34. Allie
ALLIE
“How are you feeling?” Dahlia asks after we place our order with the on-shift barista at The Wicked Wildflower.
We stopped in to get drinks before heading next door to Sugar and Vice for book club. Dahlia and I both had the day off, so the two of us, along with her mother-in-law, Monica, did some shopping around downtown Pacific Shores.
We loaded up on baby clothes, books, and toys that I’ll add to the nesting hoard now piling up all over the house.
While we’re living in Darby and Leo’s guesthouse, we won’t have a separate room for the baby, but I know at least for the first bit of her life, we’ll keep the bassinet in our bedroom, anyway.
Our bedroom.
Butterflies still kick up in my stomach at the thought of having my life so entwined with Archer, right down to the place we’ll lay our heads at night. I’ve only ever gotten pieces of him, and now, in just a few short months, we’ll be linked completely.
I sigh, a wistful sound, as I turn from the counter and scan the busy cafe. It’s lively for a weekday morning, the room filled mostly with the mingling of locals.
My gaze lands on the older couple who always orders cranberry croissants as they tip their heads in secretive conversation, stealing glances at me every few seconds.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Like every time I walk into a room, every person inside it looks at me like they just know I was raw dogged.”
Dahlia winces, muttering, “Do you have to say raw dogged?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dahlia,” I chime sarcastically. “Let me rephrase in a more delicate way. Your darling baby boy made sweet love to me until he…put his cream pie in my preheated oven.”
She whips sideways, eyes wide and lip curled. “That is…so much worse.”
“Except he didn’t!” I throw my hands out. “He mostly pulled out, so I didn’t even get the full effect, and yet I’m still with child.” I reference my ever-growing belly. “It’s like she insisted on existing. She’s already stubborn.”
Monny snickers from my other side, and I turn to face her as she places our drinks in a carrier. “If it’s any consolation, history has shown that when you do let a Ramos…” She pauses. “How did you describe it? Cream pie your oven? Well…you end up with twins.”
“I am terrified of what I’ve just walked into.” A low, timbre, masculine voice echoes behind us.
We spin, finding Everett standing behind his wife, features etched in shock.
“Do you see how big his head is?” Monny whispers, leaning into me, though it’s evident both Everett and Dahlia can hear her clear as day. “You should be very happy you’re not having twins.”
I exhale dramatically, nodding. “You’re right. I’ll let Archer know he can never come inside me again, per advice from grandma.”
As the words leave my mouth and land on his parents’ faces, I watch both their expressions turn sour. Everett breathes out a laugh, shaking his head as he scratches his jaw. “You remind me of my sister sometimes.”
“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received in the entirety of my life.”
Dahlia snorts. “Go on over to the bookstore. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” She shoos me off before turning back to her husband.
Monica and I head out of the coffee shop, I hold the door open for her as she slips through with our tray of drinks.
My mom, Penelope, and Willow are driving down for book club too, and Darby is supposed to meet up with us as soon as she’s done at the flower shop.
It’s the first time in a while we’ve all been able to get together, and it’ll likely be our last opportunity before I have the baby, now that I’m nearing thirty weeks.
I’m officially in the stretchy-pants-constant-urination-never-comfortable-waddle-like-a-penguin phase of pregnancy. Plus, I swear my areolas have grown like…four times the size they used to be. My feet are massive and while Archer insists I’m overthinking it, I think my nose has grown too.
Baby girl—Archer and I are still set on the name Aurora, but we’ve decided not to tell anyone, and not to refer to her as such until we see her for the first time—moves around a lot more now. She loves to kick me just as I’m falling asleep at night. Sometimes I think she’s doing it on purpose.
As Monica passes through the door, a tall, lanky brunette man with round, black glasses appears behind me. I smile at him, beckoning to the exit. “Go ahead.”
“Oh, no.” He smiles back, gripping the edge of the hinge. “After you.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping outside.
Monica and I take two steps before the man calls out, “Are you Allie? Allie Evans?”
I pause, gaze drifting to Monica as a bite of unease nips at my spine. She glances back at me, eyes narrowed—like the hair on the back of her neck is standing up too.
I turn around slowly, tossing the man a lingering once-over.
Nothing about him is familiar to me, and he doesn’t look my age.
He’s got to be at least thirty, but no older than forty-five.
I backtrack, trying to remember if I’ve ever seen him at the coffee shop before, if he might be someone who knows Dahlia, but nothing snags a memory.
“Sorry, do I know you?”
“Ah. No.” He wipes his hands on his thighs before taking a step toward me and extending an arm.
I don’t return the handshake. “My name is Jesse, and I’m a writer for Athletics Fan Daily, an online journal for the world of sports.
You’re dating Archer Ramos, right? One of the hottest players up for the draft. ”
I stumble back, mind racing at the realization that some fucking reporter followed me. Sought me out—my workplace, our family.
My hand falls to my belly defensively, just as a reassuring touch lands on my elbow.
“She has no comment,” Monica says sternly.
The guy—Jesse—swallows, retreating back as he lifts his palms out.
“No worries. No worries. Was just hoping I could ask you a few simple questions about Mr. Ramos and your plans for the offseason.” He nods toward my stomach.
“You know, with the baby and all. We’re doing a spotlight piece on him.
The fans are dying to know more about the two of you. ”
The fans? Archer has fans?
I mean…of course I knew there were fans. Texas Football has thousands of fans. The professional league has millions.
I didn’t realize Archer had fans. People who’d want to pry into his personal life and know every detail. Who’d want to disrupt our privacy for information about me—about our child.
That nipping unease becomes frigid trepidation, spearing ice through my very veins.
“No comment,” I murmur. “Please leave me alone.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “Can I leave you with my card in case you change your—”
“Come, carina,” Monica says quietly, guiding me to turn around and finish the short distance to the bookstore. “Let’s get out of here.”
Footsteps continue behind us as Monica pulls the door to Sugar and Vice open. “Would you consider taking down my—”
“The owner of this store is a biter,” Monica snaps. “Wouldn’t want to cause her to come out here and trespass you herself. Perhaps you leave.”
Warm, cinnamon-sugar scented air blasts my face as the commotion outside dwindles and I’m overtaken by the soft, quiet ambience of the bookshop. I don’t bother looking back at the guy as I listen to Monica shoo him away, and the clasp of the door closing behind her.
“Are you all right, Allie?” she asks.
“Yeah. Fine,” I say, slipping behind the front counter where Elena’s bookseller, Zoe, is standing. “Except now he’s going to write an article about how Archer Ramos comes from a family of feral biting weirdos.”
Monica shrugs. “We’ve been called worse, I’m sure.”
I lean against the front counter of the bookstore, resting my elbows on the countertop and letting my face fall into my hands. “That’s going to happen again, isn't it?”
Realizing I’m about to have a breakdown in front of Zoe, I quickly take a breath and compose myself before standing straight and plastering a smile on my face.
Monica studies me with concern lacing her eyes, the wrinkles between her brows deepening. But before she can respond, the bells on the door chime, and we both turn find my mom, Penelope, and Dahlia entering the shop.
Dahlia is frowning, my mom races straight into my arms, dramatically hugging me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…fine,” I choke, windpipe smushed by her embrace.
“I heard the tailed end of that guy following you out of the bakery,” Dahlia says. “Everett chased him away, told him not to come back.” She smiles to herself. “I don’t think he will.”
“That was just really weird, right?” I ask. “I knew that there would be publicity, but I didn’t think it’d be like this.”
“It won’t be,” my mother adds sternly. “We’ll make sure the media knows you and that baby are off-limits.”
The rest of the family nod in agreement, offering me quiet reassurances and soft hugs as they head back to the makeshift break room behind the front desk, but I don’t feel nearly the same level of confidence.
In fact, that fear I’m constantly keeping anchored in the pits of my gut seems to be fraying at the seams the closer I get to my due date, to the future I can’t slow down.
I’m so fucking scared, but I don’t want to break down in front of everyone. I need Archer, and he’s not here… Though, I suppose it’s time I adjust to that reality.
I decide to wait up front for Willow, after she stopped in the coffee shop to use the bathroom, and chat with Zoe to give myself a break from the mothering hens in the back room and regain my bearings.
Zoe is shy and reserved, but very nice, and she’s got a book recommendation for every rogue, horny, ovulation thought that crosses my mind—which I appreciate.
Though, at this moment, she’s watching the commotion in the store with wide doe eyes, like she doesn’t know how to process any of the chaos.
“Hey, Zoe,” I say. “How have you been?”
We’ve chatted here and there when we’ve run into each other on campus, since she attends Golden State too, and of course at the bookstore, but admittedly, I don’t know her very well.
The freckles on her nose dance when she smiles. “I’m good. Is everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, totally.” I flash a grin. “Are you coming to book club?”
Truth be told, I like Zoe a lot, and I know that Elena always does her best to make Zoe feel included, but she normally doesn’t join us. Which is silly considering I know she has to have read everything we have. Maybe she just needs to feel welcomed by someone else.
“Oh.” Her lips part, shoulder-length hair swaying when she shrugs. “I…uh…I wasn’t planning on it.” She tucks a strand behind her ear, dropping her gaze to the counter.
“Did you read the book? The Canadian cowboy accidental pregnancy where they fuck on the hood of her ex’s car?”
Zoe’s cheeks tint, but a knowing smirk clusters at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, I have read that one. I thought it was great.”
“Me too.” I nod. “I love a squirter.” Zoe flushes deep, averting her gaze like my comment personally embarrassed her.
“Well, you should come hang out with us.” I crane my neck toward the back of the shop.
“We’re getting pizza later, and we need to pick our next book.
I know you’re most qualified to help with that. ”
“Oh. You’re so kind,” she says quietly.“But I’m working, and I’m sure Elena wouldn’t want to pay me to—”
“If you think I’m not paying you, at least in part, for the companionship, you’re terribly mistaken,” Elena says, rounding the corner from her office. “There is no point in you sitting up here bored, anyway. If a customer comes in, we’ll hear the bell and either you or me can come help them.”
“Oh… Okay. Thanks.”
“Stop thanking me for basic human decency, Zo,” Elena chimes, rummaging through a bag hanging at her side. “Or I’ll start adding self-esteem fees to your rent.”
“Rent?” I ask.
Elena looks up, eyes meeting mine as she nods. “She’s taking over your apartment.”
“Really? Oh, you’re going to love it. Living on the boardwalk is so fun.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Zoe says softly. “It’s a bit farther from campus than my dad’s house, but I like that it’s close to work.”
“Worth the drive.” I flutter my hand. “Just be careful with the bed up there.” I rub my belly. “It’s known to assist in conceiving.”
“Or just use condoms,” Elena mutters, winking at me as she guides Zoe behind her office.
I wait a few more minutes for Willow, and once she arrives, we make our way behind the front desk together.
The room is decorated in neutral colors, a few warmly lit lamps throughout, one of which is a candle warmer that casts the space in the scent of vanilla.
A long couch, a loveseat, and two armchairs sit upon a massive, fluffy rust-colored rug with a wooden coffee table in the middle.
Potted plants hang from hooks in the corner, and a few bean bags line the wall behind the door.
I lower myself onto the couch, the room filled with my closest friends and family. We eat and laugh, discuss our books, and enjoy each other’s company, though I can’t ignore the incessant fear nagging at the nape of my neck.
The dread of understanding that this is my last time, for a long time, to experience this.
That soon I’ll be living in a city I don’t recognize, with a newborn, and the people I love too far away.
That Archer’s notoriety will have an undeniable impact on my—and my child’s—life, and that there could be another run-in like the one I had today.
More people trying to know us, follow us, use us.
And the next time I face that, I’ll be completely alone.