Rockstar Baby (Crescent Cove 6)

“Does it hurt?” I slipped my hands into my pockets, but I could still see that mad dancing going on under her skin.

“The kicking? Not always. Now that he’s almost full-term though? Yeah. He’s a budding footballer for sure.”

I smiled. “Ivy is picking up some of our words too.”

“And she’ll pick up more, if you give her the chance.” Zoe shocked me into silence by gripping my wrist, hard. “The biggest gift you can give her is your presence. Not fancy bracelets or knitted sweaters. Those are nice too. But she wants you with her. Even when she says she doesn’t. Even when she threatens to make you sterile. She doesn’t mean it. Probably.”

Ian strolled over with his plate of baked goods. “I saw you feeling around on my wife. I hope you have good insurance, son.”

“Almost wife.” She nudged him in the gut and thieved his plate, smiling up at him. “I’m going to have a little lie down. I’ll be taking these with me.”

Ian let out a long breath. “See? I live to do her bidding and she leaves me with crumbs.” He hauled her in for an embarrassingly long kiss. I turned my head away and still, it went on and on.

But I found myself smiling just the same. This—some variation of this anyway—could be Ivy and me. And yes, it was scary. Yes, it was overwhelming.

More than anything, it was amazing.

A moment later, Zoe wandered off, scones in hand. Ian had snagged two, one of which he offered me. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to prove to her I will be by her side for every step of this.”

“And the baby?”

I crunched into the scone. All of a sudden, I was ravenous. Were pregnancy cravings kicking in for me as well? “The same goes for him or her. God, there’s a him or her.”

“Unless there’s two.” Ian’s eyes twinkled. “Or three. Sometimes there’s even four or five or six…”

I pointed at him. “You’re not even funny.”

“Sure I am. I’m irresistible in all ways. Besides, you’re most likely safe on that score.” He paused to chew his scone. “Probably.”

Twenty-Three

No matter how early I showed up at the truck, he was there waiting for me.

Every damn day.

We’d gotten past the painting to the pure muscle portion of the truck prep. Rory showed up with more bandages on his fingers than skin some days, but he showed up. And never complained. No matter what I threw at him.

He even went to the hardware store and bought a drill and tool belt which I had a hard time not laughing at. Followed directly by drooling because he kinda looked hot with the whole workman thing going on.

That of course put me in a bad mood for two days straight.

His next task was more creative. He went across the street and set up on the grass to do some crazy masking tape tricks to paint the faux jukebox sandwich board sign. He wouldn’t let me help because of the chemicals. Personally, I was pretty sure he just wanted to play perfectionist with the jukebox colors. He had a host of spray paints in his arsenal along with a ridiculous face mask to combat the breeze coming off the water.

He’d come back this morning looking for chalkboard paint so the center of his genius mini jukebox could be changed like the song strips on the truck. The fact that he was a very good artist on top of all the other things he could do pissed me off way more than it should have.

Then again, him breathing pissed me off lately.

But he’d been with me every step of the way for the last week. Bringing me lunches, drinks, making me take breaks.

“Ivy Rose, come out here and take a look.”

I sighed and gripped the counter inside the truck. I didn’t want to go out there. And I wasn’t sure which was worse—Rory saying the nickname that followed me into dreams or Ivy Rose.

Couldn’t I just stay in here and ignore him? Besides, it was a million times more bearable thanks to the trio of fans Rory had set up around the window. I didn’t even know there were fans with clips on them, but he found them.

He’d thought about me and my comfort and the fact that I was in a tin can in the dead of summer.