Chapter 7 Haven
Haven
SAYLOR: How’s it going?
HAVEN: I’m waiting for Alex in the coffee shop.
SAYLOR: For the paternity test?
HAVEN: I guess we’ll talk about it.
SAYLOR: And he’ll pass with flying colors. How’s England?
HAVEN: Cute. From what I’ve seen. But I haven’t seen a lot.
SAYLOR: So what else is happening? What about Alex? Is he still hot?
Iplace my phone down when the server comes over with the hot chocolate I ordered, and I smile my thanks at her.
Picking the marshmallows off the top, I eat them first before taking a huge gulp. It’s not quite as hot as I’d like, but the hit of chocolatey, sugary goodness goes straight to my head, and I wake up a little more.
Neither Everly nor I got a good night’s sleep.
She wouldn’t settle. She cried; I cried. And I’m fairly certain the guests in the room next to us were crying too. I expect the owners to throw a party when we leave tomorrow.
And now, after her breakfast of fresh breast milk, Everly’s exhausted herself enough that she’s been asleep for two hours, and she’s still strapped to me. Not the most comfortable position, I’ll tell you. But she’s quiet, thankfully.
I’m not one of those people who could go back to sleep once they’ve woken up. It’s a skill I desperately wish I had. So I got dressed, bundled up Everly as best as I could, and braved the outside.
I’ve never been anywhere that could beat the fresh mountain air of Colorado.
One hit of that in your lungs, and you feel like you’ll live forever.
But the English countryside air gets close enough.
There’s a dampness to it that wakes you up, along with a scent of earth and leaves falling, which invigorates your brain.
A couple of times, I’ve found myself thinking that if I ever had to leave Aspen and move somewhere else, I could probably live here.
I’m staring out the window watching the street come alive, when Alex walks past, and the answer to Saylor’s question pops into my head.
Yes, Alex is still hot.
Too hot. I’d forgotten how hot. Hotter than he has any right to be at least. It’s like he was made for winter with his soft cable knits and dark jeans, making his legs look ten feet long and his ass like it was carved out of granite.
The bell above the entrance tinkles when he pushes the door open, says hello to the girl behind the counter, and strides over to me with a smile that grows the closer he gets.
Holy hell, this guy is good-looking.
He goes to pull out the chair opposite me, hesitates, leans forward a fraction, then darts back and sits down like that wasn’t totally weird. I might be mistaken, but I think he was about to kiss my cheek.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“You aren’t. I was super early. Just needed to get out, you know?”
“Sure. Yes, I know.”
He doesn’t know. There’s no way he could know, with his hair perfectly styled in that thick, floppy way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, or his bright blue eyes with healthy white corneas instead of my bloodshot ones.
At least my hair is kind of fresh since I washed it two days ago at Miles’s, and Everly’s not been sick in it since, so that’s a bonus.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he says, as the server comes over again. “Morning, Gemma. Has Claudia made any cinnamon buns this morning?” His eyes flick over to me. “They’re as good as the ones in Aspen. You want one? And what are you drinking? Another coffee, or hot chocolate? I’ll go with coffee.”
I blink through the firing of questions, and it occurs to me that Alex might be nervous, which bizarrely has my shoulders dropping and my body relaxing.
Also, his mention of cinnamon buns has me biting down on a smile.
I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t remember the cinnamon buns from Aspen’s bakery, given he was in there every morning, but the fact that he did is making my tummy feel all warm and squirrely.
I force myself to look away from him and up to the server—Gemma—who’s waiting for my answer.
“Another hot chocolate would be good. Thank you.”
“Great choice!” Alex declares again with a level of enthusiasm that only confirms his nerves. “And we’ll take a selection of whatever’s on offer. All of it.”
Gemma regards us and this strange little scene we have going on with a slight raise of her brow. I don’t know how well she knows Alex, but I can tell it’s enough to understand his behavior is not usual. But she leaves after saying, “Coming right up.”
Alex twists his body around to face me, straightens up the tiny vase of flowers, and places his palms flat on the table.
“So . . .” Taking a deep breath, he rubs his hands together. “Christ, this is harder than I was expecting.”
I’m about to reply when a door to the side of us swings open and out rushes a lady—her cheeks all pink and flustered, and there’s a swipe of flour across her forehead. Her apron is covered in dough marks.
“Alex! Oh, I’m glad you popped in. Can we talk about this gingerbread house competition you want? We’re running out of time.”
My ears prick. Alex shifts in his chair again, his eyes darting to mine, then back to the lady.
“Claudia, hello . . . can I introduce you to Haven, my, uh . . .” He freezes, and I can see his brain ticking over, because what am I? His friend? His one-time lover? His baby mama?
Guess it’s something else to add to the list of things we need to talk about.
Saving him and myself from any embarrassment, I wave my hand and say, “I’m Haven, from America.”
Claudia’s face lights up with a smile. “Ah, America, friends with Holiday, are you?”
I shake my head. That’s the second time I’ve been asked. Do Brits think all Americans know each other?
“No, no. We’re not.”
“Shame. Lovely girl,” she barks and turns back to Alex. “Well? I sent you the prototypes. I just need you to approve them.”
When I turn back to Alex, I’m certain his cheeks are a little pinker than they were when he first sat down. He also looks much more uncomfortable, almost squirming in his chair under Claudia’s glare while she waits for his answer.
The more uncomfortable he looks, the wider my smile grows.
One thing Aspen is famous for at Christmas is the gingerbread competition held in the bakery where I worked last year.
Alex won it by making a model of my Christmas tree store—Wylder Trees. The detail was incredible, down to the swinging sign above the door and the wreath hanging on the front. It was the nicest thing anyone has ever given me, and I kept that gingerbread house for months.
Only when it started to disintegrate did I finally throw it away, and truthfully, it wasn’t that long ago.
“Yes, I will. Sorry, Claudia. It’s my next priority. I’ll make sure I check them this week.”
“Thank you, Alex,” she replies with an exasperated little huff. “This competition was your idea, you know. So if you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to do it.”
“I haven’t changed my mind. We’ll go ahead.”
“Okay, good, good.” And with a quick nod to both of us, she exits through the door she came in through. At the same time, our drinks arrive, along with what seems to be the entire counter of baked goods.
Waiting until Alex has rearranged the plates and cups to make room, I raise an eyebrow. “Gingerbread house competition?”
He shrugs and casually sips his coffee. “What can I say? You made an impression.”
I feel Everly stirring and rub along her back. “I think you were the one who made the impression.”
Alex watches me with quiet curiosity. “Is she sleeping?”
I peer down at her, still snuggled in the harness. Her eyes are flickering, like they do when she’s starting to wake.
“Not quite, we might be on borrowed time.”
“What happens when she wakes up?”
“Anyone’s guess. Sometimes she wakes up and she’s fine. Other days, it’s like the world’s about to end.”
“And what do you do?”
“Try to feed her, and if that doesn’t work, cry,” I say. I mean it as a joke even though there’s an element of truth to it.
But Alex’s entire face drops, and his voice is almost a whisper. “You cry?”
I nod and wonder how much I should sugarcoat it. Then decide there’s no point. After telling Clementine the other day, it feels easier to admit it out loud. Plus, she could tell him herself, so lying is futile. “Yeah. Sometimes. A lot. Daily, in fact.”
His mouth drops open. “You cry every day?”
“It’s been hard,” I reply.
He nods again, but I’m sure it’s only a reflex because there’s nothing he can really say. I pick up my hot chocolate and sip while he stares nervously at the harness with his daughter inside.
“Can I . . . I mean, would it be okay if I held her?”
I place my cup down, feeling bad that I never even asked if he’d like to, and he’s barely seen her beyond a quick peek at her when she’s strapped to me.
“Sure. Of course. I didn’t know if you’d want to,” I stammer, standing quickly enough that Everly opens her eyes.
Supporting her weight while I carefully unbuckle the harness, I wait for Alex to push back in his chair and get comfortable.
“Like this?” he asks, arranging his arms so that I can lay her in them.
“Perfect.”
I place her against one of his thick biceps, my fingers brushing against the soft cashmere of his sweater.
His huge hand cups around the back of her head.
Everly’s eyes are now fully open, and she’s staring up at him adoringly like the sweetest, most angelic baby and not the demon child she was at 3 a.m.
But then my gaze moves to Alex.
He’s completely mesmerized by her as he takes in every single detail of this tiny human made from half of his DNA. He watches her fist open and close, the way her little pouty mouth pops with each breath, and when she smiles at him, I swear he stops breathing. Because that was my reaction too.
Moisture pools in his eyes, and he takes a big sniff. “Sorry.”
“Hey, you’ve got nothing on me,” I reply, but I don’t think he hears me.