The chef had been so impressed with what she’d brought back and how much money she’d saved him, he’d bragged about it to his chef friends. Before long, Lucy had two, then three, then four shopping lists to fill each day. After a while, she realized that she’d accidentally discovered a niche in the market, and Market Fresh was born.
She did her homework for a whole year before jumping in. She took some small-business courses, and she went through the sums over and over with her sister. Finally, she leased the van and pitched herself to her former employer and his friends. After a few ups and downs, the business was now holding its own.
Except she’d reached a difficult stage in her company’s growth. She needed more clients, but she couldn’t afford to put on an extra driver to service them until she had more money coming in. Also, she needed to up her game to ensure she retained her existing clients. The answer to all her problems was obvious but expensive: the Internet. Ever since she’d found out she was pregnant, Lucy had been exploring the idea of taking Market Fresh online. With a Web site, she could deliver a real-time list of available produce to her clients each day and receive and collate their orders automatically. She already knew from discussions she’d had with several of her key clients that they were attracted to the convenience of the idea. She was confident that new clients would be equally drawn.
She just had to find the money to get online. Hence her appointment with the bank tomorrow.
Lucy rubbed her belly. She hated the thought of taking on more debt. She already made lease payments on the van, and while she was keeping her head above water, it would take the loss of only a few clients or a hike in fuel costs to put her in the red again. She didn’t want to risk that, not with the baby on the way.
But she also wanted to ensure her child’s future. Build something that would keep them both safe and warm for many years, without having to rely on the generosity of Rosie and Andrew, or handouts from her mother.
She closed her eyes at the very thought. Since the meeting a month ago when she’d told her mother she was pregnant, she’d been on the receiving end of all the fussing a pregnant woman could endure. Home-cooked meals appeared magically in her fridge, and every time her mother visited she brought something for the baby—stacks of disposable diapers, a baby bath, receiving blankets, tiny baby clothes. The study nook where she planned to put the baby’s cradle was already jammed to overflowing with her mother’s gifts.
It was incredibly generous, and it also took a huge burden off Lucy’s shoulders in terms of her baby budget. But every time her mother handed over an offering, Lucy remembered the nights her mother had stayed up late ironing business shirts for fifty cents apiece. And the weekends she’d spent sewing wedding and bridesmaid dresses, and confirmation dresses for the girls in the neighborhood. And all the times Lucy had watched her mother carefully count her change into the rainy-day jar. Her mother was retired now, living off a small pension and her savings, and Lucy knew that every gift to her came at her mother’s expense.
Her mother had sacrificed so much to give her and Rosie a good home, and now she was sacrificing again to support Lucy’s unplanned pregnancy.
Lucy shoved her chair back so sharply it screeched across the timber floor.
She had to convince the people at the bank that she was a good risk. Somehow she had to push the business into the next phase, and she had to look after herself and her baby without leaning on her mother. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be. She remembered how proud she’d felt when she and Rosie had presented their mother with the lush, expensive Italian wool coat. Sophia’s eyes had lit up then filled with tears when she’d understood that the beautiful garment was hers, a token of her daughters’ esteem and affection.
That was the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be—the kind of daughter who gave instead of took, the kind of daughter who could give her mother the retirement she deserved after all her hard years of work.
Lucy ran a hand through her hair and let her breath hiss out between her teeth, wishing she could release her tension as easily. She had her business papers in order and her best suit was hanging at the ready—even though she had to use a couple of safety pins and leave the zipper down to get the skirt on. As long as she didn’t take her jacket off, no one would ever know.
“They’ll listen,” Lucy said out loud, trying to convince herself. “They’ll see my vision. They have to.”
“First sign of madness, you know,” Rosie said from behind her, and Lucy started.
“For Pete’s sake!” she said, one hand pressed to her chest. “Have you been taking lessons from Ma or something?”
“I knocked,” Rosie said, gesturing toward the door that connected the flat to the kitchen of the main house. “You were too busy talking to yourself to hear me.”
Lucy punched her sister on the arm. “That’s for scaring the living daylights out of me.”
Rosie rubbed her arm. “If you weren’t knocked up, you’d be in so much trouble right now,” she said. “But even a lawyer has to draw the line at taking on a pregnant woman.”
“Very noble of you.”
“I’m good like that. You coming in to watch
Desperate Housewives
with us?” she asked.
Lucy shot a look toward her laptop. She had her accounts in order, but her nerves demanded she go over them one last time, just to be sure.
“I think I’ve got too much work to do,” she said.
Rosie’s face immediately creased with concern. “Everything okay? You’re all good for the bank?”
“Sure. No problems,” Lucy said, careful to keep her voice casual.
“I can still cancel my afternoon appointment and come with you,” Rosie said.
While a part of Lucy wanted her support more than anything, she knew she had to do this alone. The whole point of getting the loan and growing the business was to become more independent and self-sufficient. Lucy didn’t want to be a charity case for the rest of her life. She owed her baby a better start than that.
“It’s all good. Really. I’ve already ironed my shirt and everything,” she said.
Rosie looked like she wanted to argue some more, so Lucy said the first thing that popped into her head.
“Hey, guess who’s back in town? Dominic Bianco. Saw him at the market this morning.”
As she’d hoped, her sister stopped frowning and got a salacious, speculative look in her eye. Rosie had always had a thing for Dom Bianco.
“How long was he away? And is he as hot as ever?” Rosie asked.
“Six months. And he looks the same as always,” Lucy said.
“Ow. Must have been some divorce that he needed six months time-out to recover,” Rosie said with a wince. “Nice to know he hasn’t lost his looks, though. Tell me, does he still wear those tight little jeans?”
“At this point I feel honor-bound to remind you that you’re a married woman.”
“I can still admire from a distance. And Dominic Bianco is worth admiring. Those cheekbones. And those black eyes of his. And that body.” Rosie fanned herself theatrically.
“Careful or I’m going to have to hose you down.”
“How can you look at that man and not have sweaty, carnal thoughts?”
“Um, because I’m four months pregnant,” Lucy said, “and about to become a walking whale?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Maybe he’s not my type.”
“You have twenty-twenty vision and a pulse, and you’re pregnant so it proves you’re heterosexual. He’s your type. Next,” Rosie said, wiggling her fingers in a gimme-more gesture.
Lucy frowned. She’d never seriously given the matter much thought before. In fact, she’d never really paid much attention to Dominic, truth be told. He’d been married until recently, and she’d been living with Marcus, and Rosie had always had a thing for him—he’d been out of bounds for a bunch of reasons, really. And Lucy wasn’t the kind of person who got off on lusting after the forbidden.
“I don’t know. Maybe I never let myself notice,” she said finally.
“Ha!” Rosie said triumphantly. “I knew it!”
“You want to share what you know? ’Cause I’m still in the dark here.”
“You have the hots for him. Only someone who really has the hots for someone would completely block out the other person’s attractiveness like that. And The Bianco definitely qualifies as attractive. The man is a god. Sex on legs. H-O-T.”
“Okay, I got it.” Lucy shook her head at both her sister’s convoluted logic and her use of her teen code name for Dom. “Is this the kind of argument you try on in court, by the way? Do judges buy this crap?”
“It’s the only explanation,” Rosie said, crossing her arms smugly over her chest.
“Really? How about this—you’ve been hot for Dom for so many years that you’re trying to live vicariously through me?”
Rosie cocked her head. “Hmmm. That’s not bad.”
They both laughed.
“You’re a dirty birdy,” Lucy said, reaching out and tugging on her sister’s shoulder-length hair.
“Thank you. I do try.” Rosie turned toward the door. “Sure you’re not up for ice cream and
Housewives?
”
Lucy bit her lip, tempted now that she’d let go of some of her anxiety. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t already gone over and over her application. “What flavor have you got?”
“New York cheesecake
and
macadamia toffee,” Rosie said.
Lucy slung an arm around her sister’s neck. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she said, planting a kiss on her sister’s cheek.
“You, my dear, are an ice-cream hussy,” Rosie said. Then she slung her arm around Lucy’s fast-disappearing waist and kissed her back. “Love you, too.”
What an asshole. Lucy deserved so much better.
“What time are the Johnsons coming in tomorrow?” Andrew asked as he exited the ensuite bathroom.
He had stripped down to his boxers, and as usual the sight of his solid, muscular body filled Rosie with a warm sense of comfort and proprietorial pride. He worked hard to stay fit, and she made a point of admiring the results as often as possible because she knew that, like her, he’d been an overweight teen and the ghosts of past shame still lurked in the corners of his mind.
“Looking fine, Mr. James. Looking fine,” she said, giving him her best leer.
Andrew struck a few muscleman poses, each more ridiculous than the last. She was laughing her head off by the time he slid into bed beside her.
“Come here,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist.
She went willingly, curling close to his big, warm body, her head resting on his shoulder. She wondered for perhaps the millionth time how she’d gotten so lucky. She’d had the hots for Andrew James since she walked into her first common-law lecture at Melbourne University. He’d been sitting in the third row, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’d glanced up from his notebook, and her brown eyes had met his blue, and the deal had been sealed then and there. He hadn’t even needed to smile, but when he did, she’d literally gone weak at the knees.
Rosie smiled as she remembered. She hadn’t believed in love at first sight until that moment. Life sure showed her.
“What are you smiling about?” Andrew asked.
“Just thinking about the first time I saw you,” she said.
“That old thing,” he said. “What is it with women, always mythologizing the past?”
She dug an elbow into his ribs. “Don’t ruin my sentimentality with your man-logic.”
Her thoughts inevitably clicked to the subject she’d been worrying at before Andrew came through from the bathroom.
“I wish Lucy could have met someone like you instead of Marcus the moocher,” she said.
“She’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
“I can’t help it. It’s in my genes.”
“It’s not like she’s in this alone. She’s got Sophia and she’s got us. We’ll all pitch in.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know. But it’s close, and it’s more than a lot of people have. Lucy’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for, you know.”
“I know.”
“Anyway, it’ll be good practice for us, being Uncle Andrew and Aunty Rosie. By the time our own kids come along, I’ll have mastered the whole diaper thing, no problems.”
She tensed.
“Wow. I’ll have to tell Lucy you’re volunteering for pooper-scooper duty,” she said.
She felt his chest rise as though he’d taken a breath to say something, but he didn’t speak. For a moment there was a whole world of not-talked-about stuff hanging in the air between them.
“Oh, I forgot. The Johnsons. They rebooked for eleven,” she said.
“Right. Yeah, I’d forgotten,” he said.
He stretched to the side and clicked off the bedside lamp.
“Good night,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
She kissed his chest one last time and slid back to her side of the bed. As much as she’d love to fall asleep on him, she knew she’d just wake up in half an hour with a numb arm.
The sheets were cool on her side and she stared up at the ceiling, reliving that telltale little hitch in their conversation.
You have to pay the piper sometime.
There was a conversation coming, looming on the horizon. She knew that. And it filled her with fear. Because she knew how much Andrew wanted children—and she had no desire at all to be a mother.