Tasty Mango: A Billionaire and Single Mom Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  “I will.” I don’t want to let go of her. I suspect that once real life fully intrudes for her, something will be lost, the tie between us loosening until it eventually falls away. “Talk to you soon, Havannah.”

  “Bye, Donovan.”

  I lean over the rail of the balcony. The hotel is in the bright Porta Nuova business district. From my room, I can see the tall, mirrored towers of the modern architecture as well as the orange-roofed historic buildings that fill out the city.

  I long for the beach, the water lapping the shore, and Havannah’s hand in mine. The room seems so empty, although I can turn to the window and see where she stood, Rebel in the sling on her chest. I wish we’d spent more time here, had more memories in this place together.

  It’s another hotel room in a long string of them, trailing behind me from my past and stretching out ahead.

  I remember I’m supposed to call Dell back, and punch his name in my contact list. He skips the hellos and goes straight to the point. “I spoke with Fontaine, and we’re going to intervene with the bank. They won’t have a loan, and that will seal the position.”

  Damn. I hadn’t even thought of going for their funding. That’s why Dell is the experienced one.

  “So we have a next move,” I say.

  “We do. You can take it from here. I’m grateful for your quick movement on this. I know you had to sacrifice a great deal.”

  He’s aware of Havannah and Saint-Tropez. “I did.”

  “There will come a time when it won’t be worth it. But I’m glad it’s not yet.”

  “Not yet.” But it’s coming, I think. The day is coming.

  “I need to go. Arianna’s struggling with Grace, and she’s exhausted. We all are.”

  “I’ll let you know if there are any other complications. I think vacations are worse than work.”

  “Probably so.”

  I click off the phone. Dell will have another baby soon, and if their lives are anything like what I experienced with Havannah the last five days, he’s going to be even more tied up with home life than he is now.

  That means more travel for me. More meetings.

  More empty hotels.

  I step back inside the room and slide the door closed. If silence has a sound, it’s the roar in your ears when you’re underwater. There isn’t anything to hear, exactly, but the pressure is there, strong and unrelenting.

  I’m feeling the pull of it in the quiet of the room. I tug my tie loose and sink onto the sofa. Maybe it’s easier traveling alone, but it’s definitely not better.

  But this is my life. It’s what I chose.

  I don’t know how to un-choose it.

  29

  Havannah

  Mom and Dad figure that if I can haul Rebel all over Europe, I can certainly drag him to work. So I’m expected to take over some of the responsibilities at the delis.

  Dad keeps a suspicious eye on me whenever he’s near. I already know what he thinks about my wildness with men. So of course he’s concerned that I took off for France with Donovan. I even left them behind to head to the beach.

  Does he think I’ll get myself knocked up a second time?

  I’m not even sure what sort of relationship I can have with Donovan. As the week wears on, we practically devolve right into the place we were before the trip, random texts and the rare phone call when our schedules align. It’s almost as if the magical week never happened.

  I avoid thinking about Rebel’s father, but unfortunately, at the two-month checkup, the subject comes up again. When I return the clipboard of questions, the receptionist mentions there is no father on file. “Can we get his name for the records?” she asks.

  “There is no father!” I say, exasperated. It’s hot and the sling is making me sweat, and Rebel already seems to know something dreadful is coming. It must be the smell of the place. He got a shot last time, and there are several today. It’s going to be a doozy.

  The woman drops her gaze to the desk. “I see.”

  “I’m a big ol’ trollop,” I say. “Could be one of six.”

  Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. But the woman shuts up at that and awkwardly shuffles papers around. “The nurse will call for you when it’s your turn.”

  I adjust Rebel and lug his car seat to the row of chairs. He’s coming out of the sling. I can’t take it another minute.

  I tug him out, and a few errant grains of sand spill from the inner folds onto my lap.

  Once he’s down, fussing and fighting his pacifier, I brush the sand into my palm. Saint-Tropez. I remember the night out on the balcony and shiver. Dang. That’s a memory.

  Rebel kicks his legs, and I lean down to press my hand on his belly. “We could use that Mamaroo, couldn’t we?” I say.

  He sucks mightily on the pacifier, and I figure maybe he’s hungry. Or at least wants food as a comfort. I can always use a snack when I’m stressed. I pull out one of the bottles I’ve filled. It’s cool, but hopefully he’ll take it.

  The moment he spots it, the pacifier falls out of his mouth.

  “Hey!” I say. “You’re learning!”

  I hold the bottle for him, kicking the front of the car seat up so he’s at a good angle. I’d pull him out, but I’m exhausted and hot. He seems to be doing all right.

  I catch the receptionist staring at me. I’m sure she’s judging me on all counts. “Oh, you won’t believe this one patient of ours,” she’ll tell her friends at her book club where they never actually read anything but use the excuse to drink wine and gossip. “She has six possible fathers and can’t even be bothered to hold her baby while she feeds it.”

  My self-shaming works well enough that I bend down to pick Rebel up, except I realize he’s fallen asleep, bottle in his mouth. I pull it away slowly, and he stays down.

  Fine. I cap the bottle. Perhaps I ought to at least look at those other two guys in my hookup app. Now that Rebel’s features are filling out, maybe I can spot some resemblance in their eyebrows or nose.

  The nurse calls someone who’s been here longer than me, and three others look hopeful they are going soon. It’s going to be a while. I tug out my phone. Might as well make use of the time.

  I know I told Magnolia I used Blendr to find men to date. But even as wild as that app can be, it’s nothing compared to what I used. The whole point is to have a random hookup and not bother with names.

  Which, in hindsight, was dumb as all get-out. I mean, if there’s a baby daddy in the end, you have to know who they are.

  I shift in my seat and tilt my phone to ensure nobody can see my screen. This app would certainly give the receptionist something to talk about.

  I click on the app.

  Welcome back, BlondieGoesDown.

  Yeah, I know. Classy. Sometimes you want to be sure it’s understood that you’re a sure thing.

  I’ve got hundreds of matches piled up. The app was working in the background while I was busily percolating a human.

  I swipe them all away and go into my history. There’s CheetahGuitar, which is Jesse, the violent psychopath who wound up in jail. Talk about a near-miss there.

  I can barely remember him, a smile over tacos, the sexy rock-n-roll hair, and the messy back seat. He was the first of three in that ten-day period. Hot as hell, too.

  And probably not it, now that I know how the sonograms determine conception dates.

  The next guy was MarcoPoloYou. Mark, actually. I vaguely remember him. We went to a hotel proper. He was a weirdo I never would have dated in normal circumstances.

  And the last was BriGuy92. Brian.

  Either one of those could be the candidate. Brian might be the most likely, but Mark’s sperm could have been sitting and waiting.

  I glance down at Rebel, holding the phone next to him. There’s nothing to compare. The fuzzy phone images are too flat, too different.

  The receptionist is watching, so I pretend I’m taking a picture of my sleeping angel.

  But what now? I guess
I can ask to meet them. I have no way to cross-reference them like I did Jesse, since their profiles have nothing that will help me, like playing guitar in a band. Mark likes snow skiing and blow jobs, which I knew.

  And Brian is a gamer nerd and computer programmer, but that doesn’t get me very far either.

  Since I’ve already had a successful hookup with both, the app has marked us as official matches. I’m able to message each of them directly. So why not? I send a message to each, asking to see them for something important.

  Mark pings me in minutes, asking if I need his dick in my mouth again. I say, Sure. We agree on a time and a very public place. I don’t know what he’s going to think when I show up with a baby, but he’s probably not going to like it.

  This is about to get wild.

  Magnolia insists on coming with me to meet Mark. She’s worried about me and the baby. Honestly, it’s a good call, so I take her up on it.

  We sit at a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, off in a nook that is about as private as we can get in a public place. We’re tucked behind the counter holding the sugar and honey and the bin for empties.

  Magnolia is more nervous than me, tapping her foot and turning her coffee cup in endless circles. Rebel is awake, staring up at the toys hanging from the handle of his car seat.

  “Chill out,” I tell her. “Mark is harmless. A sex-crazed dick, but harmless.”

  “I don’t know how you’re so calm,” she says. “This is worse than those soap operas Mom used to watch.”

  I shrug. “I met him before.”

  “You did more than that.”

  I sigh. “Mags, I’m not here to be preached at.” I want to add I’m not in hookup mode anymore, but probably my behavior with Donovan in Europe means my wild streak is alive and well.

  Thinking about him makes me long to use my phone to flip through some of the pictures of our week together, but right now is probably not the time.

  The door flings open, and there he is, Mark himself.

  He’s shorter than I remember, and a bit paunchier. Though I guess I am, too. It’s been a year.

  “Hey, babe,” he says, hurrying over. “What, there’s two of you? Blond sisters? Hey, hey, hey, it’s my lucky day.” He frowns when he spots Rebel. “What’s with the kid?”

  I kick out a chair. “Have a seat,” I say. “And hold on to your balls.”

  Mags shoots me a look, but I know how to handle guys like Mark.

  He sits, a lot less sure of himself. “What gives, Peaches?”

  “I’m not sure if math is your strong suit,” I say, “but this baby is almost exactly two months old, which puts his conception date during the week I met you at the Summit Inn.”

  He stumbles to his feet, making his chair skid back with an ear-piercing screech. “Oh, no. Nobody’s trapping ol’ Marco Polo.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re not the only candidate, my friend.” I tug a mailer pouch from the diaper bag and push it across the table. “Stick this DNA test in the mail, and we’ll rule you out.”

  He stares at it like it’s a dead possum on the road. “What do I have to do?”

  “It’s just a cheek swab. Super easy.”

  “What if I don’t do it?”

  “Then I play process of elimination, and if you’re the one left standing, I come after you with a court order.” I have no idea how that works, but I’m good at bluffing.

  He looks from the pouch to me to the baby then to me like we’re at a tennis match gone berserk. “You don’t even know who I am. If I run, you’ll never find me.”

  “Better be quick. I’m ready to photograph your license plate.”

  “Ha!” Mark says. “Ha! Ha! I took an Uber! Ha!” He runs out of the place so fast that the other customers look up.

  “That went well,” Mags says. “You really knew how to handle him.”

  I open the app. I’ve barely screenshot his information when it disappears. The page shifts to a screen that reads, Member no longer available.

  Whether he blocked me or deleted himself off the app, I won’t be finding him that way again.

  “He wasn’t going to be a keeper anyway.” I jiggle the toys over Rebel’s head. “A bad dad is worse than no dad.”

  “But you could have hit him up for child support.”

  “And had to endure visitation for my trouble. If I want him, I’m sure a lawyer can make the app spit out his info. Plus there’s the Uber data he so kindly informed me about.”

  Magnolia tweaks Rebel’s tiny foot. “I guess this is about finding a good one. Otherwise you’re no worse off than you were before.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “I’m doing my due diligence before giving up for good.”

  “When are you meeting the other one?” Magnolia asks.

  “Not sure. He said he’s out of town for his job.”

  “Maybe Rebel and I should stay home for that one.”

  I nod. This meeting showed me how wild these interactions could go. I should have known. Finding out there’s potentially a kid in your life is a huge shock to the system. The guys coming out of a hookup app aren’t likely great candidates for adjusting to domestic bliss.

  But I have to give it a shot.

  30

  Donovan

  I’m determined to have a lengthier call with Havannah than I’ve managed so far this past week. The time zones, the meetings, the wine-and-dines have all added up to little time for anything.

  But things are working out. The business in Milan should wrap up in a day or two, and I can head stateside again.

  We finally catch a break on Friday afternoon, which is early morning for her. She’s somewhat breathless but agrees to FaceTime so I can see her.

  Her hair is up in a ponytail, loose tendrils all around her pinked-up face.

  “What’s got you all hot and heavy?” I ask her.

  “Tried…to…run…with the stroller,” she says. “Ugh. I’m so out of shape!”

  “Back at it, then?”

  She flops on the sofa, the image a blur for a second, then I see her against the floral cushions. “I’m determined to fit in my old dresses.”

  “We can shop for new ones,” I say. “You’re perfect.” She sticks out her tongue, and I laugh at the sheer silliness. “Where’s that baby?”

  She turns the phone to a black stroller, where Rebel is sacked out. “He took a nap while I nearly died of heatstroke.”

  There’s that dramatic flair I enjoy.

  She turns the phone back to herself and flings an arm over her forehead. “How is Italy?”

  “I think I’ll be able to return to the good ol’ US of A on Tuesday.”

  She moves her arm to peer at the screen in surprise. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But you’ll be behind on your work in New York, I bet.” She bites her lip, probably trying to control her expectations. I get it. My lifestyle is a lot, and I did have to abandon her in Milan.

  “Not so much. I have a few meetings, then I’m hitting the road.”

  “Flying over any mountainous regions?” She can’t hide the hope in her expression.

  “I’m thinking a night in Boulder will make it onto the agenda.”

  She pops up from the sofa, blurring her feed again. “Are you serious?”

  I laugh. She’s so excited. It’s such a refreshing thing to see after the jaded and closed-off society women I’ve run with for the last few years.

  “It’s my hope. I’m going to do my level best to get there. Tell me where you’ve always wanted to stay and I will make it happen.”

  “Ooh.” She walks around her apartment, her hair askew. “There’s a fancy hotel here with a spa.”

  “Consider it done. Any packages to book?”

  “Not sure. I’ll have to worry about Rebel. And mainly I want to see you.”

  “I can have them come to the room.”

  Her eyes get big. “Then yes. All the things. All. The Things.” She falls back on the sofa. �
��Dating a bazillionaire has its perks.”

  “And its downsides.”

  “If you didn’t have a plane, I wouldn’t see you at all,” she says.

  “Quite possibly true.” I head to the balcony. “Take a look at Milan.” She sits up, peering into the camera. I turn my phone and slowly pan it over the view. “Where history meets the modern era,” I say.

  “It’s lovely. I got to see some of it as we drove to the airport.”

  “Hopefully one day we can return.”

  She casts her gaze off to the side, as if she’s thinking.

  “Everything okay, Havannah?”

  “Oh, gosh. Well…”

  So something is up. I thought I heard it in her voice. There are a thousand things it could be, all legitimately aimed at me, since I jettisoned her with no notice.

  “Are you upset about Milan?” I ask.

  Her eyes pop back to the screen. “No! Oh, no. It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Is your dad still mad about us seeing each other?”

  She grins. “Probably.” Then she sobers. “No, this is about Rebel’s dad.”

  “The one in jail?”

  “Actually…” She bites her lip again. “Oh, this will sound bad.”

  I re-enter the suite to escape the heat and settle on an armchair, leaning forward so I can concentrate on her. “Did he get out? Are you in danger?”

  “No! I mean, not that I know of. I doubt it.” She focuses on the ceiling. “I’m thinking he’s not the father after all.”

  “Oh?” I try to take this in. Havannah mentioned in France that he was a one-night stand. If he’s not the one, there must have been others.

  “I got a little wild there for a while.” She shifts the phone, and the view is only of her ceiling. “So this is another guy.”

  I keep my voice level as I ask, “What made you realize it could be someone else?”

  She turns the camera back to her. Her face is flushed again. “I learned some things—from Sunny—about conception dates. Turns out mine was about ten days later than I thought.”