Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
FINN
With two cups of coffee in hand, I make my way up the steps of the library, much like I’ve done countless times before. But today, it feels different.
For almost two weeks, I’ve been bracing for some sort of fallout from my proposition. I worried I’d completely destroyed our friendship by suggesting I be the one to get Genevieve pregnant.
But the very next day, she showed up at the fire station like nothing had changed, armed with a basket of freshly baked muffins that disappeared in minutes.
Since then, she hasn’t mentioned a single word about it… In nearly two weeks.
I started to think maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.
But when I got a text from her this morning, asking if I could stop by to discuss a few things, I knew I didn’t.
The library is quiet when I step inside, the scent of books and old wood filling the air. Mrs. Hudson, one of Genevieve’s volunteers, waves at me from the historical fiction section, but she’s too busy helping someone to stop and talk.
I give her a polite nod and continue down a long hallway, not stopping until I reach the office at the end. The door is open, and Genevieve’s seated behind her desk, focused on her computer screen.
As if able to sense my presence, she glances up, her eyes locking on mine as a nervous smile tugs on her mouth.
“Finn. Hey.” She stands, her chair scraping against the floor as she skirts around the desk to greet me.
“Hey.” I lean down and brush a soft kiss to her cheek. As I do, I inhale the familiar scent of her — vanilla and something floral I can’t name but always associate with her.
Pulling back, my gaze sweeps over her, taking in the way her jeans hug her curves, her black top dipping just low enough to have my imagination working on overtime.
Soon, she’ll have even more curves. Her chest will be even fuller. Her hips softer. The thought hits me hard, and I fight to shake it off.
Because if that happens, I hope to God it’s my baby she’s carrying.
Which is insane.
A few weeks ago, the idea of being a father was the furthest thing from my mind.
Then again, Genevieve doesn’t want me to be a father. She’s only interested in my DNA.
At least, I hope she wants my DNA.
“Is one of those mine?” She gestures to the coffee cups in my hand.
I blink away my drifting thoughts and hand her one. “Americano with steamed two percent and one sweetener.”
“You know me so well.”
“I’d hope so by now.” I smirk.
She takes a sip, then quietly closes the office door before returning to her seat. I settle into the chair across from her, the desk a sturdy barrier between us.
Her office is welcoming and organized, an outward expression of what’s most important to her. Framed photos are scattered across the desk and shelves, mostly of her with her mom and sister, though there’s one of the two of us from the Founder’s Day Festival a few years ago. I smile at the memory of her nailing the dunk tank target, plunging me into a pool of cold water. A stack of books sits on the corner of her desk, the titles ranging from classic literature to steamy romance. One in particular catches my attention.
“ My Alien Bosses ?” I ask.
“It was Grandma Estelle’s turn to pick this month’s book club selection.”
“Say no more.” I chuckle under my breath, all too familiar with Grandma Estelle’s affinity for some of the more risqué romance books.
She’s a well-loved fixture here in Sycamore Falls. It’s why all the locals refer to her as Grandma Estelle, even though she’s never had children of her own. Considering she taught in the public school here for over forty years before she retired, she’s more than made up for it.
But I’ll never get over the fact that the woman who once taught me the difference between plural and possessive nouns likes to read books about aliens getting it on.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask as I take a sip of my coffee.
“That’s a loaded question,” she mutters underneath her breath.
“As your friend, I get to ask the loaded questions.”
“True.” She lifts her eyes to mine for a long, lingering moment. Then she opens a desk drawer and pulls out a folder, sliding it across to me. “Here.”
I raise an eyebrow, setting my coffee down and reaching for it. “What’s this?”
“A pre-natal agreement,” she responds, her voice calm but tight. “It’s not legally binding, but it can be used as evidence if there are any future disputes. You can have your lawyer review it if you want.”
I glance over the papers before returning my eyes to hers. “Does this mean you’re accepting my offer?”
“As long as you agree to the terms.” She straightens her posture. “I don’t want the fact that we’re friends to…muddy the waters. I want to be a mother without the complications of there being a father, so if you have any grand notions of undertaking a fatherly role because of our existing friendship, I’m sorry to disappoint you. You can still be in the child’s life. I’d expect you to be since you’re an important person in my life. But you won’t be his or her father. I’d prefer no one know who the father is. My child included.”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words on my chest. I knew before offering to help her I’d have no role in her child’s life, apart from being his or her mother’s best friend. Hearing her say it out loud hurts more than I anticipated.
But it stings more to think of someone else giving her this gift.
“You want my DNA. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” she confirms, though there’s a flicker of something in her expression. Something I can’t quite explain.
Or maybe I’m just seeing things I want to see.
Without looking through the agreement, I grab a pen from her desk and sign the last page.
“Finn!” she exclaims. “What are you doing?”
“Signing this like you asked.”
“You didn’t even read it.”
“I trust you,” I tell her simply. “If this is what you want, I’ll do whatever I need to help you.”
She stares at me, stunned, before shaking her head with a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” I flash her a sly grin before my expression turns sincere. “But I’m also all in.”
“Thank you.” She sighs, as if a giant weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Then she clears her throat and pulls out another piece of paper from her desk drawer, pushing it toward me.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking it up.
“I thought it best to come up with some ground rules for…everything else.”
“Everything else?” I arch a brow.
“The agreement you signed covers my expectations during pregnancy and after the baby’s born. I thought it would be in our best interests to have guidelines in place to cover my expectations before I get pregnant.
“So… Regarding sex.”
She blanches slightly, but quickly shakes it off, holding her head high. It’s typical Genevieve. As long as I’ve known her, she’s been confident and tenacious, even in situations that scare the shit out of her.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I lean back in my chair and sip on my coffee as I read the first rule. “No outside partners.”
“Since we’ll be having unprotected sex, it goes without saying that, for the duration of this, we only have sex with each other.” She looks my way but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Will that be a problem?”
“Nope,” I declare firmly.
She arches a brow, parting her lips, and I can sense her wanting to push the issue.
But it’s not an issue.
I don’t tell her that the idea of being with any other women has lost its appeal since I discovered her list. She doesn’t need to know that.
“Next rule,” I declare, scanning her neat handwriting.“Sex will occur once a day limited to the window of ovulation with a one-day buffer on either side.”
“I know it may not be possible with your work schedule but?—”
“I have plenty of PTO. If you give me the dates, I’ll request off.”
“You’d take time off from work for this?”
“This is important to you. So… Yes.”
“Thanks.”
I give her a slight smile, then return my attention to her list. “No physical intimacy outside of what’s necessary.”
“That way we don’t complicate our friendship. If I’m not ovulating, there’s no sex.”
“That seems reasonable,” I assure her as I continue reading, “Honesty at all times.” I meet her eyes. “That won’t be a problem. I’m always honest with you anyway.”
“Me, too.”
“Either party can back out for any reason, no questions asked,” I say, reading the final rule on her list.
“If either of us wants to pull the plug, it ends and we forget it ever happened.”
For some reason, hearing those words come out of Genevieve’s mouth hits me harder than I expected. It’s not like I’ve never had sex with a woman knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere.
The same is true here.
It’s just sex.
Nothing more.
Except Genevieve’s a friend. My best friend.
All the more reason this could be a disaster.
But it’s not enough for me to back down. Not when the mere idea of her asking someone else causes a vice to squeeze my chest.
“Agreed.” I set the list back on her desk. “When do we start?”
She blinks repeatedly, obviously surprised by my agreement to all her conditions. I meant what I told her. This is important to her. I’ll agree to anything she wants to be the one to give it to her.
“Based on my last cycle, I should start ovulating around the twentieth. So with the one-day buffer, we should start on the nineteenth.”
“So…in 6 days.
She runs her hands down her jeans. “Yes.”
“Is there a specific time of day that’s better or?—”
“Sperm can survive inside a woman’s body for up to five days. As long as those swimmers are healthy when an egg is released, we’re good to go.”
“Good.” I exhale a nervous breath, all of this starting to feel much more real than it did even seconds ago as we discussed her rules.
In six days, I’ll be having sex with my best friend.
I can only hope she’s still my best friend when this is all over.