Chapter 27
“Bette Davis.”
Who is Bette Davis?
I’ll take The Silver Screen for two hundred, Alex.
“Bing Crosby.”
Who is Bing Crosby?
Gemma rolled her eyes. Her father couldn’t remember his own name or hers, but he could sweep this whole category.
It was one of his better days.
“Dad?”
“James Stewart.”
Who is Jimmy Stewart?
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Faraday?”
“Yeah?”
Definitely one of his better days.
“You’re going to be a grandfather.”
His eyes filled with wonder. “I am?”
“Yes.”
“Bev?” he called out. “Beverly, come in here. You’re not going to believe this.”
Her heart broke a little more than she ever knew it could. “Mama’s not here, Daddy.”
“Well, where’d she go?”
She hesitated. “The store. She’ll be back soon.”
“Does she know about the baby?”
“She does. And she’s very happy.”
“I’ll bet she is.” He patted her knee. “A grandbaby. I’d never thought I’d see the day, since you had cancer.”
Her mouth dropped open, time standing still. “What did you say?”
“The doctors said you wouldn’t have any babies, and here you are. That’s just wonderful, sweetie. I couldn’t be happier for you.”
She looked into his watery eyes. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
Gemma threw her arms around her father. “I love you.” She held onto him tightly.
“I love you, too.”
She was crying now, so happy to have him back in this moment.
“Gene Kelly,” said her father.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Who is Orson Wells?
No, sorry.
Who is Gene Kelly?
That’s right.
I’ll take Hollywood Misfits for one hundred.
Her arms dropped. “Dad?”
“Orson Wells.”
She sat down in a chair with a thud. Her father had shown her a glimpse, a momentary visit from the man she knew and loved, and for that she was grateful.
She wished she could tell him about Logan, but she could tell her father was already gone back into his shell. She pulled out her cell phone and sent Logan a text.
COME FOR DINNER.
WE NEED TO TALK.
It was high time she face the father of her child and share her news with someone who would care as much as she did. Hopefully he’d be happy, but she was prepared if he was not.
She said goodbye to her father and walked through the grocery store in a distracted haze. What did she want Logan’s reaction to be? She didn’t know for the life of her if this day would end discussing custody agreements or with him sharing her bed.
God, she hoped for the latter.
You were the one who broke it off with him.
If you want Logan in your bed, you’re going to have to apologize.
She showered and washed her hair, choosing to keep it loose and curling around her shoulders, then picked a soft, too-big tunic wide a wide neck, imagining Logan would like the feel of the fabric before he lifted it over her head.
I am a horny monster.
Maybe it was the baby making her feel like this, or maybe it had just been too long since she’d touched him. But gone were her buzzing concerns about his age, and in their place was warm desire that refused to be contained.
She measured out seasonings and sautéd onions for the risotto.
She hadn’t made a real home-cooked meal in ages, and it gave her something to do besides worry over Logan’s reaction to her pregnancy or imagine him making love to her.
The chicken was roasting in the oven and she was stirring the risotto as it simmered on the stove.
He’s going to be in shock.
Try not to get too upset by his reaction.
Thirty-year-old guys weren’t expecting their girlfriends—or whatever the hell she was to him—to announce they were pregnant. Especially since they’d used protection every time.
Really old, really bad protection.
He’d better not ask her if it was his. She might have to smack him in the face if he did that.
In the two weeks she’d been home from the hospital, she’d had lots of time to consider what kind of mother she would be after spending years focusing only on her career.
When she found out she couldn’t have kids she’d spent so much time villainizing motherhood in her own mind, her own version of sour grapes. Now she was trading in a high-powered job for homemade baby food and dirty diapers.
Hell, my job is already gone.
She stopped stirring the rice, suddenly remembering how she had once longed to be a family court judge, helping kids find good homes.
She’d done an about-face when she found out she couldn’t have kids of her own, not wanting to see so many of their sweet faces.
She could go back to that now. Do what she’d always wanted to do.
She probably wouldn’t get to be a judge again, but she could still work in the system. Advocate for those kids without a voice.
The doorbell rang and she took a shaking breath in. This was it.
Logan.
God, she’d missed him. She considered launching herself into his arms and swallowing him up.
Relax.
Take it easy.
She moved the risotto off the heat and wiped her hands on her apron. He’d given her the time she needed to think, but she’d also realized just how much she longed to have him next to her when he wasn’t around.
And while she certainly missed the sex, it wasn’t what she missed most. She simply missed him.
She walked to the front door.
He was smart—at least as smart as she was—and funny, and insightful, and sweet…
She pulled it open with a smile on her face, anticipation turning to shock in an instant when she realized her visitor wasn’t Logan at all.
“What are you doing here?”
Anthony Royce took two steps into her brownstone and knocked her out with one punch.