About Time (The Avenue Book 1)

by B. Cranford

  The noises from the other room stopped. “You did?” she called back.

  “Yeah, I figured it increased my chances of you not being able to get rid of me entirely.” And because he’d had a ridiculous offer for it and he’d have been stupid not to take it, but hey, he’d let her know that little detail another time.

  Her laughter rang out, filling the apartment, and filling him with a heady mix of relief, happiness and probably more horniness than he should admit to.

  It took nearly ten minutes for her to return and during that time he managed to talk down his dick, finish the decaf she’d made and the hot chocolate he had, and move the evidence to the sink so she maybe wouldn’t realize he’d stolen her drink. Both of them.

  She hadn’t mentioned the missing Pringles yet, either, he realized.

  “Here, look at this,” she said, walking into the room holding a thin folder out for him to take. “Where’d my drink go?”

  “I–ah, it was cold. I’ll make you another.” He kissed her forehead, because he could mostly, but also so she wouldn’t see the guilt in his eyes, and made short work of getting her another hot drink.

  Then, he sat back down and opened up the folder.

  Staring back at him was him.

  Okay, it wasn’t actually him. It was the profile of Ashton’s sperm donor, a little picture of the man as a child paper-clipped to the form. And he looked so much like Andrew knew he had as a kid, he did a double-take. “He looks like me,” he said, dumbly, a little struck by the resemblance.

  “Read the profile,” was all she said in return.

  It was him. Not exactly, but from the career—electrical engineer—to the hair and eye color, they were the same. Although . . . Andrew couldn’t say he was a fan of building model airplanes—yet. “What? Is this—did you?” he asked, wanting to understand, but not quite sure yet that he did.

  “I got to pick. I think I told you that already. I could have any one of the ‘deposits’ that they had, and this is the one I chose. I didn’t really think about it, until just now. Until you said that you wanted her to be ours.”

  “I do want that. Really bad, and I wasn’t expecting to.”

  “No, I wasn’t either. But look at that. I picked you, basically. Of all the profiles they gave me, I picked the one that was most like you. And I didn’t even realize.” She paused, before adding, “I want her to be ours, too. And I think I always have.”

  The sun was streaming in through the high windows, a shower of yellow and white and oddly shaped glitter. Ashton looked at it in wonder—so simple, yet so beautiful.

  Like you, Little One. Her little baby, her daughter, who was still keeping her waiting.

  Running a hand over her belly, she looked past the sunlight painting the room and found what she was looking for. Who she was looking for.

  Andrew. Sitting in a chair, smiling at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was there. “Kitten,” he said, his voice drenched in affection, making chills ripple up her spine.

  It happened every time he called her that. She hoped it always would.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him, reaching out a hand to him, watching as he stood and paced over to her. The warmth of his palm as it slid across hers was familiar now, just like the room they were sitting in.

  The last time she’d seen him in this room it had been empty, but now . . .

  She looked around at all the signs of life—the couch that had a knitted blanket thrown haphazardly over the arm and back and spilling onto the floor; the magazine on the coffee table that had been left open to the review of her bar; the bassinet sitting beside the bed that Ashton knew—she knew—she shared with him.

  But the bed was empty, reminding her that she was still waiting.

  Why was she still waiting? Tugging on Andrew’s hand, she drew him down so her lips were next to his ear and asked him, “What are we waiting for now? I don’t understand.”

  A puff of breath escaped his mouth in the form of a laugh and he turned to her and kissed her, gently, like he wanted to savor it. Or maybe, like he was afraid to break the moment.

  “Andrew?”

  “We’ve been waiting for you, Kitten. Didn’t you know?” He looked at her with melted-chocolate eyes and a smile that said he didn’t mind.

  She’d kept him waiting, but he didn’t mind.

  “But the baby . . .” She trailed off as the bed that had been beneath her shifted, growing cooler and beginning to flow like liquid.

  A bath? She let go of Andrew’s hand to place both palms face down on the water, watching the way the soft ripples made them dance.

  “What about the baby?”

  “She’s not here yet. Aren’t we waiting for her?” Her hand felt weightless as she floated it over the surface of the water and onto her belly. Except—“Andrew? Where’s my baby?”

  “Our baby,” he replied, a securely wrapped bundle of cotton-candy pink cradled in his arms, “is right here. I told you, it’s you we’re waiting for.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head to try and see the baby hidden within the blanket, but the glimpses she got weren’t enough. “Well, I’m here now. I’m ready now.”

  “It’s about time, Kitten.”

  “Kitten? Ashton, Ash, wake up.” Andrew’s voice was urgent in her ear and she came awake slowly, trying to blink away the last vestiges of her dream.

  “’S’happening?” she mumbled, feeling odd. Heavy.

  Wet.

  “You told me you were ready and then”—he gestured down to the bed that they shared in the new home they’d bought when his first consulting job went off without a hitch—“your water broke.”

  “My water? My water,” she repeated, realizing what that meant. “I’m not in labor though, because I haven’t had any contractions.” She nodded at her own sound logic, still trying to figure out what was happening. “I mean, my tummy hurts but it’s not, like, bad or anything.”

  “I’m going to call the hospital, okay? Just to be sure.” He rose from the bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand before suddenly turning toward her, a big grin on his face. “It’s after midnight.”

  “Ahh, okay?”

  “It’s your due date.” His grin grew impossibly wider. “She’s right on time.”

  “But—”

  He didn’t let her finish, making short work of rounding the bed and grabbing her hand, leaning in for a soft, slow kiss. “Get up, it’s time. I know it.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged, figuring that at the very least she needed to change the sheets and her panties. Lord, it’s like I wet the bed, she thought, letting him pull her to her feet. She wasn’t four steps away from him when it hit.

  Her first contraction.

  Or, at least, the first one she felt. “Oh, you motherfucker.”

  “I’m going to pass out.”

  “You’re not going to pass out.” The nurse looked over Ashton to where Andrew was sitting beside the bed, his face pale. “You need to suck it up.”

  “Tough love, that’s what I need, yes. You’re right.” He nodded, and Ashton felt a little twinge inside. It could have been a wink of the love she felt for him, but actually it was—

  “No, no, no, it hurts, it hurts. Ahhhhhh–ahhhhhh–oh God.”

  “Breathe, just breathe through it, and you’ll be okay,” Andrew coached, like he had a clue what she was feeling.

  He didn’t. And she was not impressed by him pretending he did. “Shut up.”

  “On it,” he replied, unfazed by her demand, making a show of zipping his lips and throwing away the keys.

  It was such a stupid move that it made her laugh, the contraction passing and leaving her to wonder if it had been real. Honestly, except for the excruciating pain every few minutes, being in labor wasn’t so bad.

  She’d woken from her dream unsure about whether it was real, but there was no denying it anymore. Beginning with a tremor of pain in her lower back, the first contraction had hit so hard and so quickly, s
he’d thought she was going to pass out. But it passed as fast as it came, leaving her anxious and still mildly doubtful. Until, standing in the shower after slowly changing the sheets with Andrew’s help, the pain radiated throughout her entire back and around her ribs and stomach.

  Everywhere. She felt that second one Every. Where.

  So now, they were in the birthing suite of the hospital, six hours into labor and apparently, still only four centimeters dilated. But when the pain of contractions wasn’t making her see stars—not good ones—she felt fine. Excited. Happy.

  Ready.

  Until—

  “Shit shit shit shit shit shit, I shouldn’t swear but shit shit shit, fuck me dead.”

  —another one hit her and she lost all control of herself.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?” The doctor walked in at the tail end of her latest contraction, and Ashton couldn’t help the mutinous feeling that swelled.

  How the hell do you think I’m feeling?

  “Great, great,” she replied instead of voicing her inner thoughts. “Ready for the baby to be here.

  “I bet.” She snapped gloves into place, lifting Ashton’s legs into the stirrups. “Let’s see how you’re coming along, shall we?”

  Ashton nodded, as if she had a choice in the manner, which, given the way Dr. Renner’s fingers breached her body without delay, she suspected maybe she didn’t.

  “Getting closer. You’re at seven.” She snapped the gloves back off and helped Ashton lower her legs back down. “Have you thought about the epidural?”

  “Yes. Please.” At first, she’d told herself that she didn’t need it, but as the labor progressed and the contractions got harder and faster, she realized she needed the help as much as she wanted it.

  Kind of like when Andrew came into her life—she knew she could do without, but if the option was there and it was what she wanted, why not?

  “Okay, I’ll send the on-call anesthesiologist in shortly. You’re doing great, Ashton. I don’t think it’ll be too much longer now.”

  “Good.”

  Andrew wanted to laugh at the way she’d said good, but he refrained. Something told him it wouldn’t be smart.

  She was flushed red and every few minutes, the pain that hit her felt like a physical blow to him too. She was hurting and he couldn’t do anything about it. Moreover, he was starting to feel a little shaky himself, though he’d only been kidding when he said he was going to pass out.

  He’d been trying to lighten the mood, telling jokes and playing the fool, but as they got closer and closer to meeting their little girl, the more nervous he became.

  It wasn’t that he was second-guessing himself, or his role in his daughter’s life. He was her father, and he wanted it more than maybe he could express. But hell, he still panicked when Ashton wasn’t in sight, and he feared that worry would become tenfold once Ashton Junior arrived.

  “Hey, can I talk again now?” he asked, leaning in to kiss around the shell of her ear because he just sometimes needed to kiss her.

  “Okay, but not stupid stuff.”

  He laughed at that, because he didn’t really know from one minute to the next what classified as stupid stuff, but asked his question anyway. “Can we talk about baby names yet?”

  “I said not stupid stuff, Andrew.” The words were harsh, but were softened by the look on her face. She’d told him she didn’t want to talk about it, and didn’t explain why. Knowing that she could be stubborn and, honestly, just happy to be a part of this little family, he didn’t press her. But now they were probably only a few hours away from meeting their daughter and he felt ill-prepared.

  Still, what Ashton wanted . . .

  “Sorry.” He cringed at her, eyes widened mockingly and went back to just sitting there, holding her hand, letting her swear at him, keeping her calm when the anesthesiologist came in to give her the epidural she’d been so eager for, and lightening the mood when he could, until finally, it was time.

  “Ten centimeters. Are we ready?” Dr. Renner had come back into the room moments earlier, after the nurse had checked Ashton and summoned her. The sheer amount of people putting their hands on his woman was disconcerting, but he once again refrained from saying anything.

  Never let it be said he wasn’t smart and didn’t learn from his mistakes.

  “Yes, yes. Ready. Right, Dunk?”

  He smiled at her rare use of his nickname, and nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Ready.”

  “Okay then, let’s push.”

  “Holy crap, that is the cutest baby I have ever seen in my life.”

  “Aussie, how many babies have you seen?” Aaron asked, his arms cradling his new niece, his brother leaning over his shoulder to inspect her.

  “A few, and this one is the cutest.”

  “Thanks, Aussie,” Ashton said quietly, her eyes weary but alight with joy. Andrew couldn’t help but think how gorgeous she was, something he’d always thought about her, and how strong she was, which she proved time and again.

  “How are you feeling?” Austin asked, coming to sit on the edge of her bed. “No offense, but you look, like, seriously bad.”

  “Austin,” she laughed, “I cannot believe you just said that to me.”

  “Made you laugh, Little. That was my goal.”

  “To answer your question, I’m tired. I probably feel as bad as I look.”

  Andrew squeezed her hand. He’d been sitting next to her since they’d been moved from the birthing suite to their room, unwilling to let go of the woman he loved, and the one who had given him something he hadn’t even known he’d been waiting for.

  All he’d known was that something was missing from his life, and had been for a while. And that it was about time he did something about it.

  He’d never expected this. A girlfriend, a baby, a new life in a new town, and even siblings. After losing Kennedy, he definitely didn’t think he’d ever have that again, but with Aaron and Austin, and even with Simon, he’d found it.

  And, damn, it was a good feeling.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told Ashton, sending Aussie a narrowed-eyed glare.

  “You’re biased,” she replied, puckering her lips for a kiss he happily gave her.

  “You’re both grossing me out,” Austin said, standing and moving back to where Aaron was now handing the baby over to Simon. “So, what’s her name?”

  It was Ashton who squeezed his hand that time, and he felt a lump form in his throat—the same one that had appeared when the nurse asked Ashton the same question right after she’d given birth.

  “Kennedy. Her name is Kennedy Marie Duncan.”

  Aaron’s eyes met Andrew’s and the look on his face said it all.

  Life could be a strange thing. When timing was off, it could fight you on what you wanted, what you needed, where you were going and who you were going there with.

  It could hide the truth from you and throw you completely off course.

  But when the timing was right, life could be perfect.

  This was perfect.

  And it was also about time.

  Thank you for reading About Time. For an exclusive look at my upcoming release, Because Forever, coming Summer 2018, sign up here!

  I’ll send the first chapter to your email.

  Let’s be brutally honest here: I’m terrible at acknowledgments. Because I can’t decide who to thank, in which order, or why I’m even thanking them. I just know that they’ve earned it, often in multitudinous ways. So . . . here’s my best attempt (and by best attempt, I mean my last attempt, because I’m getting tired and twitchy):

  Charles, Annabelle and Dominic (and Ellie and Felix)—always my first thank you and my most important. Because you’re my loudest (emphasis on loudest) supporters and my biggest interruptions. But you’re cute, so you get away with it. I love you!

  Mum and Dad, Nana and Pa, Lauren and Evan (my last-minute proofreader and a particular breed of legend, whose looks and inte
lligence are only surpassed by his wit and humility), various spouses, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles and third cousins whose names I’ve forgotten but who I have fond memories of nonetheless—I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again, soon. Two years is too long.

  Linda—thank you for always being willing to take the kids for a few hours or a night or a weekend. We don’t always see eye-to-eye but you’re still my favorite mother-in-law and someone for whom I am incredibly grateful. I just wish I’d realized what “jack slaps, no take-backs” meant on my wedding day *eye roll*.

  Macey—this cover. I can’t take my eyes off it. What would I do without you?

  Missy—I won’t tell about the books and late paperwork if you don’t tell about exactly how many typos there were. Deal?

  Jodi, Shelly, Karen, Julia (not Julie), George and Nicole—you all have such talent for saying “this sucks” in really nice ways. It’s invaluable. Unless it still sucks, in which case, you’re fired. Also, Eli, Lisa, Bianca, Becca, Jill, Jessica, and ______ ← insert your name here if we’re friends, because I’m lucky to have too many to list, yet you deserve some kind of recognition.

  Give Me Books—thank you again for an amazing job. Yes, I’m writing this before the fact. I’m just that confident in your abilities, ladies.

  And finally, my therapist, psychiatrist and the makers of my antidepressant—thank you. Seriously.

  B. Cranford is a proud Australian living in the USA, a lover of books, breadsticks and bed, and the mother of two children who are far too similar to their father for her liking. A lifelong reader, she dove into the romance genre on the recommendation of her best friend and hasn’t looked back since. After three years as a blogger, she decided it was high time she finally finished one of the 12,002 books she’d started writing, and the end result was her debut novel, The Brightest Star.

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