Babymoon or Bust: A Novel

“You bitch. I’m going to get you back one day. So hard.”

A husky laugh. “Just say thank you and tell me about that handsome mountain man.”

Tessie needles her brow and sets the laptop on the bed. “Tell you about what? How much he hates me?”

She saw it all over his handsome, grumpy face. He thinks she’s a bitch. A far cry from the silly dancing girl he met in that bar. Not to mention she brought up his dead wife. What hope do they have of even having a cordial conversation without it dissolving into chaos?

“He doesn’t hate you,” Ash says. “I mean, sure, you have the power to scare him away with your commitment issues and organic yogurt, but he came to find you, Tess.”

“I wanted to be here with you, Ash. Not him.” She glares at the door. Solomon returned moments ago, stomping around the living room like an ogre who’s emerged from his cave.

“Believe me, I wanted to be there. But you needed this.” She can practically hear the glee in Ash’s voice. She’s floating on a traitorous cloud nine high. “You have to finish it now.”

“There is nothing to finish. It was a one-night thing. I was drunk.”

“You weren’t that drunk. You talked about him. Down to the color of his eyes. I’ve never heard you talk about a guy like that before.”

Tessie cringes, a warm flush breaking out over her body. Ash’s right. She did talk about him. Because what was the harm? He was hot, and she was a million miles away from him. He was a boost, a jump start, a memory she returned to when her spirits dipped.

Solomon was a perfect dream man of a one-night stand, but now he’s here in front of her, and all she wants to do is pull the ripcord and evacuate. Sneak out on him like that first night. Because that’s what she does when things get too close. She runs, she pushes.

Because turning down love is power.

Turning down love is safe.

Besides, she’s had her three strikes at love.

Her dog.

Her dad.

Her mom.

Losing anyone else. . .

“There’s nothing between us,” she insists, twisting a rogue lock of hair around her finger. “We’re handling business. Baby business.”

A long silence. So long that Tessie pulls the phone away from her ear to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.

Then a sigh. “Don’t you think you owe it to yourself to see the what-could-be?”

“We’re strangers.”

“Not for long. You’re having a baby together. You can’t be strangers.” Ash’s voice turns soft. Inspiring. “Maybe you could be something.”

Tessie’s stomach turns to goo as she’s suddenly hit by the feminine urge to take Solomon’s lip between her teeth and kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

No way. Absolutely not.

They can’t be something. Something is off-the-charts ridiculous. Because she and Solomon, they live in opposite worlds. He’s hulking and lumbering and still in love with his dead wife, and she’s—she’s an uptight workaholic mess.

They’ll share a child and that’s it.

“Not everyone is your father, Tessie.”

She groans as she struggles to sit up, her heavy belly a barricade to relaxation. “That’s not it. Solomon and I—we are not into each other’s life’s rhythm. We’re like snow and sun, okay?”

Tipping as far forward as her belly will allow, she taps her way out of her email, saving her design. Which is an immediate mistake. The click-clack of her nails on the keyboard has Ash gasping.

“Are you working? Unbelievable. I can hear you working.”

She bites her lip, not even bothering to lie. “I’m almost finished.”

“Your mom wanted you to see stars. Not work your ass off for them.”

Tessie curls up in a tight ball against the pillow. The admonishment stings.

She knows.

She knows what her mother wanted for her.

Listen to more music. Find your stars. When you find that one good man, you better kiss him. Then keep him.

Her mother was barely lucid, dying in a hospital bed of a cancer that ate her quickly, but her words have haunted Tessie ever since. She’s kept them close, heeded them like an X that marks the spot on a map. Like a spotlight to guide her life. Wise words from the best woman in the world. She had her mom for seventeen wonderful years.

And it still wasn’t enough.

Tessie can only hope she’ll be the type of parent her mother was. Happy and warm and safe. Her mother always said I love you. Never let a day pass without it. Was the role model of independence. Was both mom and dad. Taught her how to change a tire and how to walk in the highest of high heels.

If her mother were still here, she’d tell Tessie to trust Solomon. Because that’s who she was. Kind and sweet and trusting. Everything Tess still wants to be.

Everything she’s not.

Oh God. What if Solomon’s a better parent than she could ever be?

What if she fails as a mother?

The thought is like a hurricane, thrashing her stomach with nerves.

“That’s the point of all this, Tess.” Ash’s voice draws her back to the conversation. “You don’t have to be alone in this. You can ask Solomon for help.”

Never.

Because asking for help means letting him in. Once he’s in, it means getting close. It means depending on him, loving him, only to watch him leave. Because life’s a wash, and it all ends in loss.

She palms her stomach.

Except for her and Bear.

Her email chimes.

Her bladder beckons.

“I have to pee,” she announces, scooting off the mattress.

“Fine.” Ash snorts. “Change the subject. Have fun, you cranky pregnant thing, have fun.”

After waddling to the bathroom, Tessie pauses by the bedroom door. Dipping as low as her belly will allow, she peeks through the crack in the door to see Solomon squeezing his big, burly body onto the couch. The blanket draped across his lap could double as a handkerchief.

A ripple of worry flits through her. What if they can’t come to an agreement? Solomon wouldn’t take Bear away from her, would he? He seems like a good guy, but she’s been with good guys before. They’re all good until they aren’t.

Her eyes narrow on the water pitcher sitting on the bar. Maybe he’ll get Montezuma’s revenge and book it home.

She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders, pushing back at the building worry. Her emotions are making her crazy. She needs sleep. A clear head for the morning.

Tessie crawls into bed, turns off the light, and squeezes her pillow against her body, her son—her heart, a wild flutter inside her.





Six a.m. Coffee in hand, Solomon opens the sliding glass door to the terrace, a grudging appreciation flooding him when he sees the ocean. Though he feels like a traitor to Chinook, he has to admit that this hot, uncomfortable country is impressive.

Because goddamn that view.

The sunrise is a brilliant blast of pinks and yellows. The crash of the ocean and seabirds a symphony of noise. Salty sea air coats his skin in a damp dewiness as he takes in the rise of the morning. Despite the sun, there’s a chill in the air.

He shrugs on his flannel.

Almost as peaceful as Chinook.

Back when he was a chef, Solomon counted on time. Time with his wife. Time in his kitchen. He worked long days and long nights, but he always got up with the sunrise and made sure he saw the stars at night. Waking and sleeping with the earth. A way to love and appreciate the land he grew up on. After Serena died, he kept to his routine. Waking. Rising. Breathing. Not dying. A reminder that life was still there. Spinning. Even if he didn’t feel it at the time.

And now. . .

Now he doesn’t know what he feels.

You do. You know, Sol.

Jesus, fine. He shakes off Serena’s voice.

He’s finishing the last drop of his coffee when the bedroom door blasts open. Dressed in a white off-the-shoulder dress that accentuates her tan and cork wedges, Tessie looks like a pregnant bronze ocean goddess who’s just stepped off a yacht in Greece. The only things out of place are the laptop she carries and the phone tucked under her ear.

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