by Mimi Barbour
They took the elevator up and when they got out on her floor, she was suddenly nervous to bring him inside.
“Here we are.” Had she cleaned the bathroom recently? Changed the sheets? Done the dishes from breakfast? “It’s an older building, but I grabbed the unit once it came up. It was less than three hundred?”
Stop babbling.
She opened the door and flipped on the switch. Her critical eye took in the sage walls with darker olive trim, the burnt orange lamp over her brown couch. Mahogany coffee table. Comfy brown blanket and cushions on the couch.
He didn’t say a word.
“I finally broke down and bought a television.” She hung her keys on the hook by the door. “I thought Lara was going to flip when I joined the rest of America.”
“You didn’t have TV? That is very un-American.”
“I was never home to watch it. I used to have black and white furniture and glass everywhere.” She waved her hand around the room. “My style has changed lot, in here too.”
Dillon tugged her close in a one-armed hug. “Very cozy place. It’s inviting.”
Her shoulders relaxed. He’d fallen hard for her edges before, but she’d grown since then. She was nervous about whether or not he’d like her as she was now.
“Would you like some water? I’ll grab you a bottle.” She took two off the counter.
“Okay.”
He followed her around the kitchen table. His gaze stopped on the calendar by the fridge. What? Oh. The baby’s due date, January 7th, circled in green. “Will you be around then?” She spoke softly, understanding that this had to be surreal.
Dillon tensed. Cleared his throat, his forehead furrowed. “I’ll be in Jacksonville until March. Then we go out for four months.”
She didn’t want him to go—and how silly was that? They weren’t even dating for heaven’s sake. Crysta put the other water bottle on the kitchen table. Overwhelmed, she took out a copper saucepan and filled it with almond milk on medium heat. She would not make things worse by crying, if she could help it.
“Hot chocolate?”
“Yes, of course.” Dillon turned from the calendar and sat at the kitchen table.
“Schnapps?” She opened her cabinet for the alcohol.
“No, I’ll have mine the same as you.”
She turned and smiled, leaving the schnapps in the cupboard. “It’s good—I have peppermint bark for the top.”
He wandered the apartment while she put the cocoa together on a tray with shortbread cookies. Dillon paused by the wall of artificial bamboo and lattice screens she’d used to create privacy around her bed, and then the area where she’d put the bassinet—so far, the only sign that a baby might soon live here.
Lara had insisted.
He crossed his arms and stared down at the tall cradle on wheels, right now covered in white lace. “It’s so small.”
“That’s just for the first few months,” she explained. She didn’t tell him about the old wife’s tale that you shouldn’t buy anything until after the baby was well-developed inside. After her scare that night of her birthday, she hadn’t wanted to jinx anything. But now at over seven months, maybe she could rethink that and start stocking up.
And yes, it was probably just a superstition, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
“What else will you need?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and faced her. “Tell me, and I’ll get it.” He seemed glad to have something to do.
“I’ve got a list. I’m dipping my toe in, remember?” She rubbed her belly then gestured to the tray. “Do you mind carrying this outside? I have a blanket and it is really cozy out there.”
“Of course.” Dillon was by her side in an instant. “Smells great.”
She opened the door to the balcony and a rush of cool salty air twirled her hair back. “Go ahead and sit and I’ll grab another blanket. It is December, even in Florida.”
A moment later, she joined him on the futon. They each took a mug and sipped. She wasn’t sure what to say. He had to be reeling. He had gone through half his hot chocolate when he said, “I want to be a part of our baby’s life.”
She nodded, knowing that he would do the “right” thing. Was it wrong of her to hope for more? “Of course.”
“You know what keeps going round in my head?”
Crysta had zero clue.
“My mom counting down the days until I turned eighteen. Didn’t matter that I got good grades, and that I worked for my own car and paid my own bills. I contributed to the groceries. It wasn’t enough.” He took a sip of cocoa. “No matter what I did, I couldn’t make up for being born.”
Crysta wanted to reach back in time and shake his mom by the shoulders. She sensed he needed to talk, so she stayed quiet.
Dillon leaned forward, his face in the shadows. “You lost your job, because of this baby.” His tone toughened. “How can you know that you won’t resent the kid later?”
She held his gaze. “I don’t know. It’s a chance we take, becoming a parent. When we were abused as children, maybe it’s a bigger fear?”
“I wasn’t abused.” Dillon spoke dismissively.
“Abuse can be physical, verbal, emotional, or all of those in varying degrees.” She curled her hand over his. “It’s still wrong. I’ve had some court-mandated counseling, but honestly, taking these last few months to slow down and really understand myself has allowed me to vanquish some of those old ghosts. Now,” she looked up at him, “I don’t know your mom’s story, but the truth is, her story isn’t what matters for you to be healthy.”
“What does that mean?” His shoulders lifted as if ready to defend himself.
Crysta leaned over to the small table and snagged a cookie. “When we first met, I was in a place where I felt like I had to protect my inner self all the time. I didn’t trust anybody enough to allow them in. I poured everything into work, my exterior, so that nobody would see me.”
“You are impossible to ignore.” Dillon’s eyes shone emerald in the dark.
She curled her legs beneath her on the futon, to face him as she spoke. “That night on the beach, I felt like you looked past all of the hard lines and saw the real me. When we talked and made love, the connection released every lock I had—as if you were the key.”
“I’ve never known anything like it,” he said. “But I felt it too.” He touched her heart, then touched his own.
“Exactly.” Crysta smiled softly at him. “Now I love this baby. And that love means more than the hate I’d kept harbored for so long.”
“I don’t hate my mom,” he said, in monotone. A warning for her not to push?
“I’m telling you my feelings. What if I yell, or scream, or worse, hit? What if—but because of my childhood, I don’t think I’ll do any of those things.” And if she felt on the edge, she had Lara on speed dial
He put his hand on her knee and swirled his thumb over the skin. “What if I can’t do it?”
Ah, that was the heart of it all, wasn’t it?
“Love the baby. Provide food, provide shelter. Everything else will fall into place.”
He exhaled. “Seems too easy.”
“Easy is a good place to start.” She rested her head on his shoulder and they both looked out at the night sky. “You were easy,” she teased.
“Hey...” His chest rumbled as he laughed.
Hand in hand, they fell asleep lulled by the soothing crash of ocean to sand.
Chapter Fifteen
Dillon woke up to the sound of a seagull. Cool wind, salty air different than the smells around the bay by his apartment. He blinked, realized he had a warm body in his arms and it all came back in a huge rush.
I’m going to be a dad.
I am holding Crysta, and we are at her condo.
Soft brown hair tickled his chin as she slowly stretched and came awake.
“Oh!” She scrambled up, looked at him, at the seagull, which had a bite of shortbread cookie dangling from its beak, and st
arted to laugh. “Good morning.” She smoothed down wayward curls.
He grinned. “Morning.”
The sunrise hinted at dawn with oranges and purples and blues at the horizon. He’d slept soundly, despite the upheaval in his world.
“I was thinking,” she said, keeping her legs next to his. “We should schedule an ultrasound today, and find out if we are having a boy or girl.”
His heart smashed against his ribcage. “Whoa, let me have coffee first.” He dropped back against the armrest and the cushion. An ultrasound? See the baby?
“Do you want to call your mom?”
Did he? No. He needed to wrap his own head around this turn of events before telling anybody. “Nah.”
“I’m glad I waited, so that we could do this together. When do you work next?”
“Monday through Friday.” He thought ahead, talking it out. “I’m teaching through March, so that will be my schedule. I’ll drive back with Davey tomorrow, oh, and I have a dive today. I am going to cancel. He’ll understand.”
“You don’t have to.” Crysta adjusted the fuzzy brown blanket over their legs with a contented smile.
“I want to.” He covered her hand with his, her fingers cool. “I can come back on weekends, if you want me to.” Dillon never wanted to leave.
“Let’s see how it goes,” Crysta suggested in a low voice. “We don’t need to move too fast, all right?”
The baby would be here in January, so they had a little time. And that bassinet thing wasn’t enough. He didn’t know much about babies, but didn’t they need diapers? Clothes? Slow down. “Sure. Are you working?”
“I’ve been doing the occasional cut and style. And Lara lets me play with her hair to keep in practice. Next weekend is the 14th, and we’re having a big holiday celebration downtown. An open house at the salon. I’ve had a drawing over the last month. We are going to pick a winner and choose a name.”
“Sounds dangerous. What if it’s awful? Like, Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow? Or Comb As You Are? I read that one somewhere.”
“I have the right to veto,” she said with assurance. “It will be fun. Lara is dressing like Mrs. Claus.”
Dillon made a mental note to shift his own schedule this weekend and be here with Crysta for the open house. Marty from the Wounded Vets could run the kitchen with Chapman. He’d try to change some of his weekend plans to the middle of the week.
He wanted to share these moments with her. He hoped she wouldn’t she shut him out again. He understood her reasoning, but it was going to take some time for his heart to catch up.
Her plans had already been made, and he would take whatever she wanted to share with him as best he could.
“Did you hear me, Dillon?”
“Hmm? Sorry, my mind was wandering. Diapers. Don’t we need a lot of them?”
Crysta tucked a loose curl behind her ear, her teal blue eyes blinking at him as if she was trying not to cry. She burst out laughing instead.
“Yes, we’ll need a lot of diapers.”
“What did you say?” He cupped her cheek, dropping a kiss on her nose.
“I asked if you were hungry. I make a mean pecan pancake.”
“Yeah.” He got up and gathered the chocolate mugs on the tray, leaving a cookie crumb for the gull. “I am an excellent sous chef.”
He was used to being in charge, taking the lead, but in this instance, he was happy to just be part of the team.
***
Crysta called the 4D ultrasound office and was able to get in that morning. Suddenly so excited, and worried, and tense, she pulled Dillon into a hug as soon as he came out of the shower—smelling of her shampoo, but in yesterday’s clothes. She’d suggest he bring a change for next time.
If there was a next time—and why wouldn’t there be? Her smile broadened as she hugged him tighter. Hope flared and blossomed.
Be careful, the voice of her past warned. Shut up, she told it firmly.
“Now that it is time to find out, I don’t know what to think. Boy, girl?” She whirled around her studio, imagining pink or blue accents. “And names. I haven’t even started to think about names.”
“You could always add it to the drawing,” Dillon teased. “Hair Apparent, instead heir apparent?”
“You have a knack for this.”
He opened his arms wide welcoming her back into a hug that she never wanted to leave. “I want to help.”
Already, just by him being there, she felt relieved. But what if he reached Jacksonville, and decided it was too much? What if he changed his mind?
Stop.
She dressed in black maternity shorts, black gladiator sandals and a pale lavender t-shirt that had a row of ruffles along the hem. Dried violets in crushed silver dangled from her ears, making her feel pretty.
Dillon whistled when she came out behind the screen to join him at the kitchen table.
Crysta blushed, taking the keys to the Audi off the hook by the door. “I’ll drive, since I know where we are going.” She hoped he wouldn’t be one of those macho military guys that needed to drive everywhere—she’d discovered a love for being behind the wheel after getting her own car.
“Sounds good.”
“You know, I never had my own car before this? I rented one if I needed it, or borrowed one. I checked all of the safety ratings. It even has rear passenger airbags.”
She was chattering nervously—again. When she was alone, nobody witnessed her babbling. Names. Gender. By the time they arrived at the baby ultrasound office, she was a wreck. Until Dillon took her hand and she was able to exhale and relax.
Crysta filled out the paperwork, proud to put Dillon Bakersfield down as the dad. Between her and Dr. Mary, they hadn’t put anything down on the medical record, to protect Dillon. In a case of emergency, though, Dr. Mary knew who to contact.
A technician opened one of the doors and smiled at the couple. “Are you ready?”
She squeezed Dillon’s hand. “I am. How about you?”
His green eyes widened the slightest bit. “Ready.”
They went inside the dimly lit room and the tech gestured for Crysta to hop on the exam table. She felt Dillon’s concern, which forced her to calm down. It wasn’t fair for him to take all of this in and try to take care of her—he couldn’t help it.
“Have you done this before?” the tech asked.
“I had an ultrasound,” she looked at Dillon, “after I fainted. I was at five months.”
“You fainted?” He brushed her hair away from her forehead.
“Yes—it was okay. But I didn’t want to know gender, so Dr. Mary turned the screen away from me. I’ve heard the baby’s heartbeat. This will be a first for both of us—seeing the baby.”
“Wonderful—all right, then, let me lift your shirt.”
The gel and paddle against her skin made her jump, but Dillon was right there, holding her hand. He looked at her belly instead of the screen. Was he put off by her figure? Alarmed at the change?
“I’ll put some pictures on a disc for you. We can print out a few if you’d like.”
Dillon tightened his stance, looking apprehensive.
The baby kicked the paddle.
“Oh, baby doesn’t like that.” The tech laughed.
Dillon held her hand. Her baby spun in her tummy. Crysta had a hard time focusing on the black and white anatomy on the screen. Eye, yes, arm, yes. “Is that a nose?”
She didn’t recognize the gooey mushy tone of her voice and laughed.
Dillon brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them.
“Here we are,” the tech said. “See the head, the chin here? Ah, the little darlin’ is scooting around. Oh, but, yes—do you see that? I believe you have a baby boy.”
“A boy?” Crysta’s eyes welled and she looked up at Dillon, who also had a sheen of moisture shining in his eyes.
“A boy,” he said, his voice rough.
Oh, she understood, she thought squeezing his fingers tight. Holy crap, ho
w did people survive this rush of emotion? This thrill, this sneak peek of the baby to come?
“I want to meet him already,” she said, her chest warm and tingling. The heartbeat, sure and steady. Hey, baby.
“You are,” Dillon whispered. “I had no idea it would be like this.” He bent down to kiss her, and she felt his tears drop on her cheeks.
Chapter Sixteen
Dillon one hundred percent did not want to leave Crysta.
Driving home Sunday afternoon was torture, and he bombarded Davey with a litany of the amazing characteristics of Crysta, and his son.
Son! “Can you believe it?” He pounded the steering wheel with a whoop.
Davey grinned and leaned back against the passenger seat of the truck. “No. For the millionth time, I do not freaking believe it.”
“She doesn’t want to rush into marriage.”
“With you?” Davey made a sour face. “I don’t blame her.”
He ignored his friend. “I’m going back next weekend—she didn’t invite me, really, but I want to be there. I can sleep on her balcony, and she won’t even know I’m there.”
“Really? Well, I got an invite from Lara, to sleep inside and everything. Seems that their Santa backed out last minute, and I’ll be filling in.” He rubbed his slim, muscled abdomen. “Lara was really grateful for my sacrifice.”
He didn’t care about Davey’s sex life in the least. “You, Santa? Not sure how many pillows you’re going to need.”
“Ha. This is one Santa who’s going to be sexy. Can’t be eating cookies all day and expect to get the babes.” Davey brushed his knuckles against his chest.
“What does Lara think about that?”
“We’re not excusive.” He wagged his brows over the rims of his Ray Bans. “Trust me.”
“Does she know that?”
“It was her idea.” Davey sounded slightly hurt.
What was with women these days? Independent and hard to hang on to. Dillon couldn’t spend his time trying to fix Davey and Lara, not when he had his own issues.