“Hi, Brantley.” Evelyn’s voice is like smooth honey on a warm biscuit. “Would you like to come into the family room and sit down? I’ll get us some lemonade.”
I follow the couple down an airy hallway, decorated with photos of their life together, and enter a family room that opens to a big, family-style kitchen. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook a lush backyard. There’s a gorgeous patio and pool area. My mouth drops open slightly, but I recover and sit on a brown leather chair.
Evelyn brings me a glass of lemonade and I sip, staring at the pool. “Your house is beautiful.”
Evelyn smiles. “Thank you. All we want is a little boy or a girl to help fill it with laughter”
I nod. “May I ask how old you both are?”
Evelyn tips her head to the side, evaluating me with a small smile. “You’re placing your child for adoption, Brantley. You can ask us anything you’d like.”
Ethan jumps in, sitting beside his wife on the couch. “We’re both thirty. We met when we were sophomores in college at Florida State.”
Evelyn nods. “To tell you a little about ourselves, we own a boat rental company. We moved to South Florida after college on our own, because we’re pretty much all each other has in the world. Ethan was raised by a single mom who died of cancer when he was a senior in high school, and I was raised in the foster care system. When I found out I couldn’t have children the traditional way, I knew right away I wanted to adopt.”
I can’t take my eyes off of Evelyn as she tells her story, and my gaze zeroes in on her hand as Ethan picks it up and twines his fingers with hers as she finishes. I already know I’ve chosen them before I revel the news to the couple for myself.
“Why?” I whisper, looking down at my hands. “Why are you willing to participate in an open adoption? Most people I’ve found aren’t interested in letting me be a part of their lives.”
“Because,” Evelyn responds. “This baby is going to have two mothers. A birth mother, and an adoptive mother. She should get the opportunity to know both of them.”
That’s when the tears spill down my cheeks. I look up at Ethan and Evelyn, and Evelyn is already on her feet. I meet her halfway across the room, and her arms wrap around me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Thank you.” Her voice is thick with her own emotion. “For the gift you’re giving us.”
1
Brantley
“Oh. My. God.” Arden’s hum of pleasure coincides with her chewing, rendering any more words impossible as the rest of the fluffy pastry disappears into her mouth.
When she finishes, she brushes crumbs from her fingertips and nods at me. Her three-month-old daughter babbles from the sling nestled against her chest, and Arden brushes a soft kiss against the baby’s head. “Those are sheer perfection. What are they called again?”
“Patrellitos de Guayaba. Guava and Cream Cheese pastry. Traditional Cuban, and I’m so glad I made them. Might as well add another layer to these hips.” I slap my curvy ass as I sashay past her, carrying the platter of pastries and placing them in the display cabinet at the bakery counter.
One of our regular customers perks up from her stool. “Those are new? I’ll try two.”
Mrs. Perkins, a sweet old retiree, stops in every morning for her coffee and something sweet. She’s always wearing a different-colored jogging suit and stops by The Art of Java on her way back from Forsythe Park. Our Savannah coffeeshop is a favorite among park goers, especially in the mornings.
Today, Mrs. Perkins’ suit is fuchsia.
Leaning on the counter, I rest my chin in my hand. “Well, Mrs. Perkins? Whatcha think?”
She polishes off a pastry and offers me a proud smile. “Well, these are absolutely delicious, sweetie. Love ’em.”
Her compliment pulls a beaming return smile from me. I never knew either of my own grandmothers, but I imagine Mrs. Perkins is exactly what one should be like.
“Thanks, Mrs. P.” Swiping her mug, I refill the coffee and slide it back toward her as the bell over the coffeeshop alerts us to a newcomer.
Glancing up, I note the arrival of the young, fresh-faced blonde bouncing toward the counter. I jerk my head toward Arden.
“Incoming. Nanny to the rescue.”
Arden frowns slightly, and I’m probably the only one who catches it before she pastes a bright smile onto her beautiful face. She tosses her long, blonde braid over her shoulder and turns to face the nanny she recently hired to care for little Dahlia while she helps me run the coffeeshop during the day. We’ve always been a team, since the day we met at thirteen years old. That hasn’t changed, not when Arden met and lost the first love of her life, along with their son, in a car accident two years ago. Not when she fell for Flash Jackson a year ago and he helped put her broken pieces back together again, and not when baby Dahlia was born three months ago.
She’s my best friend, business partner, and soul sister, and it’ll always be that way.
Leaning over, I whisper in Arden’s ear. “You hired a good one. Baby girl will be just fine for a few hours.”
Parker reaches us, tucks a strand of her wavy, honey-colored hair behind her ear, and reaches out to stroke Dahlia under her chin. “There’s my sweet girl!”
Some people talk to babies, and I cringe. It’s all gooey and disgusting, and I can’t stand the sound of it. But when Parker does it, it’s not vomit-inducing. She’s naturally sweet, and she doesn’t use baby talk when she speaks to Dahlia. She just lowers the tone and the pitch of her voice, and her facial expression goes soft. She’s a perfect nanny for an infant.
“Hi, Parker. How are you today?” Arden removes Dahlia from the sling and places her gently in the stroller beside the counter. She tucks the blanket around her, and the baby kicks her legs with a squeal.
Parker grabs the diaper bag from behind the counter and gives us both a cheerful grin. “I’m doing great. Did Pilates this morning at that new place that just opened up down the street and it was amazing. You should come with me sometime!”
I tip my head thoughtfully to one side. “I’ve never tried Pilates.”
Parker’s eyes widen. “Oh, you’d love it, Brantley. It makes me feel so strong.”
I eye Parker’s size six figure. If Pilates makes you look like that, I’ll give it a shot.
But really, I’ve never had a problem with my curves. I keep fit by eating mostly clean with the exception of the baked goods I taste, and I walk every evening after dinner. But Pilates could be fun. I’m always up for a new adventure.
“I’ll come with you sometime,” I assure her.
She grins. “Great!” Turning to Arden, she says, “We’re going to head to the park to look at the ducks for a little bit. Dahlia seems to like that. Then we’ll head back to your house in time for a bottle and her afternoon nap. Sound good?”
Arden’s relief is written all over her face. She worries every single time she has to hand Dahlia off to Parker. I think being a mom does that to you, makes you anxious about leaving your kid no matter what. But a mom like Arden, who’s lost one child already?