“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.”