I figured if I was lucky, she’d say she was in love with me too.
If I was really lucky, she’d want to stay together.
And if I was really fucking lucky, she’d tell me she’d move to Florida with me.
But that’s not what she’s saying.
She’s having a baby. Our baby.
“You are?” I ask, my head swimming with news I didn’t see coming in a million Christmases.
“Yes. And I’m sure that’s a shock, since I was on protection, and I don’t know why it didn’t work. I took the pill religiously every morning at six a.m. I even have an alarm set. I’ve never ever missed a day, and that’s why I took five tests. I wanted to take one more, but Amy felt five was enough,” she blurts out.
“Amy knows?” I ask, processing this bombshell.
She nods speedily. “I couldn’t take them alone, and I didn’t want to freak you out. I needed someone, so she came over with another pack. I’d already bought two. She knew I’d want more.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I’d have predicted five too. “Of course you’d want to be sure. That’s who you are.”
“You know me so well,” she says, and it’s an offhand comment, but entirely true. She breathes out hard, continuing, “And all five had two pink lines.”
“Wow,” I say, taking it all in.
Taking her in. The vulnerability in her eyes. The worry in her face. The honesty in her words.
But most of all, I see what I’ve always seen.
My future.
There are no questions, no buts. The “nothing” option is off the table, and now it’s time to have it all.
I set a hand on her belly, drawing a deep breath. “So we’re having a baby?”
Her eyes widen to moon pies. “What?”
A smile takes over my face. “Well, I’m presuming that’s your plan, Miss Woman with a Plan? We’re going to have the baby, right?”
“We?” She squeaks like Minnie Mouse.
Wait.
Did I read this wrong? Read her wrong? I step back, regarding her curiously. “Do you want to have the baby by yourself?”
She gestures wildly to me. “Do you want to have the baby with me?” Her voice is so high it hits the ceiling.
I laugh like she’s crazy. “I just told you I’m in love with you. I was hoping you felt the same way about me.”
“Yes!” Her shout reaches an octave I didn’t know existed. “But . . . but . . . also, I should have said that first. Yes, I’m in love with you. I just—”
“You’re just surprised.”
Her eyes are soft and brimming with happiness. “Yes.”
“But are you surprised I’m in love with you? I was kind of hoping it had been obvious.”
“I like obvious. And I’m happy about that. Wildly happy.” She swipes away a tear streaking down her cheek as her voice returns to normal and she takes some deep breaths. “I’m so in love with you too. But I didn’t think—”
“That I’d want to have a baby with you?” I ask quizzically.
“I don’t want you to think you have to stay with me because of the baby,” she says.
I wrap my arm around her, bringing her close and sliding my hand over her belly again. “I don’t have to. I want to. I came here early to tell you there’s no way I’m letting you go. I was going to ask you to stay with me. That was my plan tonight. See? I had a plan. Your favorite thing.”
She smiles like she can’t contain her grin. “I do like plans. I like that that was your plan.”
“I wanted to find a way to keep you, even before I knew you were pregnant, because I love you, Quinn Summers. And guess what? I still love you, and I still want to be with you. And—spoiler alert—I’m going to love our baby too.” I take a moment to look into her eyes. “So, are we doing this?”
She melts against me. “Yes. But this kind of changes everything, doesn’t it?”
I laugh, tuck a finger under her chin, and answer her. “Yes, it changes literally everything. And I know you were diligent about taking the pill—I heard your alarm every morning. But this is a good surprise. Some surprises are great surprises.”
Her smile radiates into my soul. “I’m glad you feel that way.” She lets out a long breath. “So, what do we do?”
I don’t have the answer yet, and I’m not going to try to find it just now, because my business partners are strolling into the room. With Quinn’s hand in mine, I head over to join them.
Later, we’ll figure out what this means. Tonight, we have a party to throw. And when the guests stream in, I pull Quinn close and murmur a reminder to only drink the unspiked hot chocolate—not because she needs me to tell her, but because it makes her smile, like we have a secret. And we do.
It’s a secret I’m in love with already.
18
Vaughn
There are plans. There are damn plans. And there are babies. When the party ends, I take Quinn back to her place.
She plugs in the lights for the tree, turns on a playlist on her phone, and tugs me by the hand to her couch.
“So . . .”
“So, is there something you wanted to talk about?” I tease.
She swats me. “Yes. Only, say, everything.”
I settle into the couch and fold my hands. “We’re going to be here a long time then, if we’re talking about everything. Where should we start? How dinosaurs became extinct? The ancient Roman aqueducts? Are eyebrows considered facial hair?”
She shoots me a look. “Don’t mess with the pregnant woman.”
I lean back against the couch, enjoying myself. “Are you going to use that on me for the next nine months?”
She strokes her chin. “Hmm . . . Yes. Yes, I am.” She takes a deep breath, turning serious again. “What are we doing?”
I run the backs of my fingers down her cheek and give her the simplest and truest answer. “We’re having a baby.”
She swallows, and it looks like it hurts. “But you’re moving.”
“Yeah, about that.”
Her shoulders tense, and I hate that she’s worried. I can’t let her think I’d leave her for even a second.
I sit up straight and meet her gaze. “Quinn, I can’t ask you to move when you’re pregnant. I can’t ask you to leave your family and your sister. Not when you need them now more than ever.”
Her lips part, and she seems poised and on edge. “You can’t?”
I shake my head. “No. So there’s only one solution.”
“What’s that?”
I glance around at her place and sigh heavily. “I sold my home. I’m going to need a place to stay in Manhattan.”
“To stay?” Her pitch hits another octave again.
I slide my hand through her hair. “Let me give you a heads-up. If you ask me to move in with you, I’m going to say yes.”
She squeals. “But what about Miami? And the firm’s expansion plans? And the condo you bought?”
I grin. Wickedly. “I might have a surprise for you.”
“What is it? I hate surprises.”
“Oh, you’ll like this one.”
“I will?”
“I talked to my business partners tonight. Don’t worry—I didn’t tell them your news. Our news,” I correct. “But I asked how they’d feel if we didn’t expand just yet.”
“What did they say?”
“They’re fine with it. It was an expansion after all, not a necessity. And look, I may need to travel to Florida. But the reality is there are four of us. We’ll take turns. We’re a partnership. So we’ll table the expansion plans for now. Besides,” I say, my hand straying to her belly again, “life threw us a surprise, and it seems these other expansion plans are going to have to take precedence.”
She climbs onto my lap, glee in her green eyes. Clasping my face, she looks at me, holding my gaze. “Will you move in with me? Tonight?”
“Yes. Yes, I will.”
I pull her close and seal our vow with a kiss. A kiss t
hat soon turns heated. In fact, it’s so hot that in no time we’re reenacting what got us here in the first place.
Epilogue
Quinn
When I wake up on Christmas Day, New York City has given me a gift—a fresh blanket of snow.
I draw a deep breath, savoring the morning as I head to the window and drink in the sight. White. Everywhere I see white, and it’s magical.
My man gives me a gift too—a mug of eggnog hot chocolate.
Unspiked, of course.
“Merry Christmas, Quinn,” he says when I join him in the living room at the tree.
“Merry Christmas, Vaughn,” I say, a little giddy because I still can’t believe this is my life. That he’s in it when he was supposed to be out of it. That a little something unexpected gave me everything I don’t want to live without.
And I can’t wait for him to open his present. I head to the tree and grab it, then hand him the red-wrapped box.
He holds it up, shakes it. “Quinn, I know it’s the pony I asked for. I peeked last night.”
“Oh, stop. Just open it.”
He unwraps the gift and smiles when he holds up a T-shirt with a T logo like we joked about the night we met. “Just a little something to remind you that you were my Christmas fantasy.”
He loops an arm around my waist and tugs me onto his lap, peppering me with kisses—my ears, my neck, my lips.
He dotes on me, and I’m only six weeks pregnant. I can only imagine what the rest of my life will be like with him.
Wonderful.
They’ll be wonderful years.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, then his dark eyes gleam. “I got you something too.”
I glance at the tree. It’s empty underneath. “I don’t see a gift,” I say, playfully chiding him.
“Because I know you so well. I would never leave your gift under the tree. You confessed your dirty little secret the first night we met.”
I pout. “But I love Christmas and Christmas presents. And you. I love you.”
“Good,” he says, sliding me off him then dropping to one knee. “Then I hope you don’t need a heads-up that I’m about to ask you to marry me.”
I gasp, and a nanosecond later, tears slide down my cheeks.
He meets my gaze. “I fell in love with you the night we met, and I love you more every day. And I love our baby. Let’s be a family. Will you marry me?”
“Yes! I’d hoped you were going to ask.”
He slides the ring onto my finger and brings me in for a delicious Christmas-morning kiss.
When we separate, I look into his eyes. “This is the best present ever.”
We don’t wait long to tie the knot. About six weeks later on Valentine’s Day, we get married in a small wedding with family and close friends in attendance.
We spend the next several months living and loving, getting our apartment ready, selling his condo in Miami, and flying to Florida every month to see his sisters and his adorable nieces and nephews. While here in New York, I try to spend as many days as possible with my parents, Josh, and Amy.
I make sure to snag lots of girl time with my sister, especially since I love the updates she gives me on a new possible romance in her life. She’s met a guy she likes. News flash: there are all sorts of complications. I mean, she works with him. What could possibly go wrong?
But that’s a story for another time.
Meanwhile, I do my best to relax. To let go of my relentless need to plan everything in my life. Babies, after all, have a way of upending plans in the best way possible.
Then, near the end of the summer, I pop.
And I revise the earlier statement I made on Christmas, once our little girl is born.
She’s truly the best gift ever.
In the delivery room, Vaughn gazes at our baby with so much love in his eyes, holding her then kissing me. “Now,” he says, “this is a special delivery.”
And four and a half months later, she’s with us on Christmas morning, making this holiday even better than the one before.
THE END
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Excerpt…
He moves closer, leaning against the bar, looking like a tall drink of man. I break out my mental yardstick. Yup, I’m betting he’s over six feet. I’m going with six foot one. Which might even push him to a fifteen on the goes-to-ten babe-o-meter.
“So you’re on drinks detail,” I say, trying to sound all cool and casual, like I’m not busy sizing him up.
Not consumed with checking out his arms.
Not occupied admiring his blue eyes.
Not tied up enjoying his smile.
He points his thumb at his sternum. “New guy. That means I fetch all the drinks and buy them too. And you? What put you on errand duty?”
“I made my friend snort her drink out her nose.”
He looks impressed. “You officially have the best reason for being on drink detail.”
I preen, enjoying his praise. “Why, thank you. I was hoping to win that contest.”
“What was the snort-inducing remark, may I ask?”
Flashing back, I recall the culprit—my “you need V-time” comment to Peyton—but that’s too personal to share. I give him another one. “I referred to her ex-fiancé by his proper name.”
Clark Kent gives me a curious look. “Is his proper name amusing?”
“Of course. It’s Richard Cranium,” I say, and I wait. Will he pass the test?
His blue eyes sparkle, then his smile ignites, and he has dimples. Dear God, the man has dimples and loves Agatha Christie. I’d like to put a saddle on him. Giddy up indeed.
“So, he’s a dickhead,” Clark Kent says.
I beam and give him a showy victory salute, since he’s passed with flying colors. “First person to get that in under five seconds.”
He taps the side of his skull. “Crossword puzzle fan here. You’ll have to wake up real early to beat me at word games.”
Shut the front door.
“Fortunately, I rise at five a.m.,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, then, early bird. I’m Linc Silvers,” he says and extends a hand.
Laughing, I take his hand. “Your name is too perfect. You should be on a soap opera.”
“Maybe I am.”
“And did you just discover your long-lost twin?”
His eyes twinkle. “Let’s hope we’re not related.”
My chest flutters from the hint of flirtation in his comment. “Amy Summers,” I say, and he repeats it like it’s a tasty treat then lets go of my hand.
Truly returns, and I’m both glad and sad.
If she hadn’t come back, I might have gone for a record in marathon verbal volleyball, because Linc gives good banter.
She slides the trio of drinks to me. “Here you go. On the house.”
“No, let me pay.” I reach for my wallet.
She waves me off. “Evangelists of your stature drink for free.”
Linc flashes a smile at Truly then points to me. “Have I mentioned I’m with her?”
“Nice try,” she says to the guy with the great dimples. “And what can I get you?”
Before he can answer, Baldwin shouts from where he and some of the others from the office are sitting. “Superman! We can’t wait much longer. We’re dying of thirst.”
Guess I’m not the only one who’s spotted the resemblance.
And now I wonder if he bats for the boys, like nearly every other single guy in the office, or if he
has a girlfriend somewhere in this city. Either would be just my luck.
Wait. I don’t care what team he plays for.
I don’t care about romance.
The only luck that matters right now is the career kind.
“Nice to meet you, Superman,” I say, gathering the drinks.
“Nice to meet you too, my not long-lost twin,” he adds with a sexy smile and a vibe that says he definitely makes plays for women.
But it doesn’t matter.
It definitely doesn’t matter.
Boys lead to trouble. Boys lead to distractions.
I return to my girls, ready to plot my path to a promotion rather than to pantslessness on the third date.
Though I bet he’d be good in the sack.
Brainy guys often are.
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Acknowledgments
Big thanks to Lauren Clarke, Jen McCoy, Helen Williams, Kim Bias, Virginia, Lynn, Karen, Tiffany, Janice, Stephanie and more for their eyes. Goddess love to Helen for the beautiful cover. Thank you to Kelley and Candi and KP. Massive smooches to Laurelin Paige for access to her brain and heart. As always, my readers make everything possible.
Also by Lauren Blakely
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