I laugh with her and then reach to cover her hand. “It just might be.” I’m not sure why I suddenly feel insecure, but I raise my chin and hold tighter to the happiness I feel for my friend.
Taking my hand between both of hers, she releases a sigh of relief. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I had this fear that something could go wrong, and I didn’t know how I would handle that.”
“You wouldn’t. Not alone. We would. You, Nick, and I. I love you guys, and I’ll always be here for you through good and bad.”
“That’s why I wanted you to be the first to know.”
A soft gasp fills my chest. “You haven’t told anyone else?”
“No,” she admits, smiling. “We were debating if we should at the party, but as I said, it’s early. Just two and a half months.”
I squeeze her hand. “You should. This party will have all your closest friends and family. This baby should be celebrated and showered with love.” Speaking of the party has me thinking of another. “Can I throw you a baby shower?”
Her laughter wipes any doubts or fears from her eyes. “I can’t think of a better person to throw me a party.” She rubs her stomach. “Or this baby.” She goes into the closet, and I see she still has a few of our office supplies tucked away in there. Taking a gray binder from the shelf, she holds it up, and says, “I swear I’ve already lost some of my mind growing this baby.”
“If that isn’t writing on the wall for how the next seven months are going to be, I don’t know what is.”
“Let’s go back downstairs. I’m hungry all the time now.” I hear her laughing as she walks into the hallway.
I reach the door, but then say, “Oops. I forgot my wine.” I dash back into the office—I mean nursery. That’s going to take some getting used to. Just like my friend being pregnant. I’m quick to grab the glass but stop and look around once more.
Time is moving on, and our lives are forever changing. I smile, knowing not only will she always play a part in my life but now her child will also have the best and most stylish aunt ever. I can’t wait to spoil this baby rotten.
In the meantime, I down my wine before I reach the kitchen, not sure what’s come over me. Sitting down on the barstool again, I open the binder.
After she eats a cracker, she asks, “Did you know Harrison’s staying with us?”
“You forgot to mention it, and I ran into him when I got here.” Literally, but I leave that detail out of the story. I push the empty glass forward. “I’m going to need a refill.”
She laughs as she pours, pushing it back to me and tilting her head. “It’s not that bad.”
“So says you.” I take a big gulp, hoping to stop my head from spinning. He does that to me. Something I’ll never admit. “How long is he staying?”
“Two months.”
The liquid spews from my lips, covering the surface in front of me and Natalie’s white pants.
Natalie hurries to my rescue, hooking her arm over my back and patting me with the other hand. “Are you all right?”
“Months?” I scratch out when I finally catch my breath.
She giggles and rolls her eyes, returning to the other side of the island, closer to the platter. “Is that what all the hacking was about? Harrison? Good grief, Tatum. Sometimes you make it hard to know if you like him or hate him.”
“Hate him,” I mumble, and then take a slow sip, letting that hit of reality sink in.
Natalie is wrong. Two months.
It is that bad.
Damn him.
I expected my world to change when my best friend told me she was pregnant. And even though those two words have significant implications for our lives, they have nothing on that arrogant and frustratingly sexy man and these two words—Harrison Decker.
2
Harrison Decker
“The Manhattan office runs smoothly and is performing financially. If support is needed, headquarters is listening in LA. So, I’m here not only to represent the Decker brand in the city but also to establish myself individually now that I have my real estate license for New York.”
I don’t shift or fidget. I’m confident in my ability to sell property, so a rock star doesn’t intimidate me. I’ve sold homes to Oscar winners, baseball hall of famers, Super Bowl quarterbacks, and rock ’n’ roll legends. I’ve known Kaz Fabian—guitarist, descended from Russian royalty, pianist prodigy—for years back in LA. He’s one of the most interesting people I know, and his band, The Resistance, stands in a league of their own. But at the end of a long day, everyone needs a place to lay their head.
They come to me to make their real estate dreams come true.