My Ex's Baby (Crescent Cove Book 8)

by Taryn Quinn

  “Then why are you asking?”

  Like I knew. It was as if for one crazy moment I’d thought—maybe even hoped—I was pregnant and so maybe my jumbled mindset toward August had something to do with that, even though I wasn’t. Perhaps my libido had been momentarily fooled into thinking he was my baby daddy, so I couldn’t help wanting to jump his very fine bones.

  It was a theory.

  “Just wondering for someday.”

  It took Ivy grabbing my arm for me to replay what I’d said. Uh oh. “Do you want to have a baby?”

  “Um, sure, maybe someday.” Someday was the best answer.

  “Really? Like you’re planning to have one? I didn’t know you were even considering it.”

  “No,” I said slowly. So slowly I made it into a many-syllabled word. “Just that you know, it’s what everyone usually does. Baby and then,” I swallowed hard, “well, at least a baby.”

  That didn’t require being madly in love. You could just be in like enough to do the deed—all right, serious freaking like—and then you could just…let it happen.

  Especially if the guy couldn’t use latex. And you weren’t—I wasn’t—on birth control, since my sex life was as sporadic as sunshine in February in Crescent Cove.

  Sometimes happy accidents didn’t need to be planned out years in advance. Women had unplanned babies every day.

  Besides, the idea was forming in my head, so that kind of counted as a plan, right?

  I pressed the backs of my now ice-cold hands to my flaming cheeks. Oh my God, what was I thinking?

  You’re thinking you could still have that baby with August. The one you weren’t ready for and now want with all your heart.

  Eleven

  The bookcase was pissing me off.

  To be fair, it was a perfectly reasonable piece. I’d fashioned it out of oak I’d polished to a fine sheen and added three shelves that could expand to hold a book that would face out. A perfect item for a bookstore or to my thoughts, a child’s bedroom. It was a good height to go under a window, with carved moons and stars and ladybugs on the fascia dropdown from the top shelf. Like a child’s mobile might look. My currently sleeping niece had something similar on the bed I had for in her my apartment.

  I didn’t have a child of my own, although I was set up as if I did. Technically, I hadn’t needed to do so with Ivy’s half of the duplex mere feet away, but they wouldn’t live here forever. Their new house was being built and come spring, the work there would pick up the pace. By the summer, I’d probably be thinking about renting out the other half of the building.

  Unless I expanded it into a proper workshop. Mine at the store was big enough for all but the largest projects, but lately, I was chafing at the bit. The idea of spreading out into a more spacious area was appealing.

  I sat back on my haunches and traced my fingertip over the moon and stars cutouts. In the meantime, I should give this to my sister and move onto the next. Even if I selfishly had this idea brewing to keep it for myself as the prototype for the line of children’s furniture I had in mind.

  Sure, some I would gladly gift to my niece. Some I could certainly sell, especially in a town as prolific at making babies as Crescent Cove.

  But that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to keep it. Ever since Kinleigh had almost been pregnant, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. That it could be reality. I could start a family of my own. Start building something for myself, not just pieces to give to other people for their families.

  Granted, I had tons of my own work in my place. Half the time if I wanted something, it was just easier and more enjoyable to create it to my own specifications. I also gave pieces to friends and family all the time. But to do things for my own family, one I’d built from the ground up just like the hunks of wood I made into something entirely different…

  Well, that would be incredible.

  I picked up my silent phone off the side table and tossed it down again. Kinleigh’s bizarre text had led to a whole lot of nothing. I’d replied thinking she was either bored out of her mind or drunk—or both—because why else would she ask something so ridiculous?

  Then again, maybe my sister had put that thought in her head from what I’d said to cover my ass back in high school. My mom had found a bunch of condoms in my jeans pocket when I was probably far too young to have them, and I’d lied and told her I was carrying them for a buddy. I wouldn’t be using them, since I’d discovered I had a latex allergy after using gloves in science class.

  It was the lamest excuse ever, and I didn’t even know if she’d bought it. She and my dad had spent inordinate amounts of time making sure I was the next thing to a monk, so I didn’t accidentally impregnate some unfortunate woman who wasn’t on birth control. To the point that I was almost certain they were pulling my leg, but I’d been too embarrassed about the whole thing to ever ask.

  Little did they know I’d never gone without a condom.

  Ever.

  My mom had also made sure to oh so considerately tell both my siblings and my dad, however, and the lie still seemed to resurface at the worst times. Like Thanksgiving when my ninety-eight-year-old great aunt Irma was in attendance.

  Rather than staring at my phone all night, I took a couple snapshots of the bookcase. Didn’t mean I intended to sell it. Didn’t mean anything except if someone saw them on my site and inquired, I might end up making another in their wood of choice.

  Or else I could just keep the pictures to myself for a while.

  I circled the piece, inspecting it for flaws. For needed improvements. Places where the wood could be smoother, or if a particular scratch seemed more like a design flaw than a unique enhancement. I was never fully happy with my work, but eventually, even I had to pronounce a project done and put it up for sale.

  This one? I was moving to my bedroom, where it would sit at the foot of my bed until I decided what to do with it.

  I moved to my Mac to take care of some customer emails. Then I checked on a blissfully sleeping Rhiannon before deciding I’d kick back with a beer and some TV. Which really translated to grabbing my phone five times to make sure it was still working while channel surfing.

  Finally, I gave up and tossed my cell aside. Ivy would be home eventually, and I could pump her for details. In a casual, cool, practically blasé way.

  At the sound of grinding gears, I shot straight up in my chair.

  I’d been halfway to sleep. I was restless on a good night, and lately, my hours of rest had been precious and few. But I was awake now.

  I moved to the window and pushed aside the drapes to peer out like a proper creeper. Instead of Kinleigh’s truck idling at the curb before heading off into the night, it was parked in the driveway. And Ivy and Kinleigh were shambling up the walk as if they were drunk.

  My sister was nursing. Had she imbibed too? And one of them had driven home.

  I charged to the door and yanked it open with enough force that Ivy leaped back. She would’ve stumbled off the top step if Kinleigh hadn’t caught her—and giggled as if it was the most amusing thing ever.

  One of them was drunk for certain.

  “Ivy Beck, if you’re drunk right now, we’re having words.”

  She propped her hands on her hips. “It’s Ivy Beck Ferguson, cretin. And if I am, so what?” She got in my face—well, as much as she could considering her petite stature—and growled. “What are you going to do about it? Huh? Huh?”

  There wasn’t so much as a hint of alcohol on her breath. Just the scent of many, many spices. I waved a hand between us and she flipped me off before marching to her side of the duplex, tugging Kinleigh along as if she was as capable of independent thought as Rhiannon.

  Possibly less.

  “C’mon, Kin, we aren’t talking to him right now.”

  “We aren’t?” Kinleigh glanced back. “How come? He’s kinda cute when he’s clueless.”

  I started to grin until the rest of that sank in. “So sue me if I worry about yo
u, Ivy.”

  “I worry about you too, you know, and I don’t see you filling me in on squat. Kinleigh, let’s go.” She opened the door to her side of the duplex and yanked Kinleigh inside before slamming the door shut.

  I crossed my arms and waited.

  A moment later, she popped her head out. “I want my daughter back.”

  “Are you sure you’re lucid enough to care for her?”

  “I haven’t had a drop to drink. Do you honestly think I’d drive Kinleigh’s death trap home if I had?”

  From inside, I heard Kinleigh call out a protest.

  “It’s my duty to watch out for you.”

  “Yeah, uh huh, fine, but who’s watching out for you?”

  That made me frown. “I don’t need anyone watching out for me.”

  “Why, because you have a rashy, warty penis?” she asked in an undertone, breezing past me into my side of the duplex before I could even begin to unpack what she’d just said.

  And the implications of her even implying such.

  “What did Kinleigh say to you?” I demanded, following Ivy inside to where she was comforting her now wailing daughter.

  It took everything I possessed not to detour to the bathroom to verify everything looked as it should. I knew that it did, but at times like this, a man had to wonder.

  “Why, nothing. Should she have?” Ivy pushed Rhiannon’s ginger curls away from her streaming eyes. “There, there, sweetie. Don’t worry. We’ll stay far away from the shouty mean man.”

  “I am not mean. I am not shouty.”

  Ivy glared at me. “You’re shouting right now.”

  I was not. Was I?

  “You inferred…inappropriate insinuations about things that are not for you to know.”

  “Your rashy, warty dick? Damn straight I don’t want to know about that.” She grabbed the diaper bag beside Rhiannon’s bed and slung it over her shoulder. “Thank you for watching your niece. Goodnight.”

  “My dick is just fucking fine!” I insisted before Ivy quietly shut the door.

  I dropped into my armchair. How much beer did I have? I was going to drink all of it. Right now.

  Turned out I’d drank my last can. I rarely drank alcohol and therefore never kept much in the house.

  Served me right.

  I went to the window to see if Kinleigh’s truck was still in the driveway. Yes, indeed. Truth be told, I probably would’ve heard it if she’d left, although she never drove a stick with as little finesse as my baby sister. Not sure anyone did.

  Grabbing my phone, I quickly texted Kinleigh.

  What did you tell my sister about my dick?

  Almost immediately, a flurry of bubbles appeared, indicating she was typing. And typing. And possibly erasing and typing some more. It lasted so long I nearly demanded she spit it out before her reply finally came through.

  Huh?

  That was an awful lot of typing for a three-word letter.

  Sorry. Thumbs r broken. Texting iz hard.

  Why?

  Y you think? I had a couple. Mebbe 3. Or 4?

  A couple what?

  Just wine. But Ivy holding me in prison 2nite.

  I still hadn’t gotten an answer to my dick question, but Kinleigh on the other side of the duplex held some very intriguing possibilities.

  If only she hadn’t been drinking. We’d run that scene once before, and the next time we slept together, I intended for her faculties to be operating on all cylinders.

  She texted me again before I’d decided how to respond.

  I didn’t say anything about your penis to her. I swear. How awk would that b? Anyway, issa secret.

  It was a secret we’d slept together, even if I would never truly understand why. We were all adults. There was no reason for this cloak and dagger stuff.

  Not even to call it warty and rashy?

  WHAT? God, no. Your specimen was practically perfect.

  I grinned. I didn’t love the ‘practically’ part, but I supposed there was a margin for error.

  My specimen? Weird, Kin, but thanks. Do I dare ask why she started the latex shit?

  Not sure. You know how women r when they get 2gether.

  Did I ever. Men too.

  A moment later, she texted again.

  Is it true? Did u have some kind of reaction from using a *eggplant emoji*?

  I definitely hadn’t used an eggplant for any reason at all, but I assumed she was referring to what went on my eggplant. God save me.

  I started to reply, but Kinleigh was on a roll.

  Because you don’t need 1 if it’s a prob.

  I couldn’t type fast enough.

  What?

  More text bubbles that produced no actual words.

  Dammit, say something.

  This time, there were no text bubbles at all, just a blurted response as if she’d already typed it and had been gathering her courage to press send.

  We could just make a baby.

  Twelve

  I had to be hallucinating. Did hallucinations include sound? I didn’t know, but I certainly had cause to wonder.

  It took me a minute to remember how to type.

  Exactly how much did you have to drink? For real. Sounds like more than a couple.

  Or mebbe 3. Or 4?

  Not that much. I’m still lucid. Ish.

  That ish was what was concerning me. But it also wasn’t shutting me down. Far from it.

  Kinleigh kept going.

  I never got to float away. More like a lift then a crash & so many thoughts.

  Here came the text bubbles again.

  I tapped my fingers on the arm of my chair to try to keep myself from pacing while I waited for her response.

  She couldn’t just ask me to make a baby with her and then leave me hanging.

  Then again, why was I even still here? We could have this conversation in the guest room of Ivy’s half of the duplex, where she was likely spending the night. Ivy would probably be in bed by now, since the slam of a car door outside a little while ago meant Rory was home.

  I didn’t want to think about their possible nocturnal occupations, but if they were busy, at least Kinleigh and I could talk in private.

  Maybe make babies in private too.

  Damn, what was I thinking? And I’d only had one beer.

  I took another pregnancy test.

  My fingers stilled on the arm of the chair.

  Neg of course. Still neg. Why am I so sad?

  I exhaled. I couldn’t answer that question, since I was just as sad. And it didn’t make any sense.

  We’d never had an official date. We’d flirted—sort of—for years and we’d slept together once, but that was hardly a solid basis for creating a lifetime relationship.

  Our nonexistent dating history wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. Yet I was good enough to father this baby she suddenly wanted? That I suddenly wanted?

  I pushed a hand through my hair. God, we were both fucked up.

  You were surrounded by babies and mothers tonight. Probably part of it.

  Yet I hadn’t been, so what was my problem?

  The baby-obsessed town we lived in was probably influencing me too, but I’d never had an issue with controlling my urges for procreation before our near miss. It had made me think. Wonder about a different kind of life beyond just working and spending time with my friends and watching Rhi. I loved all of those things, but hell, I could have a family too. Gideon was proof enough that you could make a relationship work, even with an occasionally…challenging woman.

  If he could, dammit, I could too.

  I always wanted 1. Just didn’t think it would happen 4 me.

  Her words tugged hard at my chest. Even knowing she was feeling the effects of the alcohol, I suspected some of it was sterling truth. That bothered me in some kind of caveman-like way I had no desire to analyze.

  Instead, I got up and shoved my phone in my back pocket. I grabbed my wallet, which held two of the condoms I’d
bought optimistically and then relegated to my sock drawer.

  She’d been drinking, so it wasn’t going down like that. Not again. Especially with all of this now on the table.

  Nope, that would most certainly be a sober conversation. One we would be having in full detail whether or not she’d ‘come to her senses’ by tomorrow.

  She texted again while I snagged my keys off the table by the door, but I didn’t slow down. I was a man on a mission.

  Halfway out the door, I turned around and grabbed a pair of scissors to ruthlessly trim one of the two violets I’d managed to grow after far too long spent trying. Guilt immediately assailed me at plucking one of the pair, but the end was worth the means.

  And the day I showed up at a woman’s—the woman’s—door at past eleven without some kind of offering, pitiful as it was, was the day I wasn’t Annie Beck’s eldest son.

  Fake latex allergy and all.

  I went to the other side of the duplex and pulled out my phone. I couldn’t just barge in, though I had a key. Maybe Lucky Charms wasn’t banging my sister yet and then what?

  Yeah, just the thought I did not need in my head. Not the lack of banging, but the opposite.

  I read Kinleigh’s latest text and swallowed a groan.

  Not surprised u didn’t reply. Heavy shit. Nm. Have a nice nite.

  Great time to not answer, genius.

  Quickly, I texted her back.

  Are you alone?