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  A ‘Coffee Date’ BONUS Novella

  Nia Forrester

  An unexpected visitor up-ends the rhythm of the new life Rand and Dani are building together, reminding them of the consequences of Rand’s difficult past, and raising even tougher questions about their future.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  Copyright © 2018 Stiletto Press, LLC

  Philadelphia, PA

  All rights reserved.

  ~1~

  I am waiting in the Arrivals terminal, fidgeting with the ends of my hair and twirling strands around my forefinger. My feet are killing me, and my bladder is screaming for relief. But if I leave, I’m worried that I’ll miss them. And if I miss them, Little Rocket’s grandmother will dismiss me as a flake, and have even more reason to dislike me.

  Rocket is coming back from Florida today, after a weeklong vacation with his grandparents, the parents of his biological mother, Faith. Since Rand has no living parents, and neither do I, they are the only grandparents Little Rocket has.

  Even so, I had a really difficult time getting to sleep the first night he was gone, imagining that they might decide to keep him or something, and that Rand and I would be locked in a dramatic courtroom battle during which they objected to Rocket coming home at all, because he was living in a morally-compromised household, with his father and his father’s not-yet-wife.

  That’s not fair, though, to think that Faith’s mother will have ‘more’ of a reason to dislike me. I don’t actually know for sure that she dislikes me at all. We’ve never even had a complete conversation.

  When she calls for Little Rocket, she is perfectly polite, if a little distant. I suppose I would be distant as well, with the woman who has taken my daughter’s place. And I suppose I would be even more distant if that woman were, like me, hugely pregnant and within weeks of delivery.

  Eight months ago

  “Are you sure? So soon?”

  I look at Rand incredulously. We haven’t been using birth control since the night of our engagement, nor in the three months just before that.

  I think my incredulity shows because Rand quickly closes the distance between us and pulls me against his chest.

  “I mean … I don’t know. I thought it would take more time, or something.”

  I bury my face into his shirt and inhale him, taking comfort in the solid feel of his chest against my face, and the sensation of him resting his chin atop my head. His arms around me are firm, his hold secure. I always feel so safe when he hugs me, like there’s nothing that could tear me away from him, or harm me while he is near.

  “It’s not that soon,” I say, my voice muffled.

  Rand pulls back and looks down at me, and I see two things in his eyes: complete love. And complete terror. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

  “Wow,” he says. “So, we’re having a baby, huh?”

  I nod. “Looks like it.”

  “Wow,” he says again.

  Pulling back a little further, I try to meet his gaze, even though he is looking off into the distance, his eyes unfocused.

  “Are you happy?” I ask.

  At that, Rand’s attention is drawn down to me again.

  “Yeah!” he says, far too quickly. “Of course I am. W …”

  “Don’t say ‘wow’ again.”

  Rand kisses my forehead. “Nah, I mean … I just. You just moved in here, and I was thinking that …”

  “That what, Rand?” I ask, feeling my annoyance begin to stir. “That we’d have time for a few more parties first?”

  “Don’t get all … All I mean is, we just … I thought it would be at least a year before …”

  I pull completely out of his arms and feel my eyes prickling.

  “This is not how this is supposed to go,” I tell him. “I say, ‘I’m pregnant’ and you’re supposed to say, ‘that’s amazing, baby!’ and then …”

  Rand hunches his shoulders like he’s cringing a little. “Shit. I know, but …”

  “Do me a favor? Leave those ‘buts’ exactly where you put ‘wow’, okay?”

  At that, Rand laughs. “Dani … I mean, of course I’m happy. I want us to have babies. As many as you want. But … I mean …”

  I shake my head and turn away from him. “You’re an asshole,” I say, my voice thick with unshed tears.

  He holds me by the shoulders and turns me around to face him again.

  “C’mon. You know I’m gon’ love the mess out of any kid we have.” He puts a hand on my abdomen. “Hell, I love the little embryo already. But I was just looking forward to you being just my fiancée, and then my wife for a minute. Just mine for a while.”

  That softens me a little, but not completely. “You should have thought of that before we had all that unprotected sex. You asked me why I was even on the Pill. You insisted on not using condoms. You …”

  “I know. Who wants use rubbers with their woman? But I still thought we’d have a minute. C’mere …” He pulls me against his chest again. “Of course, it’s amazing. Maybe you’ll give me my little girl. Would be cool to have a girl …” He is speaking into my hair, one of his large hands low on my back, moving in circles.

  “It’s too late to get all mushy now,” I say, mock-pouting. “You already ruined it with that constipated look you got when you saw the pregnancy test.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He tips my chin upward and kisses me in the way only he ever has. That he can kiss me at all after just watching me throw up—repeated teeth-brushing notwithstanding—makes me soften even further.

  “Are we telling people?” he asks when he releases me.

  “Too soon,” I say, shaking my head.

  Despite the pleasure I would get from seeing the look on the face of his slinky co-worker Alexa who still looks like she wants to pry him from my side, I don’t want to jinx this. I’m a little scared myself, but the moment I saw that plus sign, my mind began whirring with visions of the baby Rand and I would have. Chubby, the color of cinnamon, with his or her daddy’s perfect lips, and a head full of fluffy, dark hair.

  I am already yearning almost painfully for this kid moments after realizing that they will become real. And Rand’s reaction is a letdown.

  He’s spoiled. I know this about him and have always known it. First, as his sister Freya’s only, cherished sibling, and then as an NFL star, Rand has had relatively few times in his life when he wasn’t adored. And then came me.

  I’m sometimes a little rigid with him just to remind him that he can’t always have his own way, but for the most part, I spoil him, too. He is my life’s biggest and best surprise—the boy I fantasized about ever since he was fifteen, grown into a loving, caring, sensitive man, a good father, and now my fiancée. After a year of growing pains, Rand’s feelings about me are unquestionable. So, that makes me spoil him. With my time, my attention, my body. Whatever he wants, I try to give him, and feel confident that the feeling is mutual.

  “You want to go back downstairs?” he asks. “We still have a house full of people. Or we can stay here a little while …” He glances significantly in the direction of the bedroom.

  It’s just the kind of thing he would do—shut the door and try to get a quickie in, while we h
ave folks in the house looking for us. We’re having a housewarming, of sorts. I moved in not too long ago, and this is our way of announcing to the world that not only are we engaged, but that we’re a household, a family.

  “No. You go ahead. I still need to wash my face and fix my makeup.”

  “Okay. See you down there.” Rand kisses me one last time on the forehead. He pauses at the bathroom door before leaving, tapping his palm against the doorframe. “Damn. A baby,” he says shaking his head.

  “Once we have it, we’ve gotta keep it,” I joke.

  Something tells me that no matter what face he’s putting on it, Rand hasn’t fully embraced the idea of a new addition to our brand-new family.

  Faith’s mother emerges from the crowd of people exiting through the glass doors, and for a moment, I panic because I don’t immediately see Little Rocket. But then she pauses, and he emerges from just behind her, having stopped to pick up the handle of his kid-sized roll-aboard which had slipped from his grasp. He is wearing jeans that are slightly too big, and puddle at his ankles.

  Freya, Rand’s sister—and now one of my closest friends—told me I should buy them that way, because Rocket is in a growth spurt. He’s also wearing a white t-shirt that has tropical colors splashed across the front and the word ‘Miami’ with an exclamation point in cheery bubble letters. His hair looks a little long, and his skin a darker brown.

  The vacation was a Carnival cruise, and that produced a whole other slew of anxieties for me, as I pictured everything from food poisoning, to a fire, to Rocket somehow falling overboard. But he looks no worse for the wear. He is chewing gum, and seems perfectly relaxed with Eva, Faith’s mother.

  Then he sees me.

  The change is immediate. Now, he isn’t just walking along coolly like a seasoned world traveler, he is dropping his roll-aboard and running toward me at top-speed. I feel my throat tighten, and my face spreads into an enormous, irrepressible smile.

  “Dani!”

  I crouch to greet him, knowing that he is about to throw himself into my arms, and that my huge, pregnant belly will not deter him one bit. I am so focused on the task of getting down to my knees that I almost fail to register the look on Eva’s face. It is one of mild surprise, and then there is a slight pall before she remembers to smile.

  It is only now that I realize that I assumed Eva knew I was pregnant. I don’t know that she knew. When Rand has conversations with her and her husband, they are brief. I can’t picture him sharing the news. And as for Rocket, I haven’t a clue what he might have talked to his grandparents about or said about me.

  When Rocket is in my arms, I feel my entire body heave, and inside me, the baby kicks. Rocket smells like an unfamiliar soap, and like the clinical scent of airplanes. But when I bury my face in his soft, curly, much-too-long hair, he smells just like himself.

  He pulls back and puts both his little hands on my cheeks and looks at me, as if making sure I am real. He grins widely, and then buries his face between my neck and shoulder and squeezes me tight.

  “I missed you, sweetheart,” I say. “I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you, too,” he says, his voice muffled against my neck.

  For a moment, we just hold each other and then he stands upright again and looking at me once more, bends forward to kiss my belly like he’s seen his father do.

  “Hi, little baby,” he coos.

  I swear, if I weren’t about to face Rand’s former mother-in-law, and in a public place, I would be ugly-crying right now. As it is, I’m blinking like someone with sand in her eyes and wiping the tip of my swollen, oh-so-preggers-nose with a forefinger.

  “Hello.” Eva’s voice is cool, and as always, polite.

  “Oh, hello,” I say. I try to stand, and am having some difficulty, but she simply watches me and waits until I get it together on my own, grunting as I pull my weight upright.

  When we are face-to-face, she gives me a little smile, and then hands Rocket’s abandoned roll-aboard to him.

  “How was the flight?” I ask.

  I return her tepid smile but try to add real warmth to mine. I mean, I get it. I really do. Everything I am doing, she probably can’t help but wish her daughter was still here to do, including raising her cherished, only grandchild. Or at least I think Rocket is the only one.

  “It was fine,” Eva says. “This little one slept the entire way.” She ruffles Rocket’s hair.

  “I saw when we took off though,” Rocket adds. “I like the part where we go over the clouds. I don’t get scared or anything.”

  “You were very brave,” Eva confirms.

  We all stand there for a few moments more, none of us knowing what else to say. Rocket looks between his grandmother and me, waiting for the adults to direct the action, and the conversation.

  “Well … I can drive you to your hotel …”

  Eva waves away the rest of my offer. “Oh. No, thank you,” she says. “I have a friend coming to get me. Since I’ll be in town for the weekend I decided I may as well visit a few people.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, secretly relieved that I won’t have to suffer through awkward conversation with her during a ride to wherever she’s staying.

  “Yes. Very sure. And I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, so …”

  “Tomorrow?” I ask, wrinkling my brow.

  “Oh, I thought …”

  “No, I must have …”

  We speak at the same time, stumbling over our words.

  “Dinner,” Eva says. “Rand invited me to dinner. I thought …”

  “Oh yes! Of course. I thought that was later in the weekend,” I lie.

  The lie isn’t convincing because I see something around her eyes, like skepticism.

  “I’m sure he mentioned it,” I say, trying to fix my faux pas. “But I can’t seem to retain a coherent thought these days.”

  I rub my pregnant belly before realizing that maybe even that gesture may come across as insensitive.

  “Are we going home, Dani?” Rocket tugs at my hand, thank goodness.

  “Yes,” I say. “We are.”

  I look at Eva, not knowing whether I should shake her hand, or attempt a hug. I decide that neither is appropriate.

  “Thank you for showing him a wonderful time,” I say, smiling again. I look down at Rocket. “You had fun, right?”

  “Yeah,” he says, tugging my hand. “But can we go home now?”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, blushing and wishing that little kids were better at reading the room, so to speak.

  Eva is standing still, watching us.

  “Well … see you tomorrow,” I say. “Thanks again.”

  When Rocket and I turn to walk toward the parking area, which is in the opposite direction from ground transportation and baggage claim, I think I can feel Eva’s eyes boring a hole into my back.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again,” I tell Rand later when we’re finishing up dinner. “It was so awkward.”

  Rocket was excited to be back home and among his own things, so we allowed him to eat his dinner in his room, and I am describing for Rand the airport encounter with his former-mother-in-law. He is only half-listening to me, because he’s skimming excerpts of a sports biography that he will be interviewing a guest about.

  Lately, he’s become much more popular as an ESPN host, and there is talk of dumping his co-host altogether and having him carry the hour on his own. He’s nervous about that talk because he doesn’t want there to be bad blood, and he also thinks—wrongly, in my opinion—that he cannot possibly host on his own.

  “Why would it be awkward? You meet at the gate, she hands off Rocket and you go on about your business,” Rand says, absently.

  “For one thing, she couldn’t stop staring at my belly,” I say, getting up and beginning to clear the table.

  At that, Rand looks up and smiles. He looks at my extraordinarily large mound and reaches out to palm it with one hand.

  “I can’t stop staring
at it either,” he says.

  The way he snaps out of inattention to give me what he knows I need never fails to amaze me. I can’t wait to marry him. The only reason we haven’t done it yet is that I found out I was pregnant just three months after we got engaged, and together we decided that rather than rush a wedding and a move to Bristol, Connecticut where Rand’s work is, we would have the baby first, and get married a few months after she gets here.

  A couple of months after that, we’ll find a home in Bristol and move there full-time. For a while, we still commuted there on Fridays, so Rand could do his weekend show. But it was an exhausting routine, and one that my OB advised me to lay off of until after the birth. Now, Rand goes without me, and because he is anxious about the pregnancy, drives back home immediately after his show has taped.

  “I’m serious,” I say. “It was so uncomfortable. And what was worse? She dropped on me that you invited her for dinner tomorrow. Did you?”

  Rand seems confused for a moment. “Nah … I …” Then a look of realization entered his eyes. “It was just one of those things you say. To be polite.”

  I sigh. “What exactly did you say?”

  “That while she was in town, she should come over for dinner.”

  “And you gave her a day? A Friday, no less? You’ll be in Bristol.”

  Rand shrugs, and looks back down at his work, his hand falling from my abdomen. “We’re not taping this week. And I dunno. Maybe I gave her a day?”

  “That means ‘yes’,” I say. “You need to remember to tell me stuff like that, Rand. I’m almost at term. I can’t … entertain all the time.”

  He lifts his head again, and this time he has that watchful, cautious look that’s entered his repertoire since my sixth month of pregnancy, when I developed occasional bursts of, well, irrationality.

  We don’t entertain “all the time.” In fact, we rarely do, and if anyone comes over it is generally Freya and family, who don’t need ‘entertaining’; or my friend Jennifer and her fiancée SJ who used to be one of my clients. Sometimes, my oldest friend Trudie stops by as well, but Rand and I don’t do much since I got to the latter stages of my pregnancy.