The Baby Maker

by Valente, Lili

  “Bless you,” Neil croaks, clearly relieved. “I’ll be back as soon as I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out or swell up. You’ve got this, boss. Don’t worry. Just take your time and move methodically down the line. They shouldn’t be rabid for a pour this early in the day.”

  Before I can ask him what he’s talking about, he hurries outside, the door swinging wide behind him to reveal a giant bus parking in my one and only bus parking spot and shutting off its engine.

  “Shit,” I curse, pulse hammering with anxiety as I grab a roll of paper towels from near the washing machine and swipe at the mess on my backside.

  I have just enough time to realize that my swiping is making things worse—and causing a very poo-esque earthworm smell to rise from my damp slacks—when the first tasters push through the door. Plastering what I’m sure is a hysterical grin on my face, I shove the dirty towels in the trash, wash my hands as fast as humanly possible, say a prayer that no one will notice my messy bottom or unpleasant odor, and start lining up glasses and handing out tasting menus.

  I’ve got the first fifteen or sixteen folks set up, and have managed to flip on my favorite tasting playlist—good music trumps bad smells, right?—and am feeling like I might squeak through this without crashing and burning when a familiar laugh sounds from near the door.

  It’s still so familiar, even though I didn’t hear much of it in our final months together, when my fiancé was so busy sneaking around and sticking his penis into other people that the stress of juggling his romantic entanglements affected his sense of humor.

  But you don’t forget a booming, Santa-Claus belly laugh like Jeremy’s.

  It’s him, no doubt in my mind. I know it instantly, even before I turn, time slowing to a horror-movie crawl as I pull six-foot-two Jeremy and his much shorter friend into focus.

  Veronica is here, too, even though she’s so pregnant her swollen belly strains the front of her dress, jutting out into the crowd like the bow of a ship cutting smoothly through the water, clearing a path to the bar. She’s wearing ruby-red jeweled barrettes that match the flowers on her dress in her dark brown hair, and her olive skin is glowing like she’s been lit up from the inside.

  She was always beautiful, but now she is stunning, vibrant, the creating and incubating of life clearly agreeing with her in every way.

  It’s enough to make me want to throw a wine bottle through the window to my right, launch myself through it, and run away through the rain sobbing hysterically.

  But I can’t. Denver is off property, Neil is guzzling Benadryl in my bathroom, and Bart is too busy with sandbags to take over for me, even if he weren’t vehemently opposed to talking to strangers.

  Nope. There’s no way out of this.

  It’s just me, and my soggy mud butt, alone.

  And I will have to face this, face him, look up into the brown eyes of the man who betrayed me so completely it took months to stitch together the tattered scraps of my self worth, pour him wine, and pretend everything is fine, even if it kills me.

  Now. I have to do it now. There’s not another second to waste if I want to have these people out before the next batch of tasting enthusiasts arrive.

  I turn toward the other side of the bar, chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc clutched in hand, feeling like a monster claw is clutching at my throat at the same time.

  Not just clutching but squeezing, making my pulse race and my stomach threaten to bring up the biscuit I had for breakfast. I’m still several feet from my destination when black prickles begin to dance at the edge of my vision and my head informs me that it will be floating off my body and will return later, when all of these horrible people are gone.

  I realize I’m about to faint, and throw out a hand, leaning against the heavily stocked shelves behind the bar. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath, willing myself to stay upright.

  I can’t faint. I refuse to let Jeremy see me go down, to give him any reason to think I’m still the broken person who sobbed on our couch for hours after learning my fiancé had knocked up another woman. I have to keep going, stay strong, because there is no one here to help and no one to catch me if I fall.

  “Hey, what’s going on? Why are you in here all alone on an event day?” another familiar voice asks from so close I can smell his heavenly scent drifting to my nose on the damp breeze blowing through the window.

  My eyes fly open to see Dylan ducking under the closed flap at the center of the bar, holding the most beautiful arrangement of flowers I’ve ever seen, and my heart explodes with relief. It doesn’t matter that we fought, or haven’t spoken in days, one look in his eyes and I know that he’s here for me, the way he has been since that night in the woods, proving there are still heroes left in the world.

  “Everything has gone to shit,” I whisper softly. “The labels are mixed up, Denver had to run to town, Neil is sick, the power is out in the tasting room kitchen, and I fell on my butt running cheese pastries over from the house.”

  Concern flashes across his face. “You okay?”

  “Physically, yes. Mentally, been better, and emotionally in the crapper.” I force a smile as I motion over his shoulder with the top of the bottle in my hand. “The tall guy at the end of the bar is my ex. The pregnant woman next to him is the woman he left me for. This will be the first time I’ve spoken to him since the day he called off our engagement, and my head is trying to float off my body to avoid it.”

  “Like hell you’re talking to him.” Dylan’s scowl is stormier than the weather outside. He lays the flowers on the bar and pushes up the sleeves of his dark green sweater. “I’ll pour for that side of the bar. You stay on that side and don’t so much as look over your shoulder. That lying, cheating, sack of human garbage doesn’t deserve to see you upset.”

  Gratitude swelling inside me like a puff pastry rising in a toasty oven, I press the bottle of white into Dylan’s hand. “Bless you. Thank you. So much.”

  “My pleasure, Blondie. But before we pour, I need one thing.”

  Before I can promise to give him whatever he wants—no favor is too great in exchange for his life-saving heroism in the face of my evil ex—he wraps his free hand around my waist and pulls me close, fusing his lips to mine.

  And then he kisses me in a way I’ve never been kissed before. Not even by him, the best kisser to ever press his mouth to mine.

  He kisses me like he’s been lost, and only now that he’s back in my arms is he found. He kisses me like I’m the answer and the question and every magical step of the journey in between. His kiss is a promise, an invitation, a challenge I never expected from him, this man who seems so determined not to make his life any more complicated than it has to be.

  And love is complicated. At least, that’s what Jeremy and the other losers I’ve hooked up with through the years taught me to believe.

  But maybe it doesn’t have to be.

  Maybe, when it’s right, it’s easy, like tasting cheese and eating ice cream and soaking in a perfect sunset.

  By the time he pulls away, I don’t feel like I’m going to faint. I don’t feel scared or trapped or exposed. I feel safe, shot through with sparkles, and not at all alone.

  “Talk later?” He cups my face in his hand, brushing his thumb gently across my bottom lip. “Once we get these losers out of here?”

  “Yes,” I say. “But don’t call them losers. I would like to sell some wine today.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to sell the shit out your fine-ass wine. I’m a killer salesman when I believe in the product.” He winks before nodding toward the shelves. “And those flowers are for you. I’ve got some really bad poetry I wrote to recite for you, too, but that will have to wait until we’re alone.”

  I grin. “Sounds good.”

  It sounds better than good, it sounds like a big dream coming true.

  With a final squeeze of my hand, Dylan heads toward the opposite side of the room, and I return to my post, pouring Chardonnay for
the people who are ready to move on to the next wine. In between pouring and answering questions, I slice the cheese puffs into thirds, arrange them on tasting plates and pass them out to the people on my side of the bar in advance of the Pinot, which pairs beautifully with the rich cheese and earthy mushrooms in the pastry.

  Amazingly, I don’t spare Jeremy and Veronica a second thought until it’s time to deliver pastry samples to where Dylan is working the bar like a champ, making small talk about the area and the history of Green Valley wine as he pours.

  I clench my jaw, preparing to act surprised, but not displeased, to see them, but when I reach Dylan’s side, the spot where Jeremy and Veronica were standing is empty.

  “Cheese puffs to go with the Pinot.” I set the tray on the shelf behind him before adding in a softer voice, “What happened to you know who?”

  Dylan shrugs, focus trained on the Pinot he’s uncorking. “I don’t know. The guy glared at me like I kicked his cat and stole his Bible and stomped out. Guess he didn’t care for what we were pouring.”

  I grip his arm, fingers digging into his bicep as I whisper, “Thank you. I’m so happy I could just bite you. All over.”

  He shoots a heated glance my way. “I’ve noticed that about you. That you like to bite things when you’re happy. Especially when you’re really happy.”

  His tone leaves no doubt what he’s talking about, making my cheeks flush.

  “But that’s one of the things I love about you,” he adds, the look in his eyes assuring me that, this time, the words aren’t a slip of the tongue.

  The warm flush spreads to encompass my entire being. I want to tell him that I feel the same way, that I’m crazy about him and so grateful that he showed up in my tasting room and in my bed and in my life, and that I don’t ever want to fight again.

  But before I can say a word, he leans in, kissing my forehead. “Now get out of here and let me pour the Pinot, before I drag you into the stock room, rip off your clothes, and have my way with you. Four days without you did a number on my impulse control.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grinning, I give a little salute and hurry back to pour second tastings, fill orders, bag up wine, and run credit cards.

  By the time the bus pulls away, we’ve sold twenty-five bottles.

  “Amazing start!” Neil breezes back into the tasting room just as two limos are pulling up outside. “Seriously great. Especially for a winery that’s hard to get to on a rainy day. I feel good things in our future today.” He pauses to cast some serious side-eye at the puff pastries. “Assuming you keep those far away from me.”

  “Will do,” I say, edging toward the door. “Dylan do you mind sticking around for a few more minutes while I run and change?”

  “I’m here for as long as you need me, baby,” he says, making my heart flip-flop all over again.

  “Aw, you two,” Neil says, clasping his hands together beneath his chin. “I’m so glad you’re going public! It was such a drag pretending not to know you were coupling up behind the scenes.” He sighs, then claps swiftly before jabbing a finger at Dylan. “Now get those glasses in the dishwasher, friend. We’ve got less than a minute to set up for the next group.”

  The people keep coming, wave after wave, until we run out of puff pastries and sell our last case of Sauvignon Blanc. Denver returns at noon with properly labeled bottles—thank God—just as the sky clears and the crowds begin to grow even thicker. Denver, Neil, Dylan, and I are all running at maximum capacity, pouring, cleaning, resetting, selling, and repeating, proving I vastly underestimated my staffing needs. I place a call to a winemaker friend during my late lunch break, securing two of her part-time tasting room employees for the rest of the event weekend, and have just enough time to heave a sigh of relief before I head back into the fray.

  By five o’clock, we’re all worn out, but there’s no doubt that, despite the rocky start, our first day was a rousing success.

  “You were a life saver.” Denver claps Dylan on the back as we get the last stragglers out the door minutes before five. “Seriously, man. Appreciate the help.”

  “My pleasure,” Dylan says, capturing my hand as he backs toward the house. “See you all around.”

  Before Neil or Denver can respond, Dylan has turned and practically dragged me onto the porch. I pick up my pace to catch up and he breaks into a jog. By the time we reach the door, we’re both running. We tumble through, laughing as he slams it behind us, and then we come together with twin moans of relief that prove how glad we both are that our suffering is over.

  We’re together again. Truly together this time. And just like Neil, I feel good things in the future.

  All good things.

  Chapter 21

  Dylan

  I don’t want to talk; I want to kiss her. Everywhere. From her sweet lips to the curve of her hip to her tiny feet with the crooked big toes that are the cutest things I’ve ever seen. Every part of her is perfect, beautiful, unique, and precious, and all I want to do is show her how much I treasure every inch of her.

  But before we get any more naked, I need her to understand how things have changed for me.

  “Wait, baby,” I say, the words ending in a groan as she shoves my boxers down my thighs, freeing my aching cock as we tumble onto the bed.

  “No waiting,” she says, kissing me hard. “I need you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  She’s already naked, and it would be so easy to spread her thighs and sink inside her, take her bare, fuck her until we both come so hard we see stars, and put off worrying about the consequences. But she deserves better than that, and I can’t roll those dice, not when keeping Emma here with me is starting to feel vital to my very survival.

  My breath rushes out against her lips. “Me, too, but we have to talk first.”

  “About what?” Her nails skim down my back in a way that makes my balls throb.

  “I need to use a condom,” I say. “Tonight, and every night for the near future.”

  Her brow furrows and hurt flashes in her eyes.

  I hurry to clarify, since hurting her is the last thing I want to do. “Things have changed since we started this. I know you feel it, too. This isn’t a bargain between two friends anymore. This is me, wanting you to be mine. Hoping you want me to be yours. Because I—” I take a breath, man the fuck up, and speak the truth. “Because I’m falling in love with you, and I don’t want to stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers, eyes shining as she brushes my hair from my forehead. “I’m falling in love with you, too. Nothing felt right when you were gone. I was going crazy. All I wanted to do was hear your voice, but you never called.”

  I shake my head. “I thought you didn’t want me to call. On Saturday, you said you needed space.”

  “But then I decided space was stupid and I needed you in my life and we should talk. Didn’t you get my letter?” she asks, brow furrowing. “I put it in your mailbox Monday morning, on my way to get coffee.”

  I exhale, relief spreading through me. “No, we never check the mailbox. I had so much trouble getting Dad to remember to hand over the bills that we got separate post office boxes in town. Even the twins have one so they can get mail from Deacon.”

  “Oh thank God.” She hugs me tight, pressing her breasts to my chest, making my heart beat faster. “I thought you were deliberately blowing me off. I thought I’d imagined that we were at least becoming good friends, and it was driving me crazy.”

  “Me, too,” I say, throat going tight as she wraps her legs around my waist and my suffering length brushes against where she’s hot and ready for me. I swallow hard, fighting for control. “Condom, Emma. I need to get one. I don’t want to knock you up until we’re both ready to be parents. Together. But I’m not sure how much longer I can resist, baby.” I groan as she rocks against me, hips lifting to meet my throbbing cock. “I’m dying to be inside you, to make you come for me.”

  “Yes.” Feathering kisses across my face, she flai
ls an arm toward the bedside table. “Top drawer. In the back. I have some in there.”

  In seconds, I’ve got the package open, then a condom on, and then I’m pushing inside where I’ve been dying to be, coming home as I glide deep into my girl. And the physical sensation isn’t the same with the condom, that’s a damned fact, but the connection I feel as I catch and hold Emma’s gaze while I move inside her is more intense than ever before.

  There’s no more hiding, no more worry. I’m free to make love to her, to worship shamelessly at the altar of her body and her heart, and by the time we lose control together, coming within seconds of each other as her legs lock tight around me, I’m even more crazy about her than I was before.

  “I’m falling in love with you, princess,” I confess as we lie fused together, catching our breath.

  “Me, too. With you,” she says, communicating love with every brush of her hand up and down my back.

  I swear I can feel it in a way I thought was fairy tale crazy before her.

  Pressing a grateful kiss onto her forehead, I pull away, make quick work of the condom, and return to bed, crawling under the covers and pulling Emma close.

  She comes eagerly, arm wrapping around my ribs as her cheek rests on my chest. “This is so much nicer,” she says with a sigh. “I was getting so tired of pretending I didn’t love snuggling you as much as the other stuff.”

  I run a hand over her soft curls. “Me, too. And I know you’re ready to have a baby, but I confess I’m glad Operation Sperm Donor didn’t work out. In theory, I thought I could handle it… But it would have haunted me, knowing you were out there somewhere with our baby and I wasn’t a part of your lives. I’m just not ready.”

  “I understand.” She lifts her head, meeting my gaze in the fading light. “I truly do. And I know it’s early days for us as more than friends, but I… Well…”

  “Spit it out, Blondie,” I urge. “You can tell me anything. I want you to be honest with me. For us to be honest with each other from here on out.”