About Time (The Avenue Book 1)

by B. Cranford

  “It is. We were just talking about the merits of finding out gender or not.”

  “If you can find out, why wouldn’t you?”

  “For the surprise?”

  “It’s still a surprise; you just get it early. Like a mid-point prize for participation.”

  Ashton snickered to herself at the similarities in Odie and Aussie’s answers. They were so much alike—but still so different—she often marveled at the fact they weren’t together.

  She was 99.9% sure that was what Austin wanted—but Odie was another story.

  “Plan,” Odie said, lightly slapping the bar top to get everyone’s attention, “if the doctor or whoever has the stick thingy—”

  “Very technical, I like it,” Aussie interrupted, earning a glare.

  “Anyway, if the doctor says she can see, then say yes, you want to know. If the doctor says no deal, then it’s a sign. You’re not supposed to know.”

  “So, I should leave it up to fate,” Ashton mused, liking the idea. If she could find out, she would. If the baby wasn’t flashing the doctor, she wouldn’t.

  A simple, easy solution.

  And maybe one she should have thought of instead of bursting into tears over her waffles that morning because making decisions was stupid and hard and annoying and hard.

  Her waffles had been hard, too. That brought on a second wave of tears.

  And the puppy that sat out front while her owner got lunch to go was back. Which meant more tears.

  Maybe Fate was telling her to invest in Kleenex.

  She shook her head at the errant thought and waved a quick goodbye to Odie and Aussie, heading out to her car, readying herself for the appointment ahead.

  As she slid into the front seat of her car, placing her purse on the passenger seat, a shadow settled over her. She startled, reaching for the door handle to slam it closed before whoever was out there could grab her.

  “Bitch, I’ll be back.” The voice of her aggressive patron was clear in her head and she couldn’t help the zip of fear that shot up her spine. Adrenaline was beginning to course through her veins, her heart pounding hard against her rib cage.

  Not here. It’s the middle of the day.

  Her mind tried to find reason, tried to calm her enough to find out what was really happening, but it wasn’t until she heard “Kitten,” spoken in a rich voice that she began to breathe again.

  Not that she’d realized she’d stopped breathing, but oh, well. At least she was back on track.

  She rose from her car, letting go of the door handle as she did so, frustrated that she’d not managed to get it closed, to protect herself from the threat.

  Well, from the assumed threat.

  Duncan wasn’t here to hurt her. But that didn’t stop her from unleashing her fury. Smoothing her hands over her baby bump, the black form-fitting maternity shirt showing off what little there was of it so far, she all but yelled, “You scared the crap out of me, Jesus Christ, Andrew. I thought I was being mugged or kidnapped, I thought someone was stealing me so they could wait for my baby to be born and then sell it on the black market or something. You need to announce yourself, especially when I don’t know you’re going to be around. Like, what are you even doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be back until this weekend, you’re early. Why? Why are you early? Shit, I think I’m having a panic attack. Or a heart attack. Or . . .”

  She trailed off, gulping in great lungfuls of air, trying to slow her heart and her mouth at the same time. Realistically, she knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong; that her fright was because of some unresolved but probably empty threat from weeks earlier. But she reserved the right to be pissed off and emotional about it because, well, she was pregnant.

  She didn’t have to make sense if she didn’t want to.

  Duncan’s hands settled on her biceps, turning her so she was fully facing him and applying just enough pressure to make her feel comforted. Something about the warm weight of his palms pressed to her skin, just below the hem of her T-shirt sleeve, made relaxing and releasing the tension a breeze.

  “I’m sorry, Kitten. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He leaned in close enough to kiss her on the cheek and she wasn’t too far gone to admit that it felt good, so good, to have his lips on her again. Even if it was only her flushed cheek. “Are you okay?”

  She attempted a smile, for some reason not wanting to tell him about the threat she’d received. Instead, she brushed it off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just–I wasn’t expecting you and these hormones are insane.”

  His nod was knowing, as if that explained everything. “I am early, but I knew today was the day”—she’d told him about her appointment in passing, admitted she still wasn’t sure if she was going to find out the gender—“and I wanted to wish you luck, I guess.”

  She watched as a frown formed on his brow, like he couldn’t work out what to say next or—

  “I guess it’s not a luck thing, huh? Maybe good luck isn’t the right word, but you know what I mean?” She nodded, and his frown cleared. She wanted to say something, but he kept going before she had the chance. “I think maybe you and I need to talk about why you’re so jumpy though. And why your first thought was illegal baby trade and not, ‘oh, here’s a friend come to visit me.’”

  “For starters, because only blonde-curled schoolgirls from old-timey English picture books say or think things like, ‘oh, here’s a friend come to visit me.’”

  “Hate to be the one to break it to you, Ash, but those are some pretty, pretty blonde curls you’re sporting.”

  “Yeah, but do I look like a schoolgirl to you?”

  “Not right at this moment. But”—he bit down on his lip, a look of want on his face—“I can picture it. Knee-high socks. White shirt tied at the waist. Plaid mini-skirt.”

  “Mmmgerd,” she mumbled, trying to find offense at the cliché fantasy, but unable to stop the vision he’d planted in her head from growing into something bigger. Dirtier.

  And with a lot more corporal punishment.

  I’ve been a bad girl, Mr. Duncan.

  “What was that?” he asked, his face betraying that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “It was me saying ‘oh, my God.’”

  “Ah, I thought I recognized it from our night together. Would you like me to make you say ‘oh, my God’ again, Ashton?”

  “No,” she replied quickly, but the two letters were undermined by the frantic bobbing of her head.

  He laughed. “Okay, then.”

  “I have, I mean, I need to get to my appointment.” She drew in a long breath, trying to find some composure. They were flirting, and now her heart rate had returned to normal and her fears had been magically turned into fantasies, she realized that if she didn’t leave soon, she’d be late.

  “Do you want me to drive you?” His hands, which has been on her upper arms the whole time, moved sloooooooowly down past her elbow, forearm, wrist until they gripped her hands. “I don’t mind.”

  She tilted her head, trying to work out if there was an agenda there—or if he was just being nice. Though, she admitted to herself, what kind of agenda could he have? He was offering to drive a pregnant lady to the doctor for an ultrasound. And he wasn’t even the father.

  “Ash? I’m not asking to be in the room when they do whatever it is they’re going to do. I’ll wait in the car and be . . . moral support?”

  “Moral support? What do you think I’m about to find out, Dunk?”

  “When did I go back to Dunk? You called me Andrew before.” He smiled, ducking his head down just enough to bring them eye to eye. “And nothing, it’s an expression. We can, I dunno, high five when you get out and find out that Ashton Junior is growing in there.”

  “Ashton Junior is currently not on the list of options, thanks.”

  “Really? But all the cool kids are naming their babies after themselves.”

  She laughed as he pointed to himself, mouthing what looked like, “I’m
a cool kid” and wiggling his eyebrows. “You’re an idiot, is what you are.”

  “Hey, I am not. I’m more of a fool than anything.” He squeezed down on one of her hands, as if by doing so he could redirect the conversation. Which he attempted with his next comment. “So, a ride to the doctor? High fives and moral support, yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  The silence in Duncan’s car—one far, far nicer than the old Toyota he’d had way back when—was comfortable. Lulling, almost. Ashton closed her eyes and rested her head on the passenger side window, the fifteen-minute drive to the doctor’s office just long enough for her mind to wander.

  And wander it did. She was in the midst of a daydream about a dark-haired baby who looked like her but was named for his dad.

  Andrew William Duncan the Fourth.

  It was a ridiculous notion, and just one more thing to chalk up to hormones, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying it within the privacy of her own mind. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone about it. Not her brothers. Not Bianca, who she loved like a sister, but who she’d only been able to speak to twice since she’d found out about the baby. Her best friend since college, Ashton didn’t expect to be able to reach Bianca again for another month or so while she was working in Africa.

  And she definitely couldn’t tell Duncan she’d been daydreaming about him.

  “We’re here, Kitten.”

  Her eyes flew open, the last images of her daydream drifting away, reality creeping back in. They were parked in the lot across the street from her doctor and all she had to do was say thank you, climb out of the car and cross the asphalt, and she’d be one step closer to maybe-potentially-let-fate-decide finding out the sex of her little one.

  So why did she feel like she was frozen in place?

  Why did an invitation to join her sit so heavily on the tip of her tongue?

  Why was she afraid that his absence from that ultrasound room would change everything—more than his presence would?

  “Hey, are you—”

  “Yeah, I think I was still half asleep for a second there,” she hurried out, not wanting him to see how flustered she’d become. After all, he had no idea that Ashton Junior had become Andrew the Fourth in the time since they’d left The Avenue.

  “Do you–do you want me to come in with you?” He grimaced, like he wasn’t expecting the question any more than she was, but pressed on, nonetheless, “I mean, into the office. I can wait in the waiting room for you.”

  She didn’t say anything at first. Because she did want that. She wanted him there and she was afraid that if she said yes, she’d be laying bare something that was better kept close to her chest.

  She was back to second-guessing herself and her sudden need for him to be a part of this pregnancy when, actually, it had nothing to do with him. It was her baby. Her pregnancy. Her ultrasound.

  Her decision.

  Somehow, when he was around, she forgot she didn’t need him. Because she wanted him. But even with that knowledge, with the reminder that she could do this alone, the answer seemed all too simple.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes.”

  The answer was unexpected but welcome. It was simple thing, to accompany her across the road and into the doctor’s office, but it felt like a big step.

  And it was most definitely a step he was wanting to take.

  He wanted to be there for her, to be a part of this with her. He wasn’t planning on becoming a father to the kid, but . . . he wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. The fear that had crossed her face when she’d first startled back in the parking lot of The Avenue was telling. She was expecting something bad to happen and he didn’t know what it was.

  He wanted to know, so he could fix it. He was an engineer. Granted, an electrical engineer, but still—fixing things and planning things and making things came easily to him.

  He wanted to fix this problem, whatever it was, for Ashton.

  Then, he wanted to make plans with her, plans that had the potential for forever, but for right now were just we’ll see how it goes.

  And he definitely wanted to make her come—easily.

  Pushing the thoughts aside because time was ticking and he didn’t want to make her late, he climbed from the car, wanting to walk around and open Ashton’s door for her. Because opening her door meant helping her from the car, and helping her from the car meant touching her, and touching her meant . . .

  Fuck. He was beginning to think that touching her meant everything.

  “My lady,” he said, holding out his hand with a flourish that was as unexpected to him as it clearly was to her.

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Aaron.”

  “Actually, the only time I’ve ever seen one of your brothers do this grand gesture”—he wiggled his hand with another flourish, waiting for her to take it—“was when Austin stayed with me in New York a few years ago.”

  With her hand now in his, he had no choice but to stop when she did, turning to him with a look of confusion on her face. “Aussie was in New York with you? When? And why didn’t I know this?”

  “When Odette—that’s her name, right? The one who was at the bar with you a few weeks ago?”

  He watched as she nodded, her confusion giving way to understanding. Still, he explained, “When she was at school, he came up to visit her. It was a surprise, I think. But Aaron asked me if he, if Austin, could stay with me.”

  “I remember now. But I guess I didn’t realize he’d stayed with you.”

  “There was an older lady living in my building then—it wasn’t long after we’d moved, me and Kennedy—and she was on the elevator with us one day. Austin had to get out first, to get out of her way, and I remember he did something like that. Something dramatic and dumb. But it made Ken and the old lady laugh.” He wanted to smile at the story—a good memory—but it occurred to him that now both his sister and that lady were gone. Thickness rose in his throat, a lump forming that had become less frequent but still got the best of him at times.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask if you’re okay,” Ashton whispered, taking a step closer as if she sensed the turn his thoughts had taken. And maybe she had—he’d tried to make his face a mask, but that didn’t mean she didn’t see past it.

  Determined to move on, to gain back control of his emotions and the situation, he pasted on an impatient look, doubling down with a glance at his watch. “Come on, Kitten, or you’ll be late.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t argue. Instead, she started moving again, letting him lead her across the street and through the double glass doors with the practice name stenciled in gold.

  It’s really yellow in here, was his first impression, one he worked hard not to voice. He didn’t want to offend anyone but . . .

  “God, why does it have to be so yellow?” Ashton lamented from beside him, making him laugh. Clearly, she wouldn’t be offended by his thoughts.

  Or, at least, not by those particular ones.

  “Hi, do you have an appointment?” The happy voice came from the other side of a sliding window—opened so the voice carried across the room to where he and Ashton still stood, blinded by the inner sunlight.

  Ashton moved first, but with their hands still joined—and Duncan not knowing what he was supposed to be doing next anyway—he had no real choice but to follow.

  “Yes, Ashton Andrews? For an ultrasound.” She smiled, her free hand going to her stomach. He’d noticed her doing that a lot; cradling her baby, protecting it or showing it off with a hand.

  The woman who’d called them over—her name tag giving her name as Rachel—asked a couple of additional questions about insurance and change of details, and Duncan used the time to look past all the yellow.

  Or, he would have, had the next question not stopped him in his tracks.

  “And will your partner be joining you back there?”

  Ashton’s hand tightened reflexively in his, and he turned to take in the dark-haired woman who was
still smiling, like she hadn’t just drawn attention to the elephant in the room.

  Not that she would know there was an elephant in the room, but still. He had no idea how to respond, and if the look on Ashton’s face was any indication, neither did she.

  Not the partner. Just the guy who invited himself along.

  We aren’t together. Officially. Yet?

  Oh, that’s not mine. You see, after a long relationship and bad break up, she used someone else’s sperm to get knocked up, and I’m just the guy who hadn’t seen her in fifteen years but banged her about fifteen minutes after seeing her again, so . . .

  The most troubling answer playing in his mind, however, wasn’t one of those. It was the simple “yes” that actually slipped past his lips.

  The walk down the white hallway was, as a consequence, quiet, and Duncan took the time to look at the watercolor prints that were on the walls. This doctor’s office was different to the ones he’d become accustomed to when Kennedy was sick—there was more movement, more life. No hushed whispers, no cloud of mortality.

  “Here you go, if you want to just grab a seat, the tech will be in shortly.” The nurse who’d led them down the hallway smiled and waited until Ashton was seated before she left and, once they were alone, it was all Duncan could do not to apologize profusely.

  He knew he needed to apologize. He just didn’t want to overdo it. He wasn’t Canadian, after all. “Ash, I’m sorry.”

  To his surprise, she simply smiled and turned to look over her shoulder at the board of pictures behind her. She shifted slightly in her seat to get a better look, her hand raising to glide a finger over a little face that was in 3D. “It’s okay.”

  “I don’t know what—”

  “I said it’s okay, Andrew. And it is. I’m actually kind of relieved I’m not here alone. They don’t really look like babies, do they? Except, they do . . . you know?”