My Ex's Baby (Crescent Cove 8)

That didn’t require being madly in love. You could just be in like enough to do the deed—all right, serious freaking like—and then you could just…let it happen.

Especially if the guy couldn’t use latex. And you weren’t—I wasn’t—on birth control, since my sex life was as sporadic as sunshine in February in Crescent Cove.

Sometimes happy accidents didn’t need to be planned out years in advance. Women had unplanned babies every day.

Besides, the idea was forming in my head, so that kind of counted as a plan, right?

I pressed the backs of my now ice-cold hands to my flaming cheeks. Oh my God, what was I thinking?

You’re thinking you could still have that baby with August. The one you weren’t ready for and now want with all your heart.

Eleven

The bookcase was pissing me off.

To be fair, it was a perfectly reasonable piece. I’d fashioned it out of oak I’d polished to a fine sheen and added three shelves that could expand to hold a book that would face out. A perfect item for a bookstore or to my thoughts, a child’s bedroom. It was a good height to go under a window, with carved moons and stars and ladybugs on the fascia dropdown from the top shelf. Like a child’s mobile might look. My currently sleeping niece had something similar on the bed I had for in her my apartment.

I didn’t have a child of my own, although I was set up as if I did. Technically, I hadn’t needed to do so with Ivy’s half of the duplex mere feet away, but they wouldn’t live here forever. Their new house was being built and come spring, the work there would pick up the pace. By the summer, I’d probably be thinking about renting out the other half of the building.

Unless I expanded it into a proper workshop. Mine at the store was big enough for all but the largest projects, but lately, I was chafing at the bit. The idea of spreading out into a more spacious area was appealing.

I sat back on my haunches and traced my fingertip over the moon and stars cutouts. In the meantime, I should give this to my sister and move onto the next. Even if I selfishly had this idea brewing to keep it for myself as the prototype for the line of children’s furniture I had in mind.

Sure, some I would gladly gift to my niece. Some I could certainly sell, especially in a town as prolific at making babies as Crescent Cove.

But that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to keep it. Ever since Kinleigh had almost been pregnant, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. That it could be reality. I could start a family of my own. Start building something for myself, not just pieces to give to other people for their families.

Granted, I had tons of my own work in my place. Half the time if I wanted something, it was just easier and more enjoyable to create it to my own specifications. I also gave pieces to friends and family all the time. But to do things for my own family, one I’d built from the ground up just like the hunks of wood I made into something entirely different…

Well, that would be incredible.

I picked up my silent phone off the side table and tossed it down again. Kinleigh’s bizarre text had led to a whole lot of nothing. I’d replied thinking she was either bored out of her mind or drunk—or both—because why else would she ask something so ridiculous?

Then again, maybe my sister had put that thought in her head from what I’d said to cover my ass back in high school. My mom had found a bunch of condoms in my jeans pocket when I was probably far too young to have them, and I’d lied and told her I was carrying them for a buddy. I wouldn’t be using them, since I’d discovered I had a latex allergy after using gloves in science class.

It was the lamest excuse ever, and I didn’t even know if she’d bought it. She and my dad had spent inordinate amounts of time making sure I was the next thing to a monk, so I didn’t accidentally impregnate some unfortunate woman who wasn’t on birth control. To the point that I was almost certain they were pulling my leg, but I’d been too embarrassed about the whole thing to ever ask.

Little did they know I’d never gone without a condom.

Ever.

My mom had also made sure to oh so considerately tell both my siblings and my dad, however, and the lie still seemed to resurface at the worst times. Like Thanksgiving when my ninety-eight-year-old great aunt Irma was in attendance.

Rather than staring at my phone all night, I took a couple snapshots of the bookcase. Didn’t mean I intended to sell it. Didn’t mean anything except if someone saw them on my site and inquired, I might end up making another in their wood of choice.

Or else I could just keep the pictures to myself for a while.

I circled the piece, inspecting it for flaws. For needed improvements. Places where the wood could be smoother, or if a particular scratch seemed more like a design flaw than a unique enhancement. I was never fully happy with my work, but eventually, even I had to pronounce a project done and put it up for sale.

This one? I was moving to my bedroom, where it would sit at the foot of my bed until I decided what to do with it.

I moved to my Mac to take care of some customer emails. Then I checked on a blissfully sleeping Rhiannon before deciding I’d kick back with a beer and some TV. Which really translated to grabbing my phone five times to make sure it was still working while channel surfing.

Finally, I gave up and tossed my cell aside. Ivy would be home eventually, and I could pump her for details. In a casual, cool, practically blasé way.

At the sound of grinding gears, I shot straight up in my chair.

I’d been halfway to sleep. I was restless on a good night, and lately, my hours of rest had been precious and few. But I was awake now.