Bella opens the bathroom door a crack.
“Ayden.”
Her tone is serious, and I step closer to the door. “What’s wrong?” I say with concern.
She thrusts something through the crack at me, and I take it in my hand.
What I see brings tears to my eyes. I blink them back, and when my vision clears, it’s not a dream. Those are definitely two pink lines, something we’ve never seen yet in all our trying.
My Bella is pregnant.
She opens the door wide, her expression one of amazement and joy.
“This is our miracle,” she whispers. “It was conceived in Hawaii. Our Valentine baby.”
I pick her up and hold her close. We don’t speak for nearly a minute, and I realize I’m still clutching the pregnancy stick in my fist.
I go to hand it back to her, and she shakes her head.
“Let’s go tell the others.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her. “Do you want to wait until you’re further along?”
“Nope. I want to share this with them. They’re our family, and I’m bursting to tell somebody. Besides, no matter what happens, you know we’ll still end up telling them.”
There aren’t a lot of secrets in the Wild clan. We have things we keep private for sure, but for the most part, we let each other in on the good and the hard parts of our lives.
So, I take Bella’s hand and we walk into the living room. Dylan and Jasalie look up from their seats on the couch, and Colton and Sky are standing by the TV.
I hold up the pregnancy stick. “We just got some news. With God’s grace, a new baby Wild will be joining us soon.”
Dylan’s dark eyes widen as a grin spreads across his face. “Congratulations!” He stands up and heads toward us.
Before he can reach us, Colton cuts in front of him. All I see is a flash of blond hair and a huge smile before he’s scooped Bella right out of my arms and is dancing across the room with her.
“Hey!” I call out. “That’s my pregnant wife you just carried off.”
Bella’s laughing as Colton kisses her cheek soundly and then puts her down by Sky and Jasalie, who throw their arms around Bella in the world’s most enthusiastic three-way hug I’ve ever seen.
Dylan claps me on the back. “I’m happy for you. I know how long you guys have wanted this.”
“You’ll make great parents,” Colton says to Bella and me. “Can’t wait to tell the others.”
As Bella and I follow the four of them out the door, I tug her back against my chest. “This is going to be a fun ride,” I say in her ear.
Epilogue
Ayden
“One last push, and you’ll meet your baby!” the doctor encourages Bella.
My wife is a superstar. She’s doing this whole labor thing without drugs, and I think I’ve been more scared than she is. She’s singularly focused on the job at hand, and as she gives one more big push, I hear a cry.
And then, time slows down as the doctor places our baby in Bella’s arms. A shock of dark hair and big, blue eyes.
“You have a healthy baby boy,” she says with a smile. “Congratulations to both of you.”
I sink down onto the bed next to Bella and we stare at our son together.
I kiss her, and then him.
“We did it,” she says in amazement. “He’s so beautiful. Isn’t he?”
“He is,” I agree. “And so are you.”
We cuddle together for a few more minutes with just the three of us, and then Bella smiles at me.
“I’m sure the guys are circling like sharks out there,” she says. “You can let them in.”
I go to the door. I’ve barely made it one foot outside the room when Michael, Colton, Dylan, Jenson, Brayden, and Cameron all rush me.
“How is she?”
“Is the baby born yet?”
“Feels like we’ve been here forever…”
I grin. “Healthy, baby boy. Bella’s doing great.”
Amidst the shouts of congratulations, I lead them into the room where all six guys crowd around the bed. Bella lets each one take a turn in holding our newborn son.
Over my brother and cousins’ heads and loud chatter, I catch Bella’s eye, and we share a smile.
Baby Wild is a lucky boy. He will be loved beyond belief in this family. Not just by his mom and dad, but his entire extended family.
It took a few twists and turns, but our miracle baby is here.
I lean over and kiss Bella on the head.
I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
About the Author
Read more about Ayden and the rest of the Wild Men at: www.melissabellebooks.com
USA Today Bestselling author Melissa Belle writes about smart, sassy women and the hot, sexy men who want them. She spent years in the field of psychology before writing her first novel riding the train around Europe. She often works through her story ideas while hiking with her husband or hanging out with her two kitties. She loves road trips and songwriting. And cupcakes.
I’ve Just Seen A Face
I’ve Just Seen A Face
By Melissa Brown
I’ve Just Seen A Face
Copyright © 2020 by Melissa Brown
All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter One
Chicago
Spring, 1968
It wasn't his looks that drew me in the first time I saw Max Lampert. He was handsome, of course, but that wasn't what initially caught my eye. No, it was his compassion, the way he treated an older gentleman on the bus we were both riding. How, without hesitation, he jumped to his feet and graciously offered his seat to the man. As labored as his breathing was, the older gentleman shrugged him off, but Max insisted, grabbing his guitar case from the bus floor and stepping to the side, the tassels of his leather vest swaying back and forth as he grabbed the bar above him. The older man thanked Max, patted him gently on the shoulder and, with a sigh of relief, took the seat. At that moment, we locked eyes. He shrugged and smiled; his eyes were intense but they radiated kindness.
I had glanced away, not wanting him to notice the effect he was having on me. Those kind eyes, equally disarming and intriguing, had more than piqued my curiosity. My cheeks grew hot as my brain wandered. I wondered what his name was, how old he was and when he’d started riding this line. But, before I had much time to ponder a possible conversation starter, I arrived at my stop, wishing the bus had driven just a little bit slower.
Today, however, was a very different story. Today it was his looks that drew me in. Every day at 4:08, I grabbed the bus on State Street and rode the same seven stops from my job at Marshall Field's department store to my family's apartment across town. And for the past fifteen days, that handsome face greeted me with a shy smile when I climbed onto the bus before returning his attention to a book. Always a book; usually science fiction but sometimes a classic like Sherlock Holmes. His chestnut hair was long and straight, sitting just past his shoulders and he wore tiny wire spectacles on the bridge of his nose, just like the ones John Lennon wore.
Must be his favorite Beatle.
Beneath those glasses were the brightest eyes I'd ever seen—just as blue as the sky on a hot summer's day. He had high cheekbones and long mutton chops. My father would probably call him a "dirty hippie" but there was nothing dirty about him. On most days he wore a button-down shirt with the same leather vest, bell-bottom jeans, and leather shoes. Although his hair was long, it wasn't shaggy. His face was clean-shaven and his fingernails never showed an ounce of dirt. No,
there was nothing about Max that was dirty or unkempt, but he was not a typical square that my father tried to get me to date. He was different, he was an individual. And I liked that, I was drawn to it.
We shared five days of awkward glances and shy smiles on the bus. And I spent five days wondering when he might finally break the ice and say hello. And five days of urging myself to do the same. Something always seemed to get in the way—a woman and her baby’s pram, a crowded bus with no available seats, or a senior citizen who talked his ear off. Max was always gracious no matter who sat next to him. No matter what, I always caught him looking my way, even if only for a second here and there.
“What are you doing?” My best friend, Wendy, whispered. Wendy worked the switchboard with me at Marshall Field’s. We’d met our first day on the job and had been inseparable ever since. Little did she know that I’d invited her to come to my apartment after work for one very special reason. I wanted to see what she thought of the handsome bookworm on the bus. But, I didn’t want her to know my motive so I asked if she wanted to join my family for dinner and board games.
“What do you mean?” I asked, tucking my long hair behind my ear.
“Jeanne, you’re all red. Your cheeks.” She touched the back of her hand to my skin, her fingers cold. “Do you feel all right?”
I waved her off, taking a deep breath in. My knee bobbed up and down with nervous energy. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
“All right,” she said slowly before shaking her head and looking out the window.
Quickly I glanced at him to make sure he was fully engrossed in his current read, “What do you think of him?”
I cocked my head toward the young man, who I guessed was about my age, maybe a little bit older. I was estimating all kinds of details about him. What part of the city he might live in, what he might do for a living, what songs might be his favorites. It was this fun game I liked to play in my mind as I rode home on the bus each day.
Wendy gave him her full attention, raising both eyebrows. “Total hunk. I’d date him.” She narrowed her eyes, studying me. “Why?”
“No reason.” Clearing my throat, I ignored Wendy’s gaze and looked straight ahead.
“Have you talked to him?”
“Shh,” I gave her the stink eye. “Not yet. One of these days, maybe.”
“What are you waiting for? You’ve never been shy as long as I’ve known you. I’ve seen you chatting guys up at work.”
“So?”
“So, what’s different this time?”
I opened my mouth to speak but had no answer. Then I decided to just be honest, even if I sounded silly. "I'm not sure. He makes me kinda nervous."
It was the truth. And guys usually didn’t make me nervous. This was all new for me.
“That’s a good thing. It means you have an actual crush. Jeanne Kramer has a crush.”
I rolled my eyes at Wendy. “I don’t think I’d call it that.”
“I certainly would.” Wendy nudged me. “You’d look good together.”
I didn’t reply, but a satisfied grin crossed my lips as I thought more about the handsome stranger on the bus and imagined us as a potential couple.
She leaned in close and whispered, “And now I know why you’ve been dressing so nice this week.”
I rolled my eyes, but she was right. Since the first day I'd noticed him on the bus, I'd been wearing my cutest skirts, dresses, and tops in the hopes of looking my very best and compelling him to approach me, to want to get to know me, maybe even ask me out for a date. Soon I'd have to borrow clothes from my older sister, Kathy, just to keep a rotation of nice outfits going. Thank goodness I had an employee discount at Field's.
When we reached my stop I rose from my seat with hesitation, glancing at him one last time before heading to the door. He glanced up from his book, curling his lips into a gentle smile. And I smiled in return, adrenaline coursing through my belly.
“Tomorrow,” I said when Wendy and I stood on the sidewalk, watching the bus pull away from the curb. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. I promise.”
“I expect a full report. You know that, right?”
We laughed together as we walked to my apartment, Wendy planning out the perfect outfit for me to wear the next day. Such a good friend.
My heart pounded in my chest as I climbed into the bus the following day at 4:08. Most seats were taken and, at first glance, it didn’t appear that my handsome bookworm was on the bus at all.
I suppose I missed my chance, I thought to myself as I walked to the back of the bus and found an empty row. Placing my purse on the seat beside me, I sighed and looked out the dirty window, wishing I’d had more gumption the day before. What if I never saw him again? Would he forever be the man I almost met on the bus?
How pathetic.
“Excuse me,” a deep and gravely, but friendly voice said. “Is this seat taken?”
"No," I replied, still staring out the window, lost in my thoughts.
“Thanks,” he said and I turned to offer a polite smile. My heart leaped up into my throat as I saw him, my handsome bookworm.
His voice is deeper than I thought it would be.
A broad Cheshire smile covered his chiseled face and once again, I found myself frazzled and excited in his presence.
What is the matter with me?
Wendy was right about me. I didn't want to seem arrogant, but I'd never had trouble in the dating department. As my father liked to say, my "dance card" was always full. I was picky, though, and didn't always return the affection that my suitors usually had for me. But, the bookworm was different. Around him, I was…breathless.
I grabbed my purse quickly, placing it on my lap and gesturing for him to sit, feeling my pulse quickening. “Sorry.”
“What for?” He asked, looking puzzled.
“Nothing, I mean…I was just spacing out, I guess.”
Calm down, Jeanne. Control yourself.
“I’m Max.” He said, extending his hand. It was warm in my grasp and his handshake was firm, yet gentle. I didn’t want to let go.
“Jeanne.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeanne.” He straightened his glasses. “Heading home?”
"Mm-hmm. You?"
He nodded. “Yep.”
“Good book?” I asked, gesturing to the copy of Logan’s Run on his lap.
“I’m just getting into it. So far, it’s pretty fascinating—it doesn’t paint a very nice picture of the future, though.” He chuckled.
“You like to read a lot, huh?”
“I do.” He nodded. “Words and music. My two passions.”
“Words, huh?” I asked, fascinated. “Do you write, too?”’
“Books?”
I nodded.
“Nah. Maybe someday, though. Never say never, right?”
I smiled, enjoying his free-spirited nature. I imagined he was the type of guy who seized the day, someone who woke up each wondering ready for the next adventure. I ached to be like that, to jump outside of the box that I'd been raised in. His demeanor was infectious and I found myself leaning toward him ever so slightly. He smelled like peppermint and I wondered if he was sucking on a mint or lozenge.
“What about you?”
“Oh no, I don’t write.” I shook my head, tucking a pinch of hair behind my ear.
He laughed softly. “I guess that makes two of us.”
“Guess so.” I smiled, pausing briefly. “I like to knit.”
“Really? Far out.” He said, his eyes brightening. “What kind of things do you make?”
“I—I’m still learning, of course. But I’ve made some scarves for my sisters. And I’m working on a sweater for my mother. Hoping to finish it by Christmas.” I shrugged. “It takes me a while.”
“Plenty of time.” He said.
"I sew, too. So far, I've made some blankets and such. Eventually, I'd like to make clothes."
“I love that,” Max said and I could tell he meant it. There was something s
o telling about his face, his expressions, that told me he was an honest person; that he couldn’t hide his enthusiasm (or lack thereof) if he tried.
Reluctantly, I looked out the window, knowing I’d have to say goodbye to the intriguing stranger way too soon.
“My stop is coming up.”
“I, uh…there’s this record store I’ve been meaning to go to.”
“Sonny’s?”
“That’s the one. Should I get off here too?” He rose to his feet, to allow me to exit.
“Yeah, it’s just two blocks over. I can show you.”
“Great,” he said, following me off the bus. We stood on the sidewalk together, the wind blowing our hair this way and that. “Lead the way.”
“Have you been to Sonny’s before?” I asked.
“No, but a friend of mine said it’s the best in the city; that I’ve been missing out.”
I laughed, “I don’t know about that, but it’s a good store. They always get the new albums right away.”
“What was the last one you bought?”
“Magical Mystery Tour.”
A satisfied smile crossed his lips. “I was hoping you were a Beatles fan.”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“You’d be surprised.” He shook his head. “My older brother despises them.”
Wide-eyed, I stopped dead in my tracks. "You must be joking."
“I swear it.” He put both hands up. “He’s a little…different, though. And there’s no accounting for taste, right?”
“Right. Favorite Beatle?”
“John.”
“I thought so,” I said with a sly grin.
“Let me guess, you have a pin-up of Paul McCartney on your wall?”
A Little Bit Cupid: A Collection of Short Stories Page 3