To Keep Her Baby

by Melissa Senate

  He picked her up her at Madame Davenport’s, and she took his arm—casual be damned. She loved taking that arm. They strolled the ten minutes to the restaurant passing couples going and even a few brides and grooms who were either headed to the famed wedding chapel or coming from it. For these minutes, Ginger was James’s woman and he was her man, and she also loved that. Nothing wrong with a little fantasy if she kept control of it, right?

  Once they were seated in the Cowabunga Café, James sitting across from her at a cozy table for two, a small bowl of popcorn in the center in lieu of a romantic candle, Ginger couldn’t help but notice how incredibly gorgeous James looked, particularly in the low lighting that cast shadows. He wore a chambray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms and khaki pants that managed to be incredibly sexy. She could stare at the sharp cut of his jawline all night, his long dark eyelashes. And the way his gaze would linger on her sent a rush of butterflies in her belly.

  Am I actually a little nervous? she asked herself. She was. Which was strange, since she was so comfortable with James. And not strange, since she was pretty much in love with the guy. Pretty much? Who was she kidding? She loved him completely—even if she had to play tug of war with her emotions to keep herself in check.

  “So let me guess,” Ginger said, looking at the Cowabunga Café’s menu. “I should order the mixed-green salad, dressing on the side—oh, and balsamic, not something good like creamy Italian—and a sparkling water with a twist of lime even though I’m dying for something ice-cold and sugary sweet.”

  That had been Sandrine’s advice for tonight. Her fellow student’s casual evening assessment date had also turned out to be her own boss, who helped out Larilla from time to time. Sandrine had been amazed at her luck—practicing on the guy herself, the very man she wanted to fall madly in love with her. Or maybe Larilla was one shrewd teacher, pairing her students with the objects of their affections. It was hard to tell with the crafty, Yoda-like Madame Davenport.

  But the dentist who Sandrine thought was so great in the office turned out to be a major jerk on the date. When she’d told him she was thinking of ordering a cheeseburger with the seasoned sweet potato fries, he’d made a buzzer noise and said, Do you want your dates to think you’re going to get fat? And cheeseburgers are messy. Order something elegant so he thinks you’re elegant. Like...the mixed-green salad, dressing on the side. Oh, and we should talk about another round of teeth whitening. You’re pearly, but if you want to stand out...

  Ginger had seen red. Steam was coming out of her ears by the time Sandrine was done reporting on her evening and she’d barely gotten to the part about ordering dinner. The jerk! Her friend couldn’t possibly be in love with this guy, could she?

  “If I took a date here and she ordered a plain salad,” James said, “I’d notice and not in a good way. That probably sounds just as judgmental, but we’re at the Cowabunga Café, home of the foot-high loaded burger, not a tea with cucumber sandwiches.”

  Dammit. Of course that would be James’s reaction. Why was he making it so hard to try to call a halt to her feelings?

  “And sparkling water?” he said. “Yeah, I guess if you want. But I’d recommend the Wild West Whoo-Hoo.”

  She smiled. “What the hell is the Wild West Whoo-Hoo?”

  “It’s a nonalcoholic slushy cotton candy frozen concoction that comes in a sundae-type glass. My sisters live for those—even now that they’re of legal drinking age.”

  “Bring on the sugar rush,” she said. “Okay, so I’m getting the cheeseburger and fries. And the Whoo-Hoo.”

  “Ditto for me.” He closed the menu and eyed her, then leaned close as if to say something, but just then the waitress came over to take their drink orders. “Phew,” he said when she left. “Not my sister Josie. I’m pretty sure she’s working tonight.”

  “Josie probably told the hostess never to seat you in her section,” Ginger pointed out. “In fact, she may have even posted a small photo of you at the hostess station with Do not put this dude in Josie’s section written on the back.”

  He frowned. “Well, I doubt she’d go that far.”

  Ginger was sure his sister would, actually. The hostess station at Busty’s was full of photos with instructions on the backs. The waitresses loved going over them every night, indignant at some of the reasons. The real jerks got barred from the place, though that took some doing, but according to “senior management,” the jerks had to be superjerks—jerks for Busty’s, not just run-of-the-mill jerks.

  Thank God she was out of that place. Coco had told Ginger the day she’d quit that she was thinking of writing an exposé of the place and industry, and that her time at Madame Davenport’s had built up her confidence to think she could. Coco hoped to open a bar where there would be no exotic dancing and where female empowerment would be the name of the game.

  “Anyhoo,” James said.

  “Anyhoo?” Ginger repeated. “Did you just say that?” She burst out laughing.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s called a transition to a new topic. That okay with you?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, trying not to laugh and enjoying the gleam in those blue eyes. He was hardly mad at her for making fun of him. “So...anyhoo what?”

  James clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “Let’s go over your checklist.”

  “My checklist?” she repeated.

  “For the man you’re hoping to meet. The father for your baby.”

  You, she thought. You, you, you.

  But she couldn’t say that. She wanted to; she’d been straightforward with him before, but she knew how he felt and she needed to respect that. “Well, first, he’s family oriented. And has major integrity. He’s a guy you can count on. Always. He means what he says and says what he means. He has his priorities straight. He’s kind and thoughtful and cares about others. Doesn’t judge—except for jerks who deserve it. And if he’s hot and sexy, all the better. But not required.”

  The new Ginger was going to fall in love based on all the things she said—except that last bit. The old Ginger had been taken in by a cute face and a hot bod. No more.

  “I like your list,” he said, his blue gaze on her. “It’s a good list.”

  You are the list! she wanted to scream and fling herself at him, wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

  Wait. Wait. A. Minute. He wasn’t the list. In fact, the most important thing she was looking for in a father for Bluebell was that he wanted to be a daddy. That wasn’t James. So the fact that he matched every other hope and dream on the checklist? Moot. This was what she had to focus on—not that he was her dream man “if only this, if only that.” But that he was the furthest thing from her dream man because of how he felt about fatherhood. Right now anyway. For ten more years.

  Damn shame. But the truth would keep her head on straight and her focus in the right place. Which was not him.

  She glanced up as a waitress approached with two huge frozen pink drinks. Not their waitress who’d given them menus and water and taken their drink orders. Josie.

  “Oh flip,” Josie said with a slight glare at her brother. “Jillian asked me take over her table because she just got a party of ten. I had no idea you were here.” She set down the drinks, then turned her gaze on Ginger, her smile now warm and friendly.

  “Miss? Miss?” a woman from a nearby table called. “We’ve been waiting for our check for fifteen minutes.”

  Josie glanced over. “Coming right over,” she called to the woman. “Be right back to take your order,” she said to Ginger, tossing a glare at her brother.

  When Josie left, Ginger asked, “So you haven’t talked to her?”

  “What is there to say? We’re at a stalemate. She says she’s not going back to school and that it’s her decision.”

  Ginger tilted her head. “So you’re just go
nna be mad at her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Very solution-driven answer to your problem with your sister.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I admit it, I’m stumped here.”

  “Listen to her?” Ginger suggested.

  “Listen? She’s not making sense. She’s risking solid ground.”

  “I think you need to talk to her and listen. Really hear her.”

  He glanced away. “It’s not your concern anyway.”

  She recoiled as if he’d slapped her across the face. “Fine. But you asked.”

  “Fine, but I’ll take it from here,” he responded. He picked up a Wild West Whoo-Hoo and held it toward her. “Let’s toast to having a nice night. Not talking about my family issues. Okay?”

  She did not pick up her drink. “Well, this is my casual date assessment, so you must be modeling what men like yourself want in a woman. Women who don’t voice their opinions when it’s contrary to yours. I’ll take an F here because that’s not me.”

  “Oh, come on, Ginger. I never said that.”

  “But you want me to stop talking.”

  “About this? Yes. It’s my business, not yours. This isn’t the office. It’s my family.”

  Which I’ll never be a part of because you don’t want any part of my package deal. I’m in love with you, you big dope, she thought, tears threatening—and Ginger wasn’t a crybaby. Why, when I find the right guy, is he the wrong guy? Why is life like that? I’m looking for a man who’d sacrifice his own life to take in his quintuplet thirteen-year-old half siblings. When that’s exactly the reason he doesn’t want to be a father for a decade.

  Grrr.

  “Well, I guess you put me in my place, didn’t you,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. She picked up her Wild West Whoo-Hoo and took a sip, needing something cold and overwhelming to distance her from James and their argument. Poise. Self-control. You’ve got this, she told herself. Mmm, that is good. Slushy and sweet.

  “Besides,” James said. “You’ve got quite enough to worry about without taking on my life too.”

  She thunked down the drink. “Oh, do I?” she whispered as she stood up and flung her napkin on the table.

  “Ginger, I—” James began. But then nothing came out of his mouth. He looked defeated.

  She shook her head in a slow tsk-tsk. “Good day!” she snapped like Willy Wonka at the end of the movie and huffed out, Josie Gallagher heading back toward their table with her order pad—and wide eyes.

  Fantabulous. Ginger had lost her cool, did not act with poise and had made a young waitress nervous.

  Big fat F coming her way. On the assessment and her life.

  Chapter Seven

  That went well.

  And now James had no idea where Ginger was—but he’d bet money she wasn’t coming back.

  Josie came over and put her order pad in her apron. She glanced at him, then eyed the door. “Did—”

  “Miss? Miss? We’re ready to order,” called a man at a nearby table.

  Josie sighed. “Be right there, sir,” she said.

  She turned back to James. “You should go after her, you know that, right?”

  “I know,” he said, handing her a twenty for the drinks, then quickly kissing her cheek before rushing out.

  He stood in front of the restaurant, looking in every direction, but didn’t see Ginger. He tried calling and texting her, but she didn’t respond.

  He sighed and sat down on a bench in front of the Solero Sisters Bakery. He really messed things up. He had asked Ginger what she thought about the situation with Josie, and then jumped down her throat when she told him.

  A dog barked in the distance, and he glanced over toward the sound coming from in front of the Wedlock Creek Chapel. He gasped and popped up. Ginger was beside the dog, bending down to pet it. Then she straightened and walked toward the chapel steps, the little white-and-tan dog following her as she sat down on the far left.

  He jogged over. There were lots of people around, as usual, since the chapel with its legend brought tourists from all over. But despite all the people and the dog, Ginger looked so lonely sitting there by herself.

  “Sometimes I forget that you’re not made of titanium,” he said, and her head whipped up. She stared at him for a moment, then lifted her chin and turned her focus to the little mutt, patting its head and running a hand down its floppy ears.

  “What on earth would give you that idea about me?” she asked.

  “You just seem so strong, so self-assured.”

  She let out a guffaw. “Self-assured? Are you freaking kidding? I’m taking your godmother’s etiquette course for flipping’s sake.”

  “For a reason,” he said, sitting down beside her. The dog gave his leg a sniff. “Who’s your buddy?”

  She pointed at the silver tag on his collar. “His name is Belly. The other side of the tag says he belongs to the owner of the chapel.” She patted his head. “Just look at his beautiful amber eyes. That is an old soul.”

  He was pretty cute, especially now that he was lying down between them, his furry chin on Ginger’s foot.

  “Once I’m settled, I’m gonna get a dog,” she said. “Dogs never let you down. They just love you, you know?”

  Knife to the heart. He’d let her down. Her baby’s father had let her down.

  “Ginger, I’m sorry for what I said at the restaurant. Josie’s a sore subject, and I like it better when you agree with me. But I really do value your opinion. Obviously.”

  Finally, she gave him that Ginger-watt smile. “Duh. Someone has to set you straight and give you the what’s what.”

  He took her hand without meaning to and held on to it. “You’ll find that guy, the one from your checklist. He’s out there.”

  I’m that guy, he thought. Dependable. Integrity. I’m everything she’s looking for.

  Except for the part about not being remotely interested in fatherhood or a major life responsibility for ten years. So he wasn’t that guy. In the slightest.

  Even though except for the part about the baby, she was everything he was looking for—if he were looking, which he wasn’t. Someone he could really talk to. Someone who just seemed to get him. Someone who would set him straight when he needed a smack upside the head. Someone with the dependability and integrity she was looking for.

  He mentally shook his head. If only, right?

  He’d help Ginger in any way he could. He’d look out for her. He’d furnish a nursery for her. He’d do anything for her.

  Because she felt like family. It was crazy, but she did. And he was nothing if not a family guy.

  Again, except for that one little part about not wanting anything to do with fatherhood. Not for a good long time.

  “So your dad and stepmother got hitched here?” she asked, standing up and reading the golden plaque on the side of the white double doors. The plaque was about the legend.

  “Sure did. Apparently my dad figured he’d end up with twins. Kerry, his second wife, was an only child and wanted at least two in one. She was hoping for triplets. Man, was my father shocked when he found out he was getting five new kids at once.”

  “People really believe this legend?” she asked, glancing around at the throngs walking on the path, heading into the small chapel museum, which had photos of thousands of couples who’d married there and babies galore. His sisters loved walking through the museum. He avoided it like the plague.

  Several brides and grooms, some decked out in full wedding regalia, some in cosplay, some in casual wear, took photos in front of the century-old chapel.

  “There’s something to the legend,” James said, turning to look up at the beautiful white clapboard building. “My mother told me that my stepmother had gone to a fertility clinic, so perhaps science has the most
to do with the huge number of multiples in Wedlock Creek. They get married in the chapel to bless the science, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. I sure hope I’m only having one baby,” she said, her hand on her belly. “I definitely couldn’t handle two on my own, let alone three, four or five.”

  “I think you could handle anything life throws your way, Ginger O’Leary.”

  She looked up at him and planted a big one on his cheek. “That means a lot to me. Especially coming from the solutions guy.”

  He smiled. The dog licked Ginger’s arm and then scampered off around the side of the chapel.

  See the dog. Be like the dog. And know when it’s time to go.

  But instead of getting up, he stayed where he was. He didn’t want to leave her.

  “Excuse me?” asked a woman wearing a wedding gown. “Would you take our picture? Make sure you get the full chapel—and the plaque. Please and thank you!”

  Ginger popped up and took the cell phone, snapping five shots, then handed it back.

  “Thanks,” the groom said before dipping his bride in a dramatic kiss.

  “Hey, do that again,” Ginger said, walking over to them with her hand outstretched. “I’ll take the pic.”

  Another dip, another kiss, and Ginger was ready with the camera.

  “Thanks! Wedlock Creek is as awesome as we heard!” the bride said before they headed around the side of the chapel.

  “That was nice of you,” James said.

  Ginger grinned. “The chapel is all about love, so whether the legend is true or not, there’s love and happiness all over this town. You can feel it. I’ll bet that bride dreamed of getting married here since she was a tween.”

  “What was yours?” he asked, surprising himself—and Ginger, based on the look on her face. But strangely, he wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about this woman.

  She shrugged. “I never really fantasized about the actual wedding. I’d always been focused on the guy. But convo during breaks at Busty’s turned to dream weddings sometimes, and I always said I loved the idea of eloping somewhere amazing.”