“I hope so.” Jean sighed.
“It will be. You’ll see. A whole fresh new start.”
* * *
Then the two women separated, giving me a perfect profile of Nell’s baby bump. But way worse was Jean’s matching one. The woman was pregnant. Very much so. The martini glass slipped from my numb fingers, smashing when it hit the hard floor.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled to no one.
CHAPTER TWO
I’d been tricked. Betrayed.
After Andre and Jean ate their lunch, we headed outside to deal with her stuff. The cold wind suited my mood to perfection. Talk about disappointed.
“Don’t lift that, it looks heavy,” I snapped.
Jean blinked. “It’s a pillow.”
“The world’s largest pillow ever. You can’t be too careful.” My gaze roamed over her swollen middle. “You’re…”
“Pregnant?” she asked with a voice dripping poison and sugar. “Are you having trouble with the concept?”
“Absolutely not. I was just going to say huge, that’s all.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “Thanks, Eric. That makes me feel so much better.”
“I just…”
“Don’t bother.” The woman turned back to her sensible, medium-sized SUV and got busy riffling through the contents. I was surprised she’d been able to squeeze into the driver’s seat. Boxes and stuff took up almost every inch inside the vehicle. Each and every box seemed to have been neatly labeled with the contents. The woman took her organization seriously.
She looked over her shoulder. “You know, I can’t help noticing that Eric-the-smooth-moving-flirt has been suddenly replaced by Eric-the-awkward-jerk.”
“Well, you said you were single.” I folded my arms defensively across my chest.
“I am.”
And then there was an awkward silence.
“Yeah, but … I mean, in your condition…” I fumbled to a halt.
She turned, face all scrunched up. Like I was the one with the problem.
“Just hop out of the way so I can grab some boxes,” I said, voice gruff.
Still nothing from her.
“It’s a second-story walk-up and you have a lot of stuff to get up there. You should be taking it easy.” Hands on hips, I tapped my black leather boot against the sidewalk, waiting her out. “Jean, I’m not trying to insult you. It’s the truth.”
She swore quietly, going back to fussing with the contents in the vehicle. I don’t think any woman has ever given me the silent treatment quite this quickly. Usually I’m good for at least a couple of hours after seeing them naked.
Man, I still couldn’t believe this was happening.
God hated me or something. Pregnant women and me were enema. Anathema. Whatever. Now that I’d seen her out in the autumn light, however, she looked younger than I’d first guessed. Despite her tired eyes, her skin was smooth, soft looking. She was likely closer to her early twenties than mid.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Why do you care?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Just curious.”
“How old are you?”
“Nearly thirty.”
She sniffed. “I’m twenty-two.”
Young, like I’d thought. She was probably too immature for me, anyway. “Come on, Jean. Let me get some of the boxes.”
Boyd ambled out of the Dive Bar, turning his head this way and that, looking up and down the street. I raised my hand and he started over in our direction. The big cook would make short work out of moving all this stuff. Behind us, Andre and Nell came out of the tenants’ entrance to the Bird Building. The place was a big brick building about a hundred years old. Just past the door was an entryway with stairs leading up to the second floor, followed by two empty shops, their windows covered in flyers about local events. Concerts and parades and shit. They’d been vacant for a while, unfortunately. Andre’s Guitar Den came next, then Pat’s tattoo parlor Inkaho, and the Dive Bar on the corner.
“Everything’s good to go. Alex and I gave it a cleaning last week just to be sure,” said Nell, smacking a kiss on Jean’s cheek. “You’ll meet Alex later. She’s probably busy working or something now. She’s sort of a shut-in.”
“You two didn’t have to do that,” said Jean. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Andre leaned against the SUV. “Your furniture got delivered yesterday too, so it’s all good to go.”
“Excellent,” said Jean. “I can’t wait to sleep in a decent bed again. Road trips when you’re seven months’ pregnant kind of suck.”
“I bet.”
“Who’s minding the kitchen?” I asked.
“Lydia will text Boyd if they need something,” said Nell. “We’re only going to be a few feet away from the place.”
I frowned.
“I own the kitchen, Eric. Not you,” she said. “You’re in charge of the bar, that’s all.”
One of Jean’s eyebrows inched up slightly.
So I might have implied that I was the sole owner. Shit happened. I crossed my arms. “Fine. No need to bite my head off.”
“My best online friend just moved to town. We’ve been texting and skyping for months. She’s been an absolute rock for me through all the nerves of being pregnant again,” said Nell. “Stop messing with my happy.”
And then there was an awkward silence. Great. If only there was some way to get out of helping without looking like a raging asshole. The possibility of anything happening between me and Jean had been buried six feet deep, never to be spoken of again.
After rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, Andre took a step forward. “Let’s get you moved in.”
“Right.” Jean stepped back without further argument. “Okay.”
Boyd managed a shy smile. Then he grabbed about half the contents of the vehicle in one swoop and headed inside. With her pillow, a green retro-style handbag, and one small box, Jean followed. I’d wanted to take the box, which looked heavy, but couldn’t think of a way to say so without inviting further wrath. Pregnant women were fragile. Nell knew that more than anyone. She should have been backing me up on this.
Andre and I loaded up next while Nell watched, making useful suggestions. Not. Her husband, Pat, must have been busy doing a tattoo, or no doubt he’d have been corralled into helping too.
The apartment Jean rented was the largest, situated directly above the Dive Bar. My brother, Joe, had been the builder in charge of the project, turning all of these old office spaces into apartments. The others were studio style. But this one had a main bedroom on the right by the door, and a separate office-type space to the left, along with the bathroom. Guess the office space would be perfect for a nursery. Down the end of the short hallway was the open kitchen/dining/living area. Joe had done a terrific job; the place looked like it belonged in a magazine.
And there stood Jean in the middle of it all, crying her goddamn eyes out, sobbing like her heart had been broken. Without thinking, I just snapped.
“What’d you do?” I yelled at a wide-eyed Boyd.
The big man cringed, gaze darting from Jean to me and back again.