One Night, Two Consequences

Leaving her corporate life had been the right decision, Remy thought. And she’d seen some amazing places, met some extraordinary people. But travelling hadn’t filled all the holes in her soul. She was still looking for …

Remy racked her brain. Why couldn’t she define what she was seeking? Why did she have this belief that she would only know what it was when she found it? It wasn’t love, or a man, or a relationship—love was conditional, an iffy emotion that wasn’t steadfast and true. And, as she’d been shown all her life, it could be used as a weapon or a bribe. She had spent her life chasing it, catching it and then having it ripped from her grasp. She was so over it.

As a result, she didn’t buy in to the premise that love, or a man, would make her happy. So what would? She wished she knew.

Was she looking for a new job? Possibly. A new passion? Definitely.

What she hadn’t been looking for was pregnancy or incipient motherhood. That was taking her whole turn-over-a-new-leaf attitude a forest too far.

But a baby was on its way, she was keeping it, and she had to adjust. She had to make plans—start thinking for two.

But before she could make plans she had to tell Bo—tell him that she was pregnant and expecting his child. Bo deserved to know he’d fathered a child, and her child needed to know who his or her father was. She knew this because nearly thirty years ago, in a rare display of loss of control, her mum had gone to a party, got totally high, and couldn’t remember exactly who she’d slept with that night.

As a result Remy didn’t have a cookin’ clue who her own father was.

Telling Bo was the one thing she was sure of. She owed him that. She supposed that she would also have to tell her family … which meant—unfortunately—having a conversation with her mother.

Remy sighed and pushed her hair back off her face as she stood up. That was going to be fun. Jan would respond as if she’d told her that she was intending to juggle with vials of something lethal. It was going to be ten times worse than telling her mother that she had given up her job to go travelling to ‘find’ herself.

Way. Way. Worse.

Unlike travelling, she couldn’t just give up a baby and resume the life Jan had spent so much time planning.

Remy walked over to the crib and stared down at the tiny, tiny little bundle who was her mother’s latest little project. Unfair, Remy thought, biting her lip. Her mum loved Callum and she loved her. Sort of …

‘I’ll try to shield you as much as I can, little brother, but I’m warning you she’s a force of nature. Don’t be too smart, okay?’ she murmured, touching the back of her knuckle to his satin-smooth head. ‘I’m going to leave Portland now—tonight. I’ve got to get out of here. And, no, I’m not quite brave enough to tell her yet.’

‘Tell her what?’ Jan asked from the doorway, her arms folded against her already flat stomach.

Her body wouldn’t dare rebel and hold on to its baby fat a minute longer than it should, Remy thought.

Remy pushed the pregnancy test wands back into her pocket, hiding them, before turning to face her mum. ‘Nothing much,’ she lied. ‘Just that I’m leaving. It’s time.’

Jan nodded briskly. ‘Good. I was about to suggest the same thing. But before you go I want to tell you about a VP position that I hear is vacant at Repcal Tech. It’s a step down from where you were before, but beggars can’t be choosers …’

Back in Bellevue, Remy thought as she pulled into a spare parking space in front of the diner on the corner of Main and First. Looking down, she saw the open notebook next to her on the cracked bench seat of her old Ford 150. There were just two bullet points on the blank page.

Fill up with gas.

Find Bo and tell him you’re pregnant.

Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy, she assured herself. Once she told Bo that he was going to be a daddy and that she expected absolutely nothing from him she could move on again. He would be upset at the news—and then grateful when he heard that she intended to let him off the hook, happy that she didn’t need or expect anything from him. Then she’d leave.

She had, she reckoned, another three months of travelling before she had to make some hard decisions—like where she wanted to live, what she was going to do for the rest of her life.

That’s what happens when you let yourself play with fire, Draycott. You get burned, dummy.

Or, in her case, pregnant …

Remy grabbed her leather tote bag and left the car, slamming the heavy door shut behind her. She had been travelling for hours and she was hungry and desperate to use the bathroom.

Remy pushed open the door to the diner and sighed when she saw the packed tables and booths. Apparently lunchtime on a Saturday was chaotic. She used the facilities and washed her hands and face, taking some time to run a brush through her hair, to swipe on some lip gloss. This was Bo’s town, after all, and she didn’t want to run into him looking as if she’d been dragged backwards through a bush.

And if she did run into him, how should she tell him?

Hi, remember me? Thought you’d like to know that I’m pregnant.

Funny thing … You know when you slipped inside without a condom? Well, it had a pretty big consequence …

Or her favourite.

I’m pregnant. It’s yours. Bye.

Remy sighed at her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror before whirling away and heading back into the diner. Food always made her feel better. She’d have a bacon and blue cheese burger and then she’d tackle the problem of finding out exactly who Bo actually was and how to get hold of him. Once she did that her duty would be done and she could move on.

There still wasn’t an empty table in the place, so Remy looked over the customers to see who would be most receptive to sharing a table. Years of travelling had robbed her of any lingering shyness and she could talk to anybody, anywhere. There were two good-looking blondes, one male, one female, sitting in a corner booth. They looked enough alike for her to assume that they were siblings. And, since they weren’t lovers, they shouldn’t mind her horning in on their private time.

Her mind made up, Remy walked across the room to the booth and flashed them her biggest smile. Ooh, the blond guy was very fine: muscled and masculine, with a gorgeous pair of deep brown eyes.

Rein it in, Draycott. The last time you flirted with a hot man you ended up with a lot more than you bargained for.

So Remy dialled down her smile and gestured to the empty seats. ‘I’m absolutely starving and I was wondering if I could share your table. Please?’

The elfin face of the woman was tilted up and she smiled back. ‘Sure …’ She scooted up on the bench and patted the empty space next to her. ‘Take a seat. I’m Ginny, and this is my cousin Eli.’

Eli leaned back and gave her a long, lazy smile.

Yeah, definitely flirting material … Except that he didn’t do anything for her. The eyes were brown, not grey, his hair was too light and his smile was too open.

‘I’m Remy.’

‘Are you passing through?’ Eli asked.

‘I might be around for a couple of days—a week, maybe.’

It didn’t seem that big a town—surely it wouldn’t take that long to track Bo down? Maybe she could ask Eli and Ginny if they knew him. But later, after they’d all eaten.

She gestured to their half-eaten plates of food—salad for her, burger for him—and to their cooling coffee. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your conversation, please.’

Remy quietly ordered her food from a waitress as the cousins resumed their discussion around organic farming. Remy, not knowing anything about farming, and even less about organic farming, tuned out and leaned back and closed her eyes. Lord, she was tired. Soul-deep tired … Thank goodness she’d booked a room at the hotel down the street before she’d left Portland. After her burger she’d check in and maybe just lie down for a little while.

‘Did you see the sample menus from the chef candidates that were faxed through from LA?’ Ginny was asking.

‘Yeah … not that I read them,’ Eli answered.

She’d said the magic word ‘menus’ and Remy couldn’t help tuning in.

‘I bet you he didn’t explain the brief properly—the vision of the restaurant,’ Ginny grumbled. ‘They’re too far out. We don’t want Turkish eggs and caviar omelettes …’