The Knocked Up Plan (One Love #3)

by Lauren Blakely

A lopsided grin shimmers across his fine lips. Yeah, they’re yummy, too. He simply suffers from an extreme case of handsomeness.

He could read the phone book and make it sound like foreplay, which means everything he says makes you feel like a cat in mating season, even if he’s talking about changing the toner in the copy machine. I’d probably have a dirty dream about toner if he did.

Happily ever after is a cycle of bullshit, love is a medley of lies, and marriage is a thing that can only go wrong.

“Actually, gentlemen, I appreciate the sharing, but allow me to dispel some of that misinformation. Shockingly, you will find that checking any form of social media shortly after sex is a pet peeve of most women.”

“The same holds true for passing out after sex, recounting the act of intercourse as if you’re a play-by-play announcer, mentioning your mom during a post-coital snuggle, asking the woman you slept with to make you a sandwich, and calling her an Uber within the first fifteen minutes of finishing.” The guy with the goatee raises a tentative hand. “Same for Lyft?” I laugh lightly and slash a hand through the air. “Yes, and for the old-fashioned yellow cars known as taxis, too.”

“Want to know the biggest post-sex pet peeve of all?” All the men raise their faces. Eager acolytes. “Asking her if she came. Because if you can’t figure out whether she took a trip to the stars or not, then guess what the answer is.”

“Here’s the bottom line. Do you want to get laid?” They set a world record for nods.

My overlord is a lot like Peter Parker’s boss, J. Jonah Jameson, in the Spiderman movies.

“I just wish I knew the guy was going to be a Ryder Lockhart level of hot,” I say, matter-of-factly.

But life is a string of uncomfortable moments, and our job as adults is to navigate through them with the least harm and most love.

That’s our shared language, Ryder and me. We joke, we tease, we play.

You’re easygoing. You’re charming. You’re kind. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re ridiculously handsome.” “Oh really? Ridiculously?” “Insanely good-looking.” “Do continue.” “You’re amazingly gorgeous. You’re out-of-this-world beautiful.”

“And your child will have a beautiful mother.” “And that,” she says, gesturing to me. “That right there. You’re just . . .” She lets her voice trail off. “You’re good, Ryder. You’re good.”

“You are a good guy,” she says, emphatically. “You have a good heart. I understand this isn’t a small request. But I hope you’ll consider it because I know I’ll be a good mother, and I want to give my child the best genes possible. I think that’s you.”

I know there are no guarantees, but you literally have no idea how much I want to be a grandmother.” I adopt a serious look. “Judging from your howl, I have a pretty good idea. I’d say you want it as much as you wanted that bottle of Cabernet you bid on at auction a few weeks ago.” “Shame on you. I wanted that wine more.” She winks and hugs me. “Just kidding. I want this for you, and I want it more than anything. But you know, no pressure.”

That girl is such a source of joy in their life. She’s sunshine. She’s happiness. And she came from a choice—a choice to open their home to a child who needed one. I have the power to make that choice for Nicole.

My chest falls. The man is known for punctuality. I scan the white bakery case and the five round iron tables, but he’s not here. When I spin around and survey the bookshelves, my heart nearly leaps from my chest. He’s in the . . . Oh my fucking God, he’s waiting for me in the . . . I bring my hand to my mouth, and I want to run, to leap into his arms. When he sees me, his blue eyes twinkle with mischief. I am a teapot about to whistle. I am a dog dancing before dinnertime. He taps the shelves and holds up a book. A pregnancy guide.

“What if we did it the old-fashioned way?”

Dog people get dog people.

Don’t settle for ordinary kisses. Kisses are the sustenance of love. They will feed you.

Do we have a finite amount of love inside us that we allocate to the people and animals we fall madly for? And if someone breaks our heart, can we simply siphon off that love toward another creature?

We’re both good at this. He’s not looking for anything more, and I’m not looking for anything but his—” “Deposits,” Penny cuts in. “Let me tell you, when that man goes to the ATM, he goes there,” I say. “He gets that money in so deep, so far, and he delivers it all the way to the bank.”

“You’re not a fool,” I say, soothing her as I rub her shoulders. “You’re just a normal person who wanted something badly. You stayed positive and believed in the possibilities. That doesn’t make you foolish. It makes you human.”

There’s nothing wrong with wanting something. So often we think we need to temper our hope so we’re prepared for bad news. Guess what? Bad news hurts whether you’re prepared for it or not. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for the best.”

I like to think our ability to love is infinite. I want to feel the limitlessness of love.

My part is over, like a character in a play who was killed off in the first act. My role in the story of her life has ended.

There’s a new member of my life. I’ve gotten to know her quite well during the last five weeks. Her name is Grace, short for “saving grace.” I hug her, resting my cheek against the porcelain bowl. We’re so tight these days that I just shared my dinner with her.

He wears dark jeans that fit him so damn well I bet they gossip to other jeans about how good it feels to hug his legs.

“Wait! I’ll play tonight.” His eyes twinkle. “You will?” I hold up a hand. “Unless Rosemary attacks me again with another bout of nighttime sickness.” “You named the baby? Are you having a girl?” His voice rises at the end with a touch of excitement. I wave that off. “No. Rosemary’s Baby. Like the movie.”

“I looked up how to treat morning sickness. I figured you had tried most things, but it couldn’t hurt to send reinforcements.”

“Ignore him,” my mother says to me. “If you feed the wild animal, he’ll keep coming back.” Aiden flashes a gleaming grin. “Too late, Mom. You’re stuck with me.

That afternoon, I join the crew for a few hours. Delaney and her boyfriend, Tyler, invited me for Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, and hot toddies. Tyler’s best buddy, Simon, is hosting the soiree with his wife, Abby, at his swank East Side home.

“Five months and three weeks.” Abby holds up her hot chocolate and clinks mugs to mine.

“You fell on your wrist and can barely move it.” And I’m terrified about our baby. I catch my breath, inhaling sharply. Holy fucking shit. I’ve never thought of her baby as mine. Not till now.

I’m listening to our baby’s heart, and it’s the most incredible sound I’ve ever heard. I swear it moves through me, stirring up an unexpected kaleidoscope of emotions that’s magnified when I meet Nicole’s eyes. They’re wet, filled with happy tears. It’s almost too much for me to take, and I blink, looking away. When I do, I realize it’s because my eyes are threatening to fill with tears, too.

The doctor leaves us alone, and I bend my face to her belly and press the gentlest kiss to her skin. “Hi, baby,” I say, and I know, I fucking know, that I’m already in love with our child.

Ryder: Fuck, now I’m really fucking turned on, and I have to go on air. Thanks a lot for having such perfect tits. Nicole: I wish I could say I was sorry that my boobs are distracting you from 2,000 miles away, but I’m not. I’ll leave you with this thought—they’re even more sensitive now. Ryder: Did you hear me groan across half the continent? Dear Lord, woman. What are you doing to me?

Maybe love isn’t a collection of falsehoods. Maybe happiness isn’t a farce. Maybe being together can go right, if you trust yourself to try again.

She doesn’t want love from me. She wants her baby to have a father. My chest hurts. My heart literally fucking aches. I want to grab her shoulders, stare into her eyes, and ask her to be mine for-fucking-ever.

But this is life. It’s not a movie with a giddy happy ending.

“Falling in love with her was different than falling in love with our baby,” I say, and Jason’s jaw comes unhinged, and he points to Nicole’s stomach and to me, the question in his eyes. I nod a yes to him, but keep my eyes on her.

“A tadpole, a woman, and a ring,” I say. He sweeps one hand over my stomach. “Good things come in threes.”

“You have a son. And he’s perfect.” I’m bawling, too, just like my baby boy and my husband. As the doctor hands me my son, I cradle him in my arms for the first time. It is magic and moonlight and all the stars in the sky, and I am flooded with a love that I know is infinite.

I groan. “You’re taking him shopping?” “We need to train him early to be a good boy when the ladies shop,” Penny says. “Besides, Delaney needs shoes.”

Nine months later, we have a girl, and we name her Rosemary. She is an absolute angel.