Staying with Dallas is not an option.
What would he tell his daughter? That I’m homeless and then—surprise!—I’m carrying your sibling?
Chapter Ten
Dallas
“But … but Auntie Lauren lets me have it,” Maven whines.
I snatch the coffee cup from my six-year-old, who is under the impression she’s a grown-up, and replace it with an organic apple juice box. “I’ll be having a conversation with Auntie Lauren.”
My sister’s idea of a well-balanced diet is iced coffee, margaritas, and deli sandwiches from the hospital’s vending machine.
She sits down at the table with a un-caffeinated frown at the same time I place a bowl of strawberry oatmeal in front of her. I promised Lucy that Maven would be taken care of, and that means making her eat balanced meals.
My days have gone from traveling the world with Hollywood’s elite to packing nutritious lunches, attending dance recitals, and reading the same bedtime stories for months on end.
But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Time is valuable. Hug your children. Kiss your wife. Make life your bitch because you never know when it’s going to turn on you.
I grab my phone and sit down next to Maven.
“What are you doing?” she asks before taking a bite of her oatmeal.
“Texting your aunt.”
“Tattletale,” she mutters with a frown.
Me: Mom and Dad paid for four years of nursing school, and you don’t know that kids shouldn’t have coffee? Your license needs to be revoked.
My phone beeps a few minutes later.
Lauren: Relax, old man. Unbeknownst to your caffeine-fiend spawn, I give her decaf. She wants to be my mini me, which I approve of.
My family has been the key to my survival. Lauren stepped up to be a mother figure to Maven when Lucy passed.
Me: That’s scary. Is the apartment underneath you still vacant?
The struggling musician who lived underneath her got evicted last month for playing music all day and night. She threw a party in celebration when he left.
Lauren: Depends on why you’re asking. If it’s for a dude in a band, then no.
Me: Give me your landlord’s number.
Lauren: WHY?
Jesus, they might be my backbones, but they are damn nosy.
Me: I need to find a place for Willow.
Lauren: Holy shit! She’s moving here? The apartment is open. I can’t wait to have a front row seat to your guys’ drama!
Me: Send me the damn number.
I grab Maven’s backpack, and she gets into my truck at the same time Lauren sends me the number. I wait until I drop Maven off at my parents’ before calling Lauren’s landlord, Fred. He gives me the good news that the apartment is vacant but is unwilling to put a hold on it for me, so I drive to his office and pay the security deposit.
The apartment comes fully furnished, but I decide to take a peek at it before Willow moves in. I’ll do anything in my power to make sure she’s comfortable here.
It’s a damn good thing I did.
“I need help,” I tell Hudson when he answers my call.
“With what?” he asks.
“Getting Willow’s apartment together. I’ll also need some input from Stella.”
He takes a deep breath, almost sounding surprised. “So, you’re really doing this, huh? Moving Willow here?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“No, I thought she wouldn’t. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Chapter Eleven
Willow
Lauren pops the trunk and steps out of her over-the-top pink Mustang when I walk out of the airport. The car is hideous yet has a certain appeal to her.
“You know, I’m confused,” she says, helping me with my bags and then throwing her hands on her hips in question, as if I can read her mind as to what she’s confused about.
One thing I admire about Lauren is her inability to bullshit. She might just barely be grazing five feet, but she’ll ask you straight up instead of gossiping behind your back.
I slam the trunk shut. “Confused about what?”
She doesn’t answer my question until we’re in the car. “On why you’ll screw my brother but refuse to let him pick you up from the airport.”
It’s a three-hour drive to Blue Beech, and I asked Lauren to pick me up instead of Dallas, so I wouldn’t have to spend hours alone with him, answering questions. I have the impression it might not be much different with his sister.
I fix my glare on her. “Haven’t you ever had a one-night stand?”
“I live in a town with a population of six hundred. Half of the men were married off before their balls dropped. There’s no one to have a one-night stand with.” She pauses to give me a side-eye. “I guess I can’t speak for everyone.”
“Oh, kiss my ass,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes.
Sleep hasn’t been my friend lately, and I had an early flight. I doubt I’ll be able to unwind when I get to Blue Beech either.
“Did he do that, too?” She laughs when I flip her off. “You kinky kids, you.”
“I wish you had never found out,” I grumble.
“Secrets don’t make friends,” she sings out, gearing the car in drive.
“They sure can keep them though.”
She tips her thumb toward my growing belly. “That, my friend, would be a mighty hard secret to keep.”
I made a list of lies when my first pregnancy test came out positive. IVF treatment. Secretly adopted a baby. A one-night stand, and I didn’t get the guy’s name. The last one is technically only a half-lie.
I slump down in my seat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Doing what? Moving to the best place in the world and being surrounded by delightful company? We’re going to be neighbors. That, my dear, will be the highlight of your life.”
“No, I can’t believe I packed up and moved to a town void of takeout sushi but also where I’ll be labeled a widower-chasing tramp. Might as well pin a scarlet letter to my chest and call it a day.”
“You can’t be serious.” She peeks over at me, her amused smile fading into concern. “Willow, no one is going to call you a widower-chaser. I mean, not to your face at least.” She pauses to give me a cheesy grin. “Although it does have a nice ring to it. Willow the Widower-Chaser.”
“That’s it. Turn this pink puss car around.”
I yelp at the sound of the door locking. “Prepare for a three-hour drive filled with prying questions and nineties hip-hop. I hope you’re a Snoop Dogg fan.”
“Wow, this is a nice place.”
I drop my bag onto the mahogany wood floor and explore my new apartment. It’s an older building with a floor plan similar to Lauren’s, except mine is a two bedroom and has more space. Something like this would cost a kidney in LA. My mom told me I was choosing to live in rich-people poverty when I moved there.