Man of the Month (Willowdale Romance Novel) (17 page)

“SO, WHO’S Mr. July?” Kate asked, pushing away her pie. Which Jeanne promptly grabbed and finished like she was in a pie-eating contest.

Jeanne shook her head. “I’m not going out with anyone else. I think Brad knows by now this was a bust.”

“Yeah, but he’s got Lily now. You need someone, so he knows you’re moving on, too,” Kate said. “You have to go out with Mr. July.”

“Lily sure has fallen for him,” Tonya said. “She better watch her step, or she’s going to lose her job. She had to redo a perm last week because she forgot to put on the solution, and she colored Mrs. Lane’s hair the wrong color. She’s got a serious case of Brad. Seems as though he likes her, too. She gets flowers all the time.”

Jeanne’s eyes widened, and she pressed her fingers over her mouth. She pushed out of the booth and hustled for the bathroom.

“Girl, it’s gonna be okay!” Tonya shouted after her.

Jeanne made it to the stall just in time. She’d been throwing up at least once a day, and that certainly helped keep her from exploding in size with all the calories she’d been consuming. But still, her jeans were getting tight, and those imaginary B cups were real. She could only wear baggy clothing for so long before someone would notice. And she had no idea what she was going to do.

She was splashing water on her face in the sink, when Kate pushed open the bathroom door.

“Jeanne, you okay, hon?” She came over and rubbed her back.

Jeanne swiped the back of her hand across her forehead and nodded. And her traitorous tummy roared to life again. She pushed away from Kate and flew back into the stall.

“This isn’t about Brad. You’re sick.”

Jeanne emerged from the stall and looked at herself in the mirror. The image staring back at her was pale and scared.

Kate’s eyes swept across Jeanne’s face, and then down to her chest. She knitted her brows, and her eyes dipped further south. Jeanne thought she could hear the click of the light bulb going off in her head.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered. “I remember that look. I remember that woozy feeling. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Kate asked, grasping her arm.

Jeanne opened her mouth to protest, but then she clamped it shut and closed her eyes, like a little kid who thought they disappeared if they couldn’t see you.

“Jeanne, is it
 . . .
is it Brad’s?”

Jeanne kept her eyes closed and didn’t answer. The tears started flowing. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Kate pulled her into a hug, and then Tonya bustled into the bathroom.

“No one told me about any meeting in the ladies room.” Then her smile fell. She rushed over. “What’s going on? Jeanne, what is it?”

Jeanne looked at Kate, who looked at Tonya, who looked at Kate.

“What? Are you sick?” Tonya asked.

Jeanne braced herself against the sink. “This does not leave this room.”

Tonya zipped her lips.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Shut. Up.” Nothing shocked Tonya. But this did.

Jeanne nodded.

“Who?” Tonya asked.

Jeanne planted a fist on her hip. “Mr. January. Who do you think? Brad.”

Tonya blinked at her. “But
 . . .
he doesn’t want
 . . .
oh, no. Oh, no.”

Jeanne started crying again. “I know.” She leaned back against the wall and pressed up against the dryer, turning it on.

Kate raised her voice as she fumbled to turn off the dryer. “What are you going to tell him?” After a few pounds of Kate’s fist, the dryer shut off.

“I’m not telling him. Not yet.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t want to ruin things between him and Lily. And you know how he feels about kids.”

“We’re here for you, honey. Whatever you need.” Kate hugged Jeanne, and Tonya rubbed her back.

“Thanks guys. Let’s keep this quiet for a while.” She wiped her hand under her nose. “And get me some more pie. Now.”

“SO, HOW’S it going living with Tommy?” Jeanne asked Brad Monday morning, doing her best to sound like a girl who’s only care in the world was when the grocery store would be stocking double-stuffed Oreos again. She’d been having very specific cravings—cheddar-onion potato chips, pretzels dunked in caramel, and now that she thought about it, double-stuffed Oreos.

“Me and Tommy?” He chuckled. “We don’t fight as much as we used to, that’s for sure. I even try baiting him by rearranging his kitchen cupboards—pasta does not belong with the glasses, what’s he thinking?” He laughed like he’d found out Tommy was fond of wearing ballet slippers around the house. “But he won’t bite, no matter what I do. Guess that whole police chief thing is going to his head.”

Jeanne chuckled, wondering if Tommy had even noticed Brad’s organizational interventions. “Lily must be glad you moved out.”

“Oh, yeah. And you gotta be getting more sleep without me there.”

“Sure. Yeah. I’m feeling great.” Didn’t he notice the green tinge to her face? She probably looked like the Hulk’s little sister.

Hiding this from Brad was harder than she thought. She was sure the truth betrayed her with every look, every glance. She still had time to tell him. She would tell him—when the time was right.

Brad finished packing up the lunch orders he’d finished. “So, the wedding’s a few weeks away. You gotta get on Becca and make her decide on the roasted vegetables or the okra.”

“I’ll pin her down,” Kate said.

“Hey, I know they’ve got a wedding cake, but I was thinking of making a little one just for the baby. What do you think?” He narrowed his brows. “Do babies eat cake?”

“I’m sure Emma will try.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she quickly turned to the sink, turning on the water full blast so he couldn’t hear her choke back a cry.

“Wait, do you think it’s a bad idea? Is there some rule I don’t know about concerning cake and babies?”

She blinked back her tears and turned off the water. “No. It’s a wonderful idea. Becca will love it. It’s really thoughtful.”

“Good. I’m so glad to see things working out for them. It’ll be a good day. Rick’s doing the right thing.”

“I need to get some milk.” She marched to the freezer and slammed the door behind her.

“It’s in the fridge!” he shouted behind her.

Nope, today wasn’t the day to tell him he’d soon be making cake for his own baby. When she came out of the freezer, he was giving her the evil eye.

“What?” she asked. “I needed to cool off.”

“You almost let me forget about Mr. July. You haven’t said a thing, and it’s nearly the end of the month.”

“Brad!” She just about growled his name.

“I’ll have someone for you by the end of the day.”

“What are you going to do, call a dating service?”

He snapped his fingers. “Excellent idea.”

She groaned and went back into the freezer.

THIS TIME she didn’t bother getting changed out of her stretchy shorts and short-sleeved vee-neck—her new pregnant- in-the-god-forsaken-summer uniform. She showed up at the restaurant ten minutes early, and when Billy Rogers arrived, looking decent and friendly in a shirt and tie, she walked up to him and handed him a fifty-dollar bill.

“Hope this covers your gas and a decent meal. I just can’t do this tonight.”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” he asked.

Wow. Cute and smart. Maybe if she weren’t building a person in her belly she’d give this guy a shot. “Yep. If a guy named Brad ever gets in touch with you, tell him we had a nice time, but the timing wasn’t right. And give up on that dating service. Go out and find a hobby and meet someone with the same interests.”

He handed back her money. “You keep the fifty bucks, and I’ll take your dating advice. Good luck, Jeanne. Hope your timing is right when the right guy comes along.”

She laughed softly. “Too late for that.”

JEANNE CHANNELED her energy into Becca’s wedding, trying to keep her mind off more urgent problems—like a pair of tiny feet pressing her bladder day and night.

When the big day finally arrived, Becca wore a simple white sundress and carried Emma along a white runner spread out on the grass behind the banquet hall. Rick stood in front of the gazebo, beaming as he watched his girls walking toward him. Jeanne stood near him as maid of honor. It hurt her heart to think Becca had no one to walk her down the aisle. That made Jeanne all the more grateful Becca and Rick were making a go of it. Jeanne had spent many hours worrying about her little sister, and not just because that was what big sisters did.

Jeanne wanted Becca and Emma to be safe and secure. She wanted her niece to grow up in a regular family. And she didn’t want Becca to spend her life as a single mom.

A single mom like I’m going to be.

Jeanne unconsciously rubbed her tummy protectively as she stood next to Rick. A rush of panic hit her. Had anybody seen her do the very telling gesture? She pretended to smooth her dress down and directed her attention back to the bride.

The ceremony was short and sweet, and Jeanne’s heart swelled with joy for Rick and Becca. But the minute after they walked down the aisle as husband and wife, it was time for Jeanne to get to work. She hurried to the kitchen and kicked off her shoes in favor of more comfortable flats. A sudden change in footwear should be a huge tip-off that a woman’s in the family way.

She’d filled the chafing dishes with sesame chicken skewers and Brad’s coconut shrimp. When he came into the kitchen, he smiled at her. “Show time.”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do. I should have brought a change of clothes, this dress is suffocating me.” She braced herself against the counter and felt seriously dizzy.

“Here, sit down.” He dragged a chair over to her and helped her settle into it.

She leaned back and tried to get comfortable in the tight, binding dress. The shiny fabric accentuated every bulge and bump, including the one Brad was staring at. The one she was unconsciously rubbing again.

“Jeanne?” His voice was as quiet as she’d ever heard.

Her eyes caught his, and she looked away. She said nothing, but the silence said everything.

“Are you
 . . .
?”

She sat up straight so her baby belly wouldn’t be as prominent, but there was no hiding it now. She had to tell him some time, and from the look on his face he knew. She nodded.

“You’re pregnant.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes.” She waited for the shitstorm.

He shook his head and raked his hand through his hair. He paced back and forth, saying nothing.

“We can talk about this more later, Brad. We’ve got to get those hors d’oeuvres out.”

He stopped pacing and pointed at her. “It was Mr. April, wasn’t it? That night you didn’t come home.”

Seriously? It was like a puzzle set for toddlers, and he couldn’t put it together? No. He wouldn’t put it together, that’s what it was. Her heart fell. “Brad
 . . .
”