by Terri Osburn
Mia turned to see the stranger mentioned. “That’s sweet of her.”
Alex knew that tone. The encounter on the ferry didn’t rule out the possibility that Mia had a shot with the new arrival, and far be it from him to stand in the way of a potential love interest.
“If you don’t think the family will mind,” he said.
“Of course not.”
Alex and Mia grabbed their coats and drinks and followed Lucas to the assembled tables. As everyone settled in, Mia finagled the chair across from Roxie, while despite his best efforts, Alex landed beside her. To say the air was frigid was an understatement.
“Welcome, welcome,” Beth said as they took their seats. “Alex Fielding and Mia Stamatis, this is my cousin Roxie Chandler. She’s come to help get the island back in shape.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Mia said, extending her hand across the table.
“You, too,” Roxie said, accepting the greeting.
She didn’t mention that they’d already met so Alex followed her lead. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, refusing to turn his way.
Too preoccupied to notice the slight she’d just dealt him, Mia said, “Where are you from, Roxie?”
“Richmond. Mostly.”
“Really? What do you do up there?”
Roxie’s eyes dropped. “I was between jobs before coming down here.”
Sensing her unease, Alex cut in. “We appreciate you coming all this way to help out.”
“Yes, we do,” Mia added. “How long will you be here? An extended visit, maybe?”
“I’m not sure.”
Before Mia could fire another question, Mary Ann leapt onto her lap. As an artist, his friend visited the local daycare once a week to teach them different techniques and mediums. That made her a favorite with every little one on the island.
“Real nice,” Alex heard Roxie mumble, her face slightly turned his way.
“Excuse me?”
“Does your girlfriend know about that little stunt on the ferry?” she whispered.
He didn’t like what she was implying. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She turned a hard gaze his way. “She’s sitting right there.”
“My friend is sitting right there,” Alex corrected. “You probably shouldn’t make assumptions about people you don’t know.”
“You mean like when someone says ‘I know your type’?”
Point to her. “You’re right. I apologize for that.”
Roxie’s expression went blank. “You what?”
“I apologize. I made assumptions I shouldn’t have, and then I accused you of doing the same.” Alex wasn’t above an apology when warranted, though he also wasn’t convinced his assessment had been wrong. “We’ll call it even.”
After a silent pause, she huffed. “Wow. That’s a first.”
“What is?”
“A man apologizing.”
Alex considered switching seats with Mia but found a doe-eyed sprite leaning against his side. “Hello, Ms. Daphne. How are you tonight?”
The child lifted her arms. “Up.”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said, stepping close to retrieve her child.
“I don’t mind, he said, and with little effort, lifted the girl into his lap. She immediately clenched a handful of his sweater while sticking her free thumb in her mouth.
“Are you sure?” her mother asked.
“It’s no problem.”
Beth returned to her seat as another huff came from Alex’s right. He looked over to see what Roxie’s problem was now, but to his surprise, she no longer looked annoyed. He arched his brows in silent query, and she reached for her menu.
“Did you say something?” he asked.
Eyes on the food options, she shook her head. “Nope.”
Daphne leaned too far to her left, forcing Alex to catch her. Once the child was secured, he glanced back to his neighbor and sensed an easing of tensions. Preferring a quiet truce to a silent war, he left her to choose her meal in peace.
Chapter Three
Some women began imagining their wedding day as early as elementary school. Others knew exactly how many children they wanted, how they would decorate their perfect suburban homes, and what kind of minivan they’d drive.
Roxie was not one of those women.
Her sister, Amanda, was. And Amanda now had everything she’d dreamed of down to the marble countertops and farm sink—or whatever that white monstrosity was called—and a ten-year-old mini-me who excelled at ballet, tap, and jazz. Chelsea was a good kid, if a bit of an ass-kisser. She didn’t pay much attention to her troublemaker aunt, which was fine with said aunt.
Roxie preferred to live in the moment. Children had never entered her radar beyond taking all precautions necessary not to have them. And then Dr. Goody-Two-Shoes picks up a chubby-cheeked toddler, and her ovaries squeal like a preteen at a boy band concert.
What. The. Hell?
“So…” said the woman across the table—Mia she thought it was— “did you leave a significant other behind?” Her eyes cut to Alex for a split second, and Roxie internally groaned. Not another matchmaker.
“I’m on a dating hiatus,” she replied.
The brunette’s smile faltered. “That’s a shame.”
Relieved she didn’t press the issue, Roxie reached for her water when a tiny hand clutched her jacket.
“Up,” said Daphne, though she was making more of a lateral move from Alex’s lap.
“You got her?” he asked, the first time he’d spoken since before the waitress had taken their orders.
Roxie secured the toddler on her lap, surprised by how natural the situation felt. “We’re good.”
“Do you need me to take her?” Beth asked.
Figuring her cousin didn’t get a break very often, she shook her head. “No, she’s okay right here.” Daphne settled into place, one cheek pressed against Roxie’s chest and the thumb back in her mouth.
Beth smoothed her daughter’s hair. “She might fall asleep on you. It’s been a busy day.”
No kidding. By the time they’d gotten the suitcases unpacked, the two girls had awoken from their naps and all hell broke loose. Within an hour, Roxie had gone from playing dolls, to excavating a mound of Legos with a Tonka truck, to enduring a game of tug-of-war with Dozer that sent Daphne into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Quite possibly the greatest sound Roxie had ever heard.
The little buggers were exhausting, and adding her nearly six-hour drive, Roxie was the one who might fall asleep.
As she reached for her water, a waft of cold air hit Roxie in the back as a family entered the restaurant. Her tablemates knew them, if the instant burst of greetings and chair legs scraping the floor were any indication. The man was tall and well dressed with a jawline suited for a GQ cover model. The young boy in his arms had the same blue-gray eyes as the man carrying him, presumably his father. The woman looked to be at least eleven months pregnant.
“We can add more chairs,” Lucas said as he waved the pair to Roxie’s end of the table. Seconds later, he slid a chair in on the other side of Alex, another next to Mia, and a high chair between them at the end. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked.
“If I drink anything, I’ll just pee it back out,” the woman said, dropping onto the chair beside Mia.
“Bring her a water,” the man ordered. “A juice for Connor, and I’ll have a Blue Moon.”
Connor cooperated as his dad slid him into the high chair, and the woman didn’t argue about the drink.
“How are you doing?” Alex asked, which seemed like a stupid question to Roxie. Anyone could see this poor woman was miserable.
“Same as before,” she replied, shifting her gaze to Roxie. “I’m Callie Edwards. You must be Beth’s cousin.”
“I’m sorry,” Beth cut in. “Yes, this is Roxie. She got in this morning.”
“Nice to meet you,” Callie said with a smile. “This is my hus
band, Sam, and our son, Connor.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” she replied. Unable to help herself, she asked, “How far along are you?”
The woman laid a hand on her protruding belly. “Seven months.” Roxie’s face must have belied her surprise because she added, “I know, right? I’m as big as a house.”
“You are not,” her husband cut in. “You’re beautiful.”
“Big and beautiful,” she corrected with a laugh.
“Mommy, I need to go,” Connor said, rocking in his seat.
Sam stood immediately. “I’ve got you, buddy.”
Callie watched her husband and son trudge off toward the bathroom with a blissful look in her eye. As much as Roxie had encountered married couples in her life, she’d never seen that look before. Then again, the way Beth’s eyes had lit up when Joe got home had been similar.
There must be something in the water down here, she thought, eying the glass before her warily.
“No pain?” Alex asked.
Callie scrunched her nose. “A little earlier today. Mostly in my back.”
“Mostly?”
“Some was down low in the front.”
“How low?”
This didn’t seem like the right time or place for this conversation, but Callie didn’t appear fazed. “About here.” She pressed a hand low on her stomach and slightly to the left. “I think baby A must have stretched out again.”
Baby A? So there was a baby B? That explained a lot.
“Come see me first thing in the morning,” Alex ordered. “If the pain comes back, or you feel anything else off, call me before then.”
Rolling her head from side to side, Callie said, “You’re going to put me on bed rest, aren’t you?”
“Maybe, but I won’t know for sure without a full exam. Have your cheeks been this red all day?”
Callie cupped her face. “Are they still pink?” she said.
Mia nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Well, crap.”
“Well, crap what?” Sam asked as he slid Connor back into the high chair.
“Alex wants to put me on bed rest.”
The dad turned hard eyes to the doctor. “She told me you said everything was fine.”
Credit to the doc for not flinching under the powerful glare. “We knew from the beginning that bed rest was a possibility. If she’d had any pain last week, I’d have considered it then, but this is a new development.”
The chiseled face turned to Callie, eyes full of concern. “You’re in pain? When did this happen? Do we need to go to the medical center?”
“This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d worry.”
“You’re my wife, and you’re carrying our twins. I’m always worried.”
Roxie felt for him. Not as much as for his wife, but still.
“There’s no need to panic,” Alex calmly cut in. “She’s right that this could be one of the babies moving around more than before. There isn’t much room in there, so she’s going to feel everything from here on out.”
Both mother and father visibly relaxed. Even Roxie felt better, and she had nothing to do with this.
The waitress arrived to take the new arrivals’ orders, and Roxie took a moment to observe the friendly group. Thirteen adults and four children filled the four connected tables. Conversations, both loud and soft, buzzed around her while she gently rocked the sleeping child.
“You’re a natural,” Callie said, nodding toward Daphne. “The next time I need help getting Connor to sleep, I might give you a call.”
Not wanting to give the wrong impression, Roxie shook her head. “I don’t know much about kids.”
“You know more than you think,” she said before Connor caught her attention by dropping his sippy cup on the floor.
“She’s right,” Alex said, leaning Roxie’s way. “Daphne doesn’t go to just anyone. She likes you.”
“Maybe she’s too young to be a good judge of character.”
He shifted in his chair to face her. “Does that mean you don’t think you’re a good person?”
Best to tell him now lest he get any ideas about trying that ferry trick again. “I have a less than stellar history; let’s put it that way.”
“Less than stellar? I’m going to need clarification on that.”
Roxie rolled her eyes. “I make mistakes. Often.”
Alex laughed. “Who doesn’t?”
“Trust me. I’m not a girl you take home to mother.”
In fact, none of the men in her life had ever taken Roxie home to meet his family. She was more the fling type. The girl picked up at a bar, good for some light, no-strings fun. In other words, she wasn’t wife material.
In a low whisper, he mumbled, “Stripper?”
Of course he’d go there. “Why did you just whisper that like an old church lady? Do you have something against strippers? A girl’s got to make a living whatever way she can.”
The crowd went quiet, and heat rose up Rosie’s neck. Why couldn’t she ever keep her mouth shut?
After a brief, awkward pause, Mary Ann yelled, “What’s a stripper?”
Roxie closed her eyes, mortified.
To her surprise, Lucas burst out laughing first, and the rest of the gathering followed suit. Conversations resumed while Roxie sat stunned, not sure what had just happened. Alex looked genuinely embarrassed, and a pang of guilt formed a knot in her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Now you see what I mean. I have a knack for causing scenes.”
“Not your fault. I shouldn’t have made the joke in the first place.”
Ah. She’d thought he was serious. And now they all thought Roxie was a stripper. Awesome.
“For the record,” she said low enough for only Alex to hear, “I’ve never been a stripper.” Why she needed to tell him that, Roxie didn’t know. She didn’t judge anyone for their choices, but in the long list of things people could hold against her, taking off her clothes for money wasn’t one of them.
As if not sure what to do with this information, Alex silently nodded.
The appetizers began to arrive, and Roxie vowed not to speak for the rest of the meal. She couldn’t undo the mess she’d just made, but by damn, she would not make it worse.
As Alex had expected, Callie didn’t make it to morning. The headache hit around two when she’d gotten up for a bathroom visit. By three, the pounding was strong enough to bring on tears. Sam called Alex and had his wife in the ER by four, delayed by having to wait for someone to come stay with Connor.
Alex met them there. Contrary to what he’d said at dinner, he didn’t need a full exam to know that Callie would be off her feet for the remainder of the pregnancy. Though the exam results confirmed his suspicions. She’d shown signs of gestational high blood pressure at twenty weeks, but medication had kept it under control. That was no longer the case. Between the swelling, the headache, and a sudden bout of nausea, bed rest was unavoidable. The fetal monitor showed the babies faring much better than their mother, but that could change at any time.
As with most multiple births, the odds were high that the babies would deliver early, but if they could stay where they were for five to six more weeks, the twins had a much higher chance of avoiding many of the complications that came with premature birth. Bringing them into the world as healthy as possible while protecting the mother was a job that Alex took seriously.
Once Callie was released with strict orders to limit all activities going forward and a regimen of new medications, Alex headed home. Exhausted, he planned to have Flora reschedule his morning appointments so he could get some sleep before taking on the afternoon. The fatigue was the only excuse he had for not noticing the black-clad jogger who had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit. Alex slammed on the brakes, threw the car into park, and dashed around the Prius to find Roxie Chandler on her bottom in the grass.
“Are you okay?” he asked, squatting beside her and checking for broken bones.
> Roxie brushed his hands away. “I’m fine. No thanks to you. Is this how you get new patients? By running them over with that wussy car?”
“I didn’t see you,” Alex explained, ignoring the insult to his choice of vehicle. “I guess I’m more tired than I realized.”
“Tired?” she repeated. “It’s barely eight in the morning.”
Alex held out a hand to help her up. “I’ve been awake since three thirty with a patient.”
Roxie ignored his hand and got up on her own. After brushing off her yoga pants, she straightened her earmuffs, then stuffed her hands in the pockets of her fleece jacket. Looking him in the eye for the first time since he’d nearly run her over, she said, “You look like shit.”
Not the most tactful observation, but her brutal honesty made him smile. “I’m sure I do. I didn’t peg you for a jogger.”
“I didn’t peg you for vehicular homicide. I guess we’ve both been enlightened this morning.”
Conceding the point, Alex bowed. “Touché.” She rewarded him with a rare grin, which altered her face entirely. Her features softened, and a hint of vulnerability shone in her eyes. Unable to help himself, he whispered, “Wow.”
Her brows gathered. “What?”
“You looked different for a second there.”
“Different how?”
“Different good,” he said.
They continued to stare at one another in silence until Roxie took a step back. “I need to get back to my run.”
Alex stepped back as well. “I should be going, too. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“No worries,” she said. “I’d have probably done more damage to your car than it could do to me.”
Seizing the excuse to keep her there, he said, “That’s the second time you’ve insulted my car. What do you have against a Prius?”
Her heart-shaped face twisted in obvious disgust. “I mean. . . Look at it. It might as well be a toy.”
“It’s better for the environment than that monster you drive.”
“That monster is a 1972 Chevy Camaro Z28 with a Muncie M22 four-speed manual transmission. Do you understand how badass that is?”