“You know, pretty well.” Jodie nodded thoughtfully. “As Jason said, he’s manning up. He’s been to Lola’s doctors’ appointments and he’s doing all he can to make sure she’s got what she needs.”
“Well. Good for him.” Although, really, it was the bare minimum that should be expected of a man who had gone halves in a baby. Even accidentally. Mind, there were plenty of baby daddies who ran for the hills, so Vivian figured Seth deserved a couple of elephant stamps for effort.
“So, have you met Lola?” She was starting to feel like Mrs. Crab Apple, the gossipy neighbor, but she couldn’t deny her curiosity.
“Yeah. She’s a nice kid.” Jodie kept her face absolutely straight, but Vivian didn’t miss the implication.
“How old is she, exactly?” she asked, not sure whether to be amused or exasperated. Honestly, Seth was practically a caricature of himself.
“Twenty-four. Give or take.”
Vivian blinked.
“It’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure,” Jodie said, almost but not quite smothering a smile.
Vivian didn’t bother trying. “Hoo yeah.”
“You can tease him about it at Sam’s birthday this weekend. He will love that.”
“I bet he will.” She grinned, thinking about how much fun it would be needling him. “So, do you have any paperwork I need to sign to get my hands on these kids of yours or what?”
“Not yet. We’ll talk to our lawyer next week, though, so I’ll let you know.”
Vivian caught her sister’s hand, the easy smile fading from her lips. She wanted—needed—her sister to know that this was a big deal for her.
“Thanks for trusting me, Jodie. I won’t let you guys down.”
“I know, sweetie. That’s why I’m asking you.”
They hugged, and the warmth of her sister’s arms was the best thing Vivian had felt in a long time.
Yep, it was damned good to be home.
* * *
SETH PACED IN front of the clinic, checking his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. Lola was late again.
Even though she hadn’t responded to any of the other messages he’d left, he dialed her number, rubbing his temples. He stopped in his tracks when she actually picked up. Hallelujah.
“Hi, Seth. Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier but I was at the checkout and there was such a huge queue behind me, I didn’t want to hold everyone up by talking,” Lola said, her Yorkshire accent more evident over the phone.
Checkout? Queue? She was shopping, instead of turning up for her thirty-six-week checkup?
Unbelievable.
Although, considering it was Lola, only too believable. To his eternal frustration.
“Lola. I’m at Dr. Mancini’s. Where are you?” He did his best to keep the impatience out of his voice, but wasn’t certain he pulled it off. They’d learned a few weeks ago that their baby was in the breech position, and this scan had been scheduled to see if the baby had corrected his or her position.
In other words, it was bloody important.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot. I heard about this amazing warehouse sale for baby furniture, and... Well, I forgot. Can we reschedule?”
Seth gave a silent sigh. In any other woman, he’d blame Lola’s lapse of memory on pregnancy hormones, but the truth was that she’d always been a bit flaky. Forgetful, more inclined to rub a crystal to get rid of a headache than take a painkiller, and absolutely hopeless with money. She also wasn’t great at thinking through the repercussions of her actions, or planning ahead.
“I’ll see if they can reschedule us and call you back with the time.”
“Oh, you’re waiting for me? I’m so sorry.”
Of course he was waiting for her. He came to all her appointments. Where did she think he was?
He bit back his irritation. There was no point getting frustrated with Lola. Her feelings would be hurt, and then he’d get the silent treatment for days.
“I’ll call you in five.” He hung up and went to talk to the receptionist. She was very understanding, managing to find a spot for Lola the following day, then he called Lola and passed on the details.
“Why don’t you set up a reminder on your phone for tomorrow morning?” he suggested.
“I’m not stupid, Seth. There’s no need to talk to me as though I’m a child.”
Dear God, not the don’t-treat-me-like-a-child argument again.
“I was just making a suggestion. If you don’t think it has any merit, feel free to ignore it,” he said, attempting to defuse the situation.
Too late, Lola was off and running. For the next ten minutes he listened as she enumerated her achievements—leaving her home in the United Kingdom to come here on her own two years ago, being promoted to shift leader at the call center where she used to work after only three months on the job, having to ask her parents for money only twice since she’d left home, while the girl she was living with practically had her rent paid by her father.
At times like these, he was reminded only too well of how young she was. At twenty-four, he’d been messier, less organized and a whole hell of a lot more irresponsible than her. Just as well one of his guys hadn’t slipped through back then. Twenty-four-year-old him and twenty-four-year-old Lola would have been a disaster of epic proportions. As it was, it would be a line-call as to whether thirty-four-year-old him and Lola could pull this thing off between them.
Although it wasn’t as though they had a choice.
Somehow he managed to assure her that he hadn’t been taking a shot at her, agreeing that he’d meet her at the clinic again tomorrow before ending the call. He needed to get to the bar to make his six o’clock appointment with his brother, so he jumped into his Audi and wasted five minutes trying to get it to start before the engine finally caught and he could hit the road. He made a mental note to talk to the mechanic to get the ignition fixed. One of many things he needed to take care of in the run-up to Lola’s due date. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck with a car that wouldn’t start when she was in labor.
He was tired and hungry by the time he parked in the reserved spot behind the bar, not a great sign when his day wouldn’t be over until at least midnight. Scrubbing his face, he let himself in the back door and hollered out a hello to the guys in the kitchen before heading upstairs to his shoe-box-size office.
He sat at his paper-strewn desk and stared bleakly at the scuffed wall. There was no getting around it—he was deeply, profoundly worried about how Lola would cope with being a mother. Not because she was a bad person, but because she simply didn’t handle difficult situations well. Her default reaction to any stressful situation was to retreat to bed and stay there eating junk food for as long as she could get away with it. Yes, she could be fun—a lot of fun—when she was in the right frame of mind, but she could also be impatient, temperamental and self-centered.
Right, and you’re a freaking saint. Perfect daddy material.
He wasn’t. He was the first to admit that. He’d lived selfishly his entire life. About the only thing he’d ever fully committed to was the bar—and, perhaps, to being a decent uncle to his brother’s kids. But he was fairly certain he understood many of the challenges that lay ahead. He knew there were going to be late nights and not a lot of sleep and periods of intense frustration and worry. He knew that no matter what else was happening for him or Lola, the baby needed