Baby Surprises 7 Book Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  “You were asking about a birth plan, right?”

  “Yeah. Trying to navigate all the different opinions has been driving me crazy.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Amanda said sympathetically. “I was so glad to have Danny with me when Poppy was coming. He helped me come up with my first birthing plan.” She gave him a look that bordered on worship, and he grinned.

  “It was fun,” he told me. “I got to look for music that would match the rhythm of contractions in every stage, then we decided whether we wanted a full medical team or a midwife center. And we practiced with birthing balls. Honestly, it was a lot like training for a marathon, with the amount of prep we put into it.”

  My heart sank. I hadn’t done any of that. I was facing a marathon, and I was hopelessly underprepared.

  “Hush, Danny, you’re stressing her out,” Amanda said kindly. “The point is, it didn’t end up mattering. Because she came three weeks earlier than I expected her to, we were actually out of town at my mother’s house. I had to go to a hospital I’d never been to, deal with a doctor I’d never met, and all of our music was at home. We’d prepared ourselves for up to twenty hours of labor, but she was out in six.”

  “Six hours?” That didn’t sound so bad. Not compared to some of the stories I’d heard, anyway.

  “Yep, six hours. She was an impatient kid. Well, with an experience like that, we thought we knew what we were doing when Isla was born. We stuck close to home. We prepared for a short labor and only put together enough music and stuff for twelve hours, and then…” She laughed, making a helpless gesture. “Then she took a solid twenty-five hours to come into the world, my doctor was on vacation, and Danny forgot the music.”

  “That’s crazy. So what did you do with Grace?”

  “By then we realized that no matter how well we tried to plan, the baby was going to be running the show,” Danny said, bouncing the baby on his knee. “But this time, I downloaded the music to my phone, my laptop, and a flash drive, burned a CD, and made a mixtape. Trust and believe I wasn’t going to forget it that time!”

  “Did it help?” I asked Amanda.

  “It really did,” she said earnestly. “I don’t know if the beats had a whole lot to do with it, but just having familiar songs to focus on when the pain got bad helped so much.”

  “How bad does it get?” I asked, wincing. I didn’t really want to know, but I figured it was better to know than to be surprised.

  Amanda thought about it for a moment. “It never got so bad for me that I wanted an epidural. But then I’m terrified of needles. Especially six-inch-long needles directly to the spine. I might have gotten one otherwise because it does get pretty bad.”

  “How did you deal?”

  “My mom gave me a piece of advice that I give to literally everybody,” she laughed. “She told me to imagine the worst pain I had ever experienced in my whole life. Then condense that pain into sixty seconds. You can bear anything for a minute, right?”

  “I suppose so,” I said. “But labor lasts for hours.”

  “But the pain only lasts for a minute at a time,” she assured me. “They tell you it’s pressure, but it’s most definitely pain. Until it’s time to push, then it’s definitely pressure.”

  “And…how do you know when to push?”

  “Oh trust me, you’ll know. You just gotta listen to your body.” She grinned comfortingly and leaned across the table. “Don’t worry, girl. You’ll do just fine.”

  “Thanks,” I said nervously. “I hope so.”

  “Either way, you’ve got a while to wrap your mind around it.” She smiled reassuringly at me, and I started to feel a little less frantic.

  We shared a lovely meal, and I fell in love with their dynamic. Danny was so involved, both with the girls and with Amanda. I’d never seen a stronger team, and it made me lonely for a partner. More than that, though, I saw the way that Danny looked at his daughters; every time, guilt shot through me, eating me alive. How would Danny have reacted if Amanda had never told him about Poppy? He’d have been absolutely heartbroken.

  “What kind of work do you do, Danny?” I asked, making conversation and trying to get a feel for his personality. I was hoping he would tell me that he was a kindergarten teacher or a nurse or something completely different from what Nick did with his life.

  “I’m a massage therapist,” he said.

  Amanda sat a little taller, bursting with pride. “It was his compromise for me, and it worked out well, didn’t it honey?”

  “Very well,” he said with a loving smile in her direction.

  “Compromise?” I asked.

  She gave me another one of those secretive little smiles. “You know why he’s so good at rhythm? My husband used to be a dancer—the kind who performs at bachelorette parties, if you catch my drift.” She winked at me, and I felt my face heat up.

  “How is massage therapy a compromise?” I asked.

  “I live to serve,” he said with a gentle smile. “I danced because I liked to bring women joy in that particular kind of way. I found that massage therapy releases all the same brain chemicals, just without the…extra.”

  Great, I thought. He’s Nick 2.0.

  “Sounds like your whole life changed when you had kids. Do you miss it?” Danny seemed to hear it the way I’d intended it, because he wrapped a loving arm around Amanda’s shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  “Not for a second,” he said. “Amanda and the kids brought a focus to my world that I wasn’t capable of finding on my own, and I am eternally indebted to them for it.” He touched his forehead to hers and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. Feeling like I was intruding on an intimate moment, I signaled for my check.

  We exchanged numbers and social media profiles, and I excused myself on the pretense that I had to get my laundry done. As I walked home, my mind was full of Danny and how similar he was to Nick. The same build, the same kind of appeal; the same brand of entrepreneurship. If Danny could flip like that, fall in love with the family life, change his trajectory for a woman and child, couldn’t Nick do the same thing?

  I told myself he wouldn’t want to, just like I’d been telling myself for the last seven months. Nick was wholly committed to non-commitment; he’d told me so himself. He hadn’t even sugarcoated it. There had been exactly zero ambiguity in his statement. How could I possibly come to him with this now?

  “Because it’s past the time for him to push for anything terrible, and it’s not so late that he’ll feel like he missed it,” I muttered against the cold wind. “This is really the only time to do it, if I’m going to do it.”

  I argued with myself through the lobby and all the way upstairs to my apartment, but I had already made up my mind. As soon as I stripped out of my coat, hat and gloves, I pulled out my laptop. I had already deleted his phone number so I’d have to find him online.

  Frozen fingers shook as I typed his name into the search bar. I told myself I was just cold, but I was petrified. Steeling myself against the turmoil in my chest, I hit the Enter key.

  The results were disappointing, to say the least. Most of what I found had to do with people named Nick who worked with steel, which didn’t help me at all. Last time I’d searched for him, I’d just used his name, hadn’t I?

  “Nick Steel, Steely Nick, Nicky Steel—where are you hiding?” I shoved my fingers in my hair and glared at the screen. His site was gone. Just…gone. I’d typed his name, variations of his name, O Doctor, everything I could think of, but he was gone. Where on earth did he go? I wracked my brain for anything else I could remember about his business.

  “EscortGo!” My fingers flew over the keyboard as my brain remembered the agency name. After scrolling down page after page of profiles, I finally found the number for the agency itself. I dialed before I could talk myself out of it.

  “EscortGo, this is Linda, how can I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m looking for someone who used to work for you. Nick Steel? I can’t seem to find
him online, could you help me?”

  There was a slight pause on the other end, followed by what sounded like an irritated sigh. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Steel no longer works for the company.”

  “Do you have any way for me to get in touch with him? It’s really important.”

  “I’m sure it is, ma’am, but I cannot give out personal information. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I do, but you see—”

  “Listen, honey, I hear you. I do. You and every other woman who has called in the last seven months looking for him. He’s the best there is, and I won’t deny that. But no matter what your feelings or your connection or your need, he is no longer available. I’m very sorry. If you like, I can give you an introductory discount on my new top-rated escort?”

  “No, thank you,” I mumbled as my face flushed hot. “That, won’t be necessary.”

  I hung up as quickly as I could, drenched in shame. For a good long minute I stared at the screen, thinking back on all of the decisions which led me to this moment. Small, insignificant decisions. At least they seemed that way in the moment. How could I know that a silly impulse would change my life forever?

  Seven months. Why would he quit his job seven months ago? He loved that job. Worry flitted through my brain, and I unwillingly flipped through every scenario which could possibly leave a man like Nick unable to continue doing what he did best. None of them were good.

  “He probably just moved to a different agency,” I told myself, finding relief in the thought. Shame kissed my already flaming cheeks once more as I searched for male escort services near me. I ignored my feelings, turning my attention instead to the hundreds of profile pictures in front of me.

  Nick never showed his face before, and I didn’t think he would have changed that. It was unfortunate because it meant trying to pick him out based on something less easily identifiable. The task was impossible, there were too many profiles. Apparently, business was booming.

  Most of the sites had sorting options based on physical preferences, and I did my best to fit those preferences as closely as possible to Nick. But each time I came up empty. A few of them were very clearly not him, a few of them could have been if he had changed significantly over the last seven months; but only if he had adopted an entirely new name.

  That wouldn’t make sense, though; how would he keep his repeat clients?

  Still, I kept searching. The amount of time that had passed was a problem. He could have put on weight or taken it off, could have gotten a tan or a tattoo, and I would have no way of knowing. I pulled on every scrap of information I had about him but kept coming up empty. He just wasn’t anywhere.

  “There has to be a way,” I told myself in frustration. “There just has to be.”

  If there was, I certainly couldn’t think of it. After hours and hours of searching with nothing to show for it, I finally gave up. I had to get dinner started anyway; Tyra was coming over to help me plan out how to put the nursery together. Time was running out, in more ways than one.

  Chapter 15

  Carmen

  “Girl, it smells so good in here. I’m starving,” Tyra greeted me as she came in the door.

  “You look great,” I told her warmly as I hugged her.

  “Thanks, doll. Donovan treated me to a spa day this morning, and let me tell you, it was so needed. I’m gonna treat you and me to a day like that after your baby comes. Or before, if you want to, I’m sure they do prenatal stuff?”

  “Oh,” I said on a breathless laugh. “I mean, that sounds nice—sort of—but I’m not feeling especially touchable right now. Pedicures are supposed to be extra, not basic maintenance, and can you imagine me trying to get up on a massage table right now? No, thank you.”

  “You need your toes done?” she asked, her eyes bright. “I can do that for you. After dinner. What did you make, anyway? Smells like Mom’s kitchen in here.”

  “Chicken marsala, and it took me way longer than it should have. I kept forgetting ingredients.”

  Tyra nodded sagely. “I hear that happens a lot toward the end of a pregnancy. You should have seen my sister, oh my God, it was like she’d had her whole brain replaced with oatmeal. Leaving her keys in the car, burning dinner—”

  “Oh no!” I rushed to the kitchen with a start, remembering at that second that I had left the burners on. I looked doubtfully at the dried-out remains of our dinner, and Tyra appeared at my elbow.

  “Hm…you know what sounds good? Pizza.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled out her phone and started to dial. “Chicken? White sauce?” she asked while she waited.

  “Sounds good,” I said, relieved.

  I began scraping the inedible gunk into the garbage. A terrible feeling welled up in my chest, rising and rising until it was stuck like a hard ball in my throat. Tears slipped down my cheeks as the pasta I’d ruined slipped into the trash. It didn’t make sense. I’d ruined meals before and laughed it off, why couldn’t I do it now?

  “Thanks, we’ll see you soon.” Tyra hung up and turned around. “Carmen? Are you crying? Honey, what’s the matter?”

  She took the pot out of my hands and set it on the counter, then took both of my hands in hers.

  “I ruined it,” I said sobbing.

  “It’s okay, babe, it was just pasta.”

  I shook my head miserably, unable to find the words to express what I was feeling. It wasn’t about the pasta.

  “Come sit down, talk to me.” Tyra led me to the couch, exuding maternal concern. For once, I wasn’t the mom in the room. How ironic.

  “It’s not just the pasta,” I sighed through trembling lips. “It’s everything.” I gestured to my belly and started crying again.

  “The baby? Sweetheart, the baby is fine. You’re doing a great job! The doctor said so, didn’t he? You’re gaining the right amount of weight, the baby’s nice and big, everything’s going so well. You even have all the stuff you need for the nursery. You just have to get it put together.”

  “I—” I bit my lip and shook my head. Tyra’s big caramel eyes worried over my face, and I closed my eyes to her.

  “Talk to me, please. I’m worried about you.”

  “It’s the father,” I said in a rush. “I didn’t think he’d want to know. I didn’t tell him. I—I should have.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I thought you said that you had told him, and he said he wasn’t interested?”

  “It seemed like the thing to say at the time. I was so sure that he wouldn’t want to be involved. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. It was stupid and selfish, but I really thought…” My lip started to tremble, and she took my hand.

  “Something happened to change your mind,” she stated gently.

  I nodded. “I met a woman at the cafe this morning. She and her husband and her three gorgeous little girls. And I don’t know. Just watching him with them, how happy he was, how happy they were with him, and how he and his wife worked as a team, just everything about it… I figured obviously this guy couldn’t have been anything like Nick to be so happy with a family like that.”

  “I mean that makes sense,” Tyra said with a shrug. “From what you’ve told me, Nick doesn’t exactly seem like the family-man type.”

  “That’s just the thing,” I burst out in frustration. “Neither was this guy before he had kids. He was an exotic dancer.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. He was just like Nick. Well, not exactly, but close enough, right? And there they are, three kids later, happy as anything.” Tears welled up in my eyes, and I pushed them away angrily.

  “Then call him,” Tyra said gently. “What’s stopping you?”

  “Reality.” I laughed bitterly. “He’s disappeared. I deleted his number months ago, and I can’t find him online anywhere. He’s not with his old agency anymore, or any other agencies for that matter. He said he was a bartender, but he never said where, and do you have any idea how many bars there are in Boston?”

  “
A ton,” she said with a sigh. “I can see why you’re stressed about this, but listen. If it’s supposed to happen, it will. If it doesn’t, you’ll be fine. He’s probably still living in Boston. You’ll probably run into him sometime, and you can get him all caught up then.”

  “Oh, yeah, brilliant. ‘Oh, hi, Nick! I see you’re picking out a watermelon. I am also choosing produce. By the way, meet your kid.’ That’ll go over well.”

  “Girl, it’s his fault for disappearing. You would have told him if you could have, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “There you go. The intention was pure, and if he—oh, pizza!” She interrupted herself and answered the door. I went to the kitchen for plates and met her at the table. Tyra looked puzzled.

  “They sent two pizzas? Didn’t charge me for the extra one, though.”

  “What kind is it?”

  “Olive, sausage, and mushroom.” She shrugged. “Congratulations to us, I guess?”

  “Yeah, congratulations,” I said as I eyed the pizza apprehensively. I knew exactly what that much salt would do to me, but it smelled so good…

  Four slices later, I was feeling more emotionally stable but also swollen and bloated. Tyra was happily munching on her fifth.

  “You know what you need? A night out. I’m meeting the girls at 7th Heaven later, do you want to come? We’ll get you all the virgin drinks you could ask for.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” I sighed, rubbing my belly. “I feel like a whale, and I’m getting a headache. Maybe next week?”

  Tyra squinted at me for a moment. “You aren’t going to lie around feeling sorry for yourself all night, are you?”

  As a matter of fact, that was exactly what I wanted to do, but I knew if I admitted it, she would insist that I go out with her. I wasn’t feeling at all up to partying, and I knew that if I did go, I would just be sitting around feeling sorry for myself surrounded by a crowd of happy drunk people. I couldn’t imagine a worse place to be.