Having Justin's Baby

“That better not be the dress that nearly cost me a client this morning,” Justin said as he approached the campfire.

Both women turned at the sound of his voice. “Justin! You’re just in time. Get it? Just-in?” She giggled and he raced over to swoop her off the chair.

“Hey—what are you doing?” she protested.

“Bringing you down to my level so you can give me a proper welcome and thank me for coming to you in your hour of need, although it looks as if you’ve been doing all right without me.”

With the wedding dress still in her arms she pulled him to her and gave him a hug so that he nearly got a mouthful of satin.

“You came all the way up here to make sure that I was okay?”

“Yup, once again Justin to the rescue.” He looked over his shoulder at her companion. “I have a habit of doing this.”

“What a good friend you are,” Paige gushed as she released him. “I am so glad you’re here. You’re just in time to see me burn the last reminder of the chickenshit.”

When she moved to toss the dress into the fire, he stopped her. “You’re not burning that thing. It has a history.”

“Oh, you mean the schoolteacher and the soldier.” She sighed. “They were so in love.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t burn the dress.” He took the gown from her hands.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” the blond woman said, and suddenly Paige found her manners.

“Justin, you remember Stacy, don’t you? She’s in charge of customer relations. Stacy, this is Justin, my best friend and maid of honor.”

“Maid of honor?” Stacy lifted her eyebrows inquisitively.

“It’s a long story,” Justin said. They made small talk, and Justin told her that he was one of the Bulldogs and would be staying for the weekend.

Stacy finally said, “I really should get going.” She turned to Paige. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“You don’t have to go because Justin came,” Paige told her.

“No, but it’s late and I do have to work tomorrow.”

Paige covered her mouth. “Oh, I forgot. Thanks for all your help tonight,” she said, giving the other woman a hug.

As Stacy prepared to leave, Paige said, “What about the stuff you bought for the men are pigs punch?”

Stacy dismissed her concern with a flap of her hand. “Keep it.”

“Men are pigs punch?” Justin repeated.

“It’s really good,” Paige told him. “You have to try it—even though you’re not a pig.”

Justin looked at Paige. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I am. You’re my best friend.” Then she turned to Stacy and gave her a hug. “Thank you so much for teaching me how to see the positive side of getting dumped.”

Justin was at a loss for words. He’d expected to find Paige angry and hurt, but he hadn’t expected to find her drinking. He asked Stacy if she needed a ride home, but she assured him she’d had only one glass of the punch a few hours earlier, so she was fine. As she drove away, he knew the first thing he had to do was put the wedding dress out of sight.

“What are you going to do with that?” Paige asked as he started walking with the dress toward his truck.

“Put it away so you can return it and get your money back.”

“I don’t care about the money. I want to burn it. Bring it back here,” she ordered him.

He ignored her and kept walking. He was fairly certain that come tomorrow she’d be glad the satin gown wasn’t among the ashes of the fire pit. “You may feel differently tomorrow.”

She followed him. “No, I won’t. I don’t ever want to see that stupid dress again. I don’t want any memories of Mr. Michael ‘I’m a chickenshit’ Cross.”

“Then I’ll return it for you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Because you said there’s a story behind it,” he said, draping it across the seat of his pickup.

“Yeah, and it’s a nightmare. You can take it back to the consignment shop but no one’s going to want to buy it now. Everyone in town knows what happened.”

He could see it would do no good to argue with her as to the worth of the dress so he simply said, “Then we won’t return it. Why don’t you go inside and get me a beer.”

“I don’t have any beer but Stacy left the punch and it’s really good. You can drink it even though you’re a guy.”

“Maybe we should have some coffee.”

“Coffee? You don’t drink coffee.” She gave him a puzzled look before saying, “Ah, I get it. You think I’m drunk.” She giggled. “I’ve only had two glasses, Just-in.” She stressed each syllable of his name. “Enough to make me realize I’m better off without Mr. Chickenshit.”

“You just made my point. You’re swearing, which means you’ve definitely hit your limit of alcohol.”

“You’re sounding like a big brother again, Just-in. I don’t need a big brother tonight. I need a friend. And if you are my best friend you will help me celebrate the end of my engagement.” She held up her left hand and wiggled it in the air. “See. No ring.”

His eyes widened. “You didn’t throw that in the fire?”

“Nope. I flushed it down the toilet.” Seeing the expression on his face, she laughed. “I’m kidding. It’s inside. Now, are you going to join me in a glass of punch or not? Stacy made it extra weak because she knows it doesn’t take much to give me a headache.”

“Why don’t you just bring me a soda.”

She shoved her fists to her waist. “Did you or did you not drive all the way up here a day early to help me make it through the nastiest day of my life?”

“I did,” he assured her.

“Good, because that’s what friends do—they’re there for each other when you need them, and right now I need you to be my best friend, not my big brother. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or me just because we have a couple of glasses of men are pigs punch.”

He thought about it briefly and decided if sitting around the campfire drinking made her forget about her broken heart, who was he to say she should stop? “Okay, go inside and get us some punch.”

As she climbed the steps to the trailer she called out over her shoulder, “If you’re not going to burn the dress, we’re going to need more wood for the fire. There’s a pile of it on the other side of my car.”

While she was inside he gathered several birch logs and added them to the fire. It was quiet on her campsite. A small awning extended from the trailer under which she had a bistro-size table and chairs. Although the campsites were fairly close together, trees afforded a privacy that made it feel as if they were in the middle of the wilderness.