both needed a break from the city,” I said.

  “Cities, in my case,” said Johnny. “I’m right in the middle of a tour that I’m pretty sure is going to be the damn death of me.”

  “Shoot,” said Josh. “Well, if you came to relax, you’re in the right town.”

  I glanced over Josh’s shoulder at a small stage in the corner, nothing more than a slightly raised platform with a stool and a mic.

  “That’s the place?” I asked, pointing to the stage. “That’s where the great Johnny Maxton played his first shows?”

  “That’s the place,” said Josh. “Back when you still went by ‘Johnathan.’”