Mister O(64)

I shrug my shoulders. “I have no idea. I’ve literally never thought about it.”

She stops walking, parks her hands on her hips, and shoots me a sharp stare. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you’ve literally never thought about it. Never is a big word. And literally is, too. You mean the idea of kids has never once crashed into your mind?” she asks, tapping my head.

“No. It hasn’t. I’ve been pretty focused on work, and my job, and the show. That’s what my life has been since I graduated college, and I love it. I don’t sit around and ponder kids.”

She nods and takes a deep breath. “Right. Of course.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She shakes her head and flashes a smile. “No, it’s not bad. Your work is your passion. I get it. That makes sense. I feel the same. But my work involves kids, so I guess it’s natural that I’d think about it more. Doesn’t mean I want to get knocked up anytime soon, though.” She holds up a finger for emphasis. “However, I will most definitely want to snuggle that baby when Serena comes home with it.”

Snuggling babies. Such a foreign notion to me. But this whole past hour has occurred on another planet—Babylandia—and it’s not one I’m terribly keen to visit again soon. Even so, I’m still in awe of how swiftly she handled the situation. “How did you know what to do? With her?”

She laughs. “It’s not that hard.”

“Oh yes, it is,” I say, nodding vigorously as we wander uptown. “I didn’t even know what Braxton Hicks were. I can’t imagine what happened when her water broke in the ladies’ room. Please don’t tell me what that was like.” I hold up a hand like a stop sign. “I’m just glad you were there.”

“Me, too. For her sake. And to answer your question, my friend Abby took a CPR and first-aid class when she started nannying a few years ago, and she asked me to go with her. I figured it couldn’t hurt, since I never know in my job if someone will ever get hurt or sick. And that’s one of the things they touched on. What to do if someone goes into labor.”

“And you had the car right away, too,” I add.

She gives a one-shouldered shrug and a smile. “As for my amazing Uber-ordering skills,” she says, and wiggles her fingers, “all I can say is I’ve got some magic hands. They’re quite fast.”

I kiss her palm. Then each knuckle. “I’m quite fond of these hands,” I say, and for the first time I’m not playing with double meanings. Especially when I slide my fingers through hers. “I like holding your hand.”

“I love it, too.” Then her eyes light up with an I’ve got an idea twinkle. “Hey! Want to go get a gift for Uber?”

I frown in confusion.

She nudges my side. “The baby, silly. We can stop at An Open Book. It’s on the way to your house.”

“Let’s do it.”

A little while later, we walk through the front door of the bookstore, and I do a double take.

Holy f*ck.

I blink.

Blink again.

Long black hair. Haunting silver-gray eyes. Carved cheekbones. Ten, maybe fifteen years on me. She’s as gorgeous as the day I met her. I’m not seeing things. There, in the romance section, running her fire-engine-red nails along the spines, is J. Cameron.





30





From above the shelves, she catches my eye. A what-a-nice-surprise-to-see-you grin spreads on her face, and J. Cameron emerges from behind the display, dressed in tight jeans, black heels, and a clingy red top.

“Nick,” she says, her voice smoky and befitting her profession. She drops a kiss on my cheek. I tense, hoping her touchy-feely ways don’t tick off Harper.

“Hey, Jillian. How are you?” I ask, and the words come out dry and scratchy as I use her name, the one I always called her by. I glance at Harper. Her face is impassive, revealing nothing.

“I’m fabulous. I’m back from Italy. My new book just released, and I have a signing here tomorrow. I always like to get the lay of the land beforehand.” She turns to Harper and extends a hand. “I’m Jillian, or J. Cameron. So lovely to meet you. I’m jealous of your hair,” she says, and gestures to Harper’s red locks.

“I’m Harper. I’m jealous of your fictional characters. They have the best nights ever,” she says with a wink, and I nearly stumble.

Holy hell. The tension in me ratchets up because I do not want the conversation going in a direction where they casually tango near bedroom exploits of her imaginary characters.

“They do have quite a good time, don’t they?” Jillian flashes another smile. “What brings you both to An Open Book tonight?”

“Harper helped deliver a baby,” I blurt out, and I clasp her hand as if I’m proud of her. Then I realize I sound like Harper around Simon. My heart rate quickens, because this is too weird to be in the same five-foot radius as my ex-lover and my current lover. Harper knows all these things I’ve done with Jillian because of her book, and all I want to do is reassure Harper that it meant nothing, and no one can even hold a candle to her.

“How exciting!”

Harper downplays her role again. “All I did was order an Uber when her water broke in the ladies’ room.”