Late Love Page 4

  The baby. It’s a sobering thought that leads me right back to Owen. One of the only people who knows about the baby. He wasn’t showing up at my house before he found out, so my only guess is that he’s here for that reason.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, looking down at his brown boots before returning his attention to me. “Is it okay I wear shoes in the flat?” he asks, as if he’s possibly broken some cardinal rule by crossing into my flat in shoes

  “You’re fine,” I assure him. “Back to what you’ve been thinking?”

  He nods, seemingly glad he hasn’t upset me. I guess his mother really did raise him right. Stana always told me behind his playboy persona Owen was a mama’s boy.

  “Right, anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been doing some thinking. And…” He pauses, looking me over. “Sorry, do you want to sit down? I could make you a cuppa and some—” His forehead creases as he paces back and forth. “Perhaps a biscuit, or if you’re hungry I could throw together some lunch?”

  “Owen!” I can’t help but choke on a laugh as I say his name. I don’t think for a minute that he’s stalling; he just genuinely wants me to be comfortable. “I’m fine. Let’s sit down and you can tell me what’s going on.”

  I move around the couch before sitting down, motioning for him to sit across from me. He’s not a small guy by any means. Tall, golden, and I reckon under that white T-shirt, he’s probably fit as fuck. Shit. Lottie, no!

  He sits and I wait for him to begin, feeling I’ve probably said enough.

  “Okay, sorry, I don’t mean to come across as a worrywart. I just know how rough it can be in the first trimester. Mum was always so sick, and I didn’t want you to be standing listening to me go on and want to be sick or something.”

  I bite my lip to keep from smiling at his terminology. For a tall, sexy drink of water, sometimes he can sound like my nan.

  “Anyway, the real reason I’m here is that I want to help you, Lottie. I know we aren’t exactly close, but it’s clear we get along. What’s also clear is you’re going through this alone and that can’t be easy on anyone. I know this might come off as weird or pushy. I’m not trying to put the moves on you or anything; I want to help.”

  I sit back, attempting to process his words. I don’t really know men like Owen. To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure they existed at all.

  “I’m a very vocal person, Owen. It’s rare for me to be speechless.”

  He nods. “Good or bad speechless?”

  Lifting my shoulders, I swallow. “I don’t know. This is a deeply personal time in my life, clearly something unexpected. Being blunt, you’re not exactly the first person I would think to call, let alone tell. It’s a lot.”

  “Okay, well then, I’ll go.” He runs his hands along his jeans, his movements reeking of hesitancy.

  “Okay,” I reply, still unsure what else to say.

  “But before I go, I just have one question. Are you okay?”

  I pause, his words catching me off guard. It’s the first time I’ve been asked that. Well, obviously, because I haven’t told a soul. I don’t have it in me yet. And I think that fact alone tells me all I need to know. So, in a moment of utter surprise not only to myself, but also to Owen, I open my mouth and answer honestly.

  “No, Owen. I don’t think I am.”

  “It’s okay to not be okay, Lottie. Everyone needs someone every once in a while.”

  He moves of his own accord, each step drawing him closer. Once he’s in front of me, toe to toe, his arms coil around me and pull me into him.

  It isn’t remotely romantic, and despite not knowing him too well, I sink into him. His fresh T-shirt smells like laundry detergent, and it’s comforting, peaceful almost. I want to crawl inside whatever has made him so calm while I can’t seem to stop the storm brewing inside of me.

  His hands tighten around my back, not so much that he’s hurting me, but enough for me to feel a level of safety in his grip. Like the first few times I met Owen, I get that familiar sense of ease and familiarity that accompanies his presence.

  It’s those feelings that I use to convince myself to let Owen stay for another two hours. We don’t discuss anything baby-related. We simply sit and watch Star Wars. And honestly, it’s one of the best times I’ve had in months.

  “Are you ready?”

  I look up at Owen, because he’s just about a foot taller than me, before nodding. The big white building looms in front of me. People walk in and out, some carefree, others crippled with fear. I think I’m stuck at that in-between phase of just feeling royally fucked, and not in the fun way.

  “I guess I don’t really have a choice, puppy,” I admit. “I can’t keep ignoring this. I need to woman up, and this is the first step.”

  He eyes me thoughtfully, the deep depths of blue swirling around like a torrid ocean. He’s like a Ken doll, I think to myself, but I refrain from saying that aloud. I’m sure that would only piss him off.

  Over the past few days Owen’s been keeping a close eye on me, offering to help at any small inconvenience. And he’s the one who has been pushing that I see a doctor and get this confirmed.

  “I can hold your hand if you want,” he offers, trying to lighten the mood. He knows that isn’t my style.

  I look up at him and he’s grinning, so I shove his side. “Fuck off.” I laugh and he chuckles as we walk into the doctor’s office.

  We check in, and I can’t help but scan all the patients in the waiting area, my eyes locking onto a young mother, her stomach protruding, clearly about to burst any moment. Her partner sits beside her, the two of them holding hands.

  Other couples sit together, too, their arms touching and voices hushed as they speak. A small pang of jealousy pricks my heart at the sight. I won’t get those moments. The moments of being together, comfort filling every word.

  But that’s okay. Lots of women do this alone. I won’t be the first or the last.

  Owen and I sit down on the hard plastic chairs, his long legs hanging into the walkway despite how hard he tries to pull them in. I laugh and he glares at me, only making it all the more hilarious.

  “Ms. Knight.” My name is called out after twenty minutes, and we are ushered into a waiting room. It’s stark white and sanitized, smelling of antiseptic wipes. Not too different from parts of the pharmacy, so oddly, I feel at home here. Owen too seems surprisingly comfortable, but then I remember he’s done this before. With his mum.

  The door opens and a petite woman sticks her head in. Her deep brown hair sits just upon her shoulders while her coat seems to swallow her. I’d assume she’s in her late forties, maybe early fifties. A huge diamond sparkler sits on her ring finger, glaring at me when the sun hits it.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Estelle Montgomery,” she introduces herself, and I’m quick to do the same. Having seen enough movies that I know she will assume Owen is the father, I beat her to the punch by telling her he is a friend.

  She doesn’t waste any time, moving around the sterile room, her steps barely audible as she brings over a machine twice her size. “Now, it says here we’re thinking we’re pregnant?”

  I nod. “I took a test and it came back positive. I’ve had all the symptoms, so I just wanted to get it confirmed. I’m also a pharmacist, so I used all the tells I know to self-diagnose. I get that’s probably the wrong way to do that, but I’m also assuming I’m around ten weeks along.”

  She looks at me for a moment, taken aback, before schooling her features. “And when did you suspect?”

  “A little over a week ago.”

  “Okay, well, usually we would do a blood test to confirm, but since you’re assuming you’re at least two months along, we might as well use the ultrasound machine. Let’s lift up your top a little. Now be aware, this will be cold, but nothing painful.”

  I nod, little pinpricks of anxiety crawling up my spine as the reality of my situation begins to set in.

  With shaking hands, I pull up my white T-s
hirt. Owen moves closer to me, my gaze quickly darting to his.

  “Ugh, now might be a good time to hold my fucking hand,” I whisper to him, realizing I’m not as tough as I thought in this moment.

  He doesn’t joke with me, knowing now probably isn’t the time. Instead he grabs a stool and plops down, then pulls his body forward till he’s next to me. His large tan hand comes out and laces our fingers together as Dr. Montgomery begins to move the wand around.

  Suddenly the silence of the room is filled with a soft thump.

  Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom.

  “Holy fucking shit,” I say, not caring if my sailor’s mouth offends the doctor. Those are about all the words I can manage, emotion clogging my throat while water seeps into my eyes.

  “Well, you were correct, Lottie. Looks like your little one is around ten weeks old, making your due date end of March, the twenty-eighth.”

  She pauses, giving me a minute to collect myself with all this news.

  “Can she find out what she’s having yet?” Owen asks, his voice slightly different from usual.

  “Science has come a long way in the last few years, so now we can do a blood test at nine weeks to determine. That is, if you want?”

  I nod quickly, suddenly desperate to know if it’s a little girl or boy.

  “Okay then, let’s finish up here, and then we can get to work on drawing blood.” She talks to me a little longer, going over basic prenatal care and what to do and not do. I try to take it all in but know I must be missing a few things. Luckily, Owen’s taking notes on his iPhone. I don’t let myself think about how most dads don’t even do that. The girls were not lying to me when they said Owen was special.

  “It will take a few days for me to get back to you with the results, so after the nurse has finished with you two, you’re free to go.”

  We say our goodbyes before she’s off checking on another patient. I’m still speechless, trying to comprehend the gravity of everything finally sinking in.

  This is real. I’m going to be a mother.

  And for the first time, the fear of that concept doesn’t send me into total panic.

  We’re in the office for another twenty minutes before everything has finally wrapped up, Owen and I free to go. It’s as we’re exiting the room that I realize Owen has been holding my hand the entire time.

  He pulls away from me to open the door, and I take the opportunity to rub my hands down my sides. Owen catches me and smiles. I, of course, roll my eyes.

  As we get back into the car, Owen in the driver’s seat, I realize the entire dynamic between the two of us has shifted. Despite the little time we’ve known one another, there is a closeness and comfortability that time just can’t buy. And for that, I’m thankful.

  Three days later, I’m on my way to Saint Street to meet everyone before the guys’ show, thankful it’s only a five-minute walk from work. The best part about living in Notting Hill is that everything you need is here. But Lord knows that doesn’t stop me from running off to Oxford Street for a shopping spree or to Shoreditch for a night on the town. Well, I guess the latter is no longer an option for now.

  It’s been days of anxiously waiting for the call to find out what I’m having. God, even saying it all aloud sounds so surreal. I haven’t seen Owen since the doctor’s office—we’ve spoken on the phone once, but both of our jobs have kept us busy.

  Plus, he had to practice with Ali and Reeve for their performance tonight. I’ve only managed to see them play together a few times, but shit, they’re good. Em says they could have made it big time, and I believe her, but none of them wanted that. Said it would make it all feel too much like a job, when the reason they do it is to decompress.

  I’m outside of Saint Street when I spot Stana out front.

  “Hey, stranger!” I call out. Her deep brown hair blows in the wind as she turns around, her signature smile in place.

  A man walks in front of me, his side brushing my bag as I attempt to get to my cousin.

  “Watch it!” he yells before muttering under his breath, “Women.”

  “Hey!” I shout back. “Why don’t you watch it, asshole!”

  Stana’s eyes are wide as she watches the man retreat around the corner. She’s never been one to really raise her voice or retaliate at strangers. Me, on the other hand… Well, it might have to be something I work at once I’m a mum. Hmm, or maybe not.

  “Lottie!” she calls out as she meets me halfway in a hug. “That man could have been crazy or violent,” she chastises, but I hear a slight laugh in her voice.

  “He was a dickhead,” I reply, pulling her in tighter. “Stana, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. Work takes up all my time.”

  “And apparently Owen?” she says, attempting to hide a coy smile.

  I pull back, brushing off the comment. “Owen’s just a friend. Nice to know not all men are pure vile shit like Beck.” I beam, linking our arms together as we head to Saint Street. For a smaller bar, this place sure draws a crowd when the guys perform.

  Their band is called The R.O.A., literally all their first initials. Pretty basic, but not terrible. I like to think Owen could have done better.

  “Well, let’s get this show on the road,” I say, pulling open the heavy door and entering.

  “Tell me again why they didn’t want a record deal?” I ask Em one more time as the guys transition into an original song. The three of them are incredible, Reeve up front singing, Ali playing guitar, and Owen fucking owning the drums. Who knew I’d love the drums so much?

  “No interest,” she says back, then chugs her last few drops of wine.

  God, how I wish I could have one.

  “They are bloody brilliant, I will say.” I lean back, watching with pride as Owen smashes through each song with ease. His eyes catch mine every so often and he smiles. I grin back and motion to all the women and men fangirling over them. I can’t be sure, but I think he rolls his eyes before getting back into the song.

  It isn’t long till it’s past eleven and my body just needs a soft bed to crawl into. I say my goodbyes to everyone except Owen. He’s chatting to a brunette by the bar who appears to be eating up everything he says.

  Our gaze locks from across the room, and I give him a thumbs-up. It looks as though he’s going to come over, but I hold up a hand to say otherwise.

  I wink and slip out of Saint Street, trying not to read into the way my chest feels from seeing him with someone else.

  It’s a day after the guys’ show when I get the call from my doctor to let me know what I’m having.

  A little girl.

  I sit down on the couch, attempting to catch my breath after we hang up, my fingers itching to call Owen and tell him. As if he’s got some sort of telepathy, his number appears on my mobile, and I answer the call instantly.

  “It’s a girl!” I yell, unable to hold back my excitement.

  “What?” he replies, seemingly taken aback. Oh yeah, I forgot to even say hi or give him context.

  “My baby,” I respond. “I’m having a little girl.” I can practically hear the smile in my own voice. Pure joy.

  “Wow,” he whispers. “Wow, Lottie, that really is something. If anyone will be a great mum to a little girl, it’s going to be you.”

  I smile, my cheeks suddenly feeling wet, so I brush my hand across them. I didn’t even notice I was crying until now as my throat tightens and the small trickles dance down my face.

  “Are you happy?” he asks, voice slightly hesitant, wary almost.

  “Honestly, Owen, I was fucking petrified of having a child, but now that I’ve seen her heartbeat and know it’s a little girl, it all feels so real. Sure, I’m still scared shitless, but finally I think I can admit, yeah, I am happy.”

  We stay this way for another hour, Owen listening to me like Stana or Em would as I rattle on about her. About all the things I need to do and places I will have to go. He lets me talk on and on, only occasionally throwing in his two ce
nts.

  And after we say our goodbyes, for the first time in weeks I don’t feel so alone in everything. I feel as if I’m going to be okay. We are going to be okay.

  “Are you sure you can eat all that cheese?” Owen eyes my pre-dinner snack and I scowl at him, scoffing down another slice of cheddar.

  “Yes, I’m sure. It’s soft cheese I can’t have,” I attempt to reply, mouth full of food.

  He doesn’t respond, just goes back to his pot on the stove.

  It’s been two weeks since he found out, and since then something has drastically shifted between us. I’ve taken great comfort in Owen, and our semi-friendship has turned into something much more in such a short time. I’ve come to rely on him and confide in him, and with that, he’s become a permanent fixture in my home.

  Amid all of this uncertainty, our friendship has centered me when I feel as if everything is going to fly off course.

  “So, I know it’s been a while, but are you sure you don’t want to talk to Stana or Em about any of this?” Owen’s voice drifts out of the kitchen. I turn to look at him, his gaze already trained on me as he taps a wooden spoon against the rim of the pot.

  “I’m going to tell them. It’s more just a matter of when, not if.” I pause, running my fingers through my hair. I’ll probably have to hold off getting it done now. It’s the little things you wouldn’t even think about that matter.

  “I’m not trying to pressure you, Lottie. I know you’ve got a lot going on. I just want to help you.”

  I smile, rolling my eyes playfully at him as he walks toward me, our meal in hand.

  “Thanks, puppy,” I tell him, taking the bowl he hands over.

  “Anytime, Lottie. It’s important you keep eating good meals. I was thinking—”

  The ringing of my phone cuts Owen off mid-sentence, and I lift a hand to tell him to hang on when I see the name flash across the screen. The name of the person I’ve been trying to get in contact with for weeks.