601 Twilight Ln. by Kat Baxter

Excerpt from Knocking Up His Best Friend

I jammedmy car into park, then listened to the engine protest before it shut off. I all but fell over my steering wheel, frustration weighing me down.

All my careful planning and none of it mattered anymore.

I’d spent the better part of my adult life working towards this moment only to be denied one of life’s natural experiences simply because of a poorly selected insurance package and an empty savings account.

I wouldn’t get to be a mother.

I already drove a mini-van for fuck’s sake, albeit a used one on its last leg. And really only because it was perfect for cake deliveries.

There would be no need for any car seat despite the endless hours of careful research I’d put into selecting the right one. No little pink socks or tiny blue shirts. Not unless I was ready to find myself a one-night stand and hope he was potent and my eggs were in a friendly and accommodating mood. But I knew that would never happen. I’d never been particularly lucky when it came to men, and I’d never been a one-night-stand kind of girl. Not only that, but there were too many unknown variables dealing with a one-and-done situation.

I was stuck.

And now I was late to work. Thankfully, Jillian had come into the bakery this morning to get everything opened. Technically, Jilly was my employee, but we’d become close friends over the last couple of years and I trusted her with my business. Grabbing the information packet from the doctor’s office, I wedged open the door to Buns in the Oven and then flung everything onto the countertop.

“Need help?” a familiar deep voice came from behind me. A masculine arm reached around and pushed the door to my bakery open.

I loved that my best friend seemed to have some sort of homing device that told him when I could use his pretty face for some cheering up. “Morning, Coop. You have perfect timing as usual,” I said as I rounded the corner of the glass case that would soon hold my delectable creations. “I’ll get the coffee on. Just a sec.”

“Already done,” Jilly called from the back. “I’m elbows deep in my doughnut dough though. Hey, Cooper!”

“Hey, Jilly,” Cooper said.

I busied myself with my normal routine; tying on my apron, and pulling the dough out from last night to start the first of the day’s treats. Jilly had moved onto the donut frying and was dancing with earbuds firmly in place.

“So, I’ve been working on a new recipe,” I called to Cooper from the kitchen. “Thinking about that suggestion you made about mixing milked chocolate with macadamia nuts. You know, you were right, it’s not a common combination in cookies. Normally, macadamias are paired with white or dark chocolate. I’m starting with a basic shortbread recipe and going from that.” I dropped the dough on the board to let it soften from the overnight chilling, then stepped back out to the front. “What do you think?”

“You’re really going to do this?” Cooper asked, head down and not looking at me.

A frown tugged on my forehead. “Well, yeah, you’ve been bugging me for months to try it. I mean, it’s just a cookie, why wouldn’t I do it?” Then I realized what he held in his hands—what he was staring so intently at—my paperwork from the fertility clinic. My stomach dropped. Avoiding his gaze, I stepped into the back and retrieved one of the two cakes I’d made late last night after pizza and Buffy re-runs at his place.

When I came back into the main room, he eyed me cautiously. A smile slid into place. “If you need a donor, I can save up for you.” He winked at me.

“You’re ridiculous.” I placed the cakes in the glass unit, keeping my eyes off Coop. I’d told him on my last birthday that I was considering fertility treatments and single parenting, but I hadn’t told him when I started the treatments three months ago. “I highly doubt you’d be abstinent on my behalf.” It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own that I’d been so overwhelmed with the insurance choices that I’d made a quick decision that turned out to suck.

“Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers. He looked so sincere.

I took in the sight of him, sweaty from his early morning workout; he practically glowed with masculinity. If one could glow and be masculine. His white T-shirt hugged his broad and sculpted shoulders and chest and barely contained his biceps.

I needed to get him off this conversation. I didn’t want to talk about it or I knew eventually the tears would come. So instead I let my eyes wander the delicious length of him and then I whistled. “You are one fine piece of masculinity, Cooper Janns. I suppose that’s why your bedroom has a revolving door.” I chuckled, then bracketed my hands on my hips and met his warm chocolate gaze. “Don’t you have a girlfriend right now?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have girlfriends.”

“That’s right, you decided commitment wasn’t for you and now it’s all hookups.”

He gave me a lopsided grin.

“So, are you going to let me be your donor or not?” he asked.

My heart stuttered at his question. Of course I’d considered asking Coop when I first decided to go at fertility treatments alone, but I hadn’t wanted to mess things up between us. I didn’t want to make things weird when we’d worked so hard to get our relationship back on solid footing.

I gave him a watery smile and reached across the counter to squeeze his hand. His large palm enveloped mine. “I so appreciate your offer, Coop. But the truth is, I’ve already had the treatments. Two of them. They didn’t work.” I willed my tears away. I met his eyes—they always reminded me of decadent European chocolate; rich and warm. Comforting. But nothing could provide the solace I needed now. I needed more than chocolate to block out the sight of that single lonely line on the pregnancy test.

Not pregnant.

He glanced down at the paperwork from my doctor, then back up at me. “You used someone else as your donor?”

Well hell, he almost seemed like that hurt his feelings. But I also knew he didn’t like his life any more complicated than it needed to be.

I waved my hand dismissively. “You know just one of the samples the clinic has on tap.”

He choked on a sip of coffee and his brows shot up. “Like beer? On tap?”

“You know what I mean. It doesn’t matter because it didn’t work and now I’m done.” No baby for me. I absently wiped at the top of the glass case even though it was smudge-free. I clenched my jaw, forbidding the tears that threatened to fall.

“Why?” he prodded. “Why are you done?”

“The expense. I can’t afford another cycle. I thought they would have better payment plans, but they don’t. To make matters worse, it appears they’d filed the medication wrong and what I thought my insurance would cover, they don’t.” I put my hands on both hips. “So now they’ve sent me bills for unpaid balances on the last two rounds.”

We stood in silence for a few moments, him sipping his coffee and me just watching him. “So, it turns out my insurance truly covers nothing. Absolutely nothing. Can you believe that shit? Now if I were a man, they would completely cover that little blue pill, but fertility treatments...nothing.” I tossed the rag aside and went to gather the scones to put out. They were one of my best sellers.

“I can loan you—”

I held up a hand. “Don’t. We’ve been over that before. I appreciate the offer—every time you offer me money—but it’s not your responsibility to clean up after me. I made my own way with this bakery and I’ll do the same with this.” I shrugged, trying to coolly dismiss this as if it wasn’t the thing I wanted more than air. “It’s obviously not meant to be.”

“I know you don’t like the idea of borrowing or accepting money from me, but you know I can just pull money from my trust fund. I never touch it. It’s just sitting in the bank collecting dust.”

I rolled my eyes. “Babe, they call that interest, not dust.”

Cooper rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing more than what you would do for me. Besides, you keep me stocked in coffee and cookies.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” I ran to the back and retrieved the small folded-over bag. “Here.”

“What kind today?”

“Lemon crisp.”

He looked down at the bag briefly, then up at me with his full-on smile—the smile that likely made panties literally melt off the girls he met in bars. Thank goodness I was immune to that shit.

“I love those.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I made them for you.” I smiled. “Coop, you do know I’m not taking your money.”

He nodded, resigned. “I’ll think of something. Don’t give up so easily.”

I gave him a half-hearted laugh. “This I don’t think you can fix.”

Jilly took that moment to come out to the front with the first round of hot, glazed donuts. She offered one to Cooper, which he took with a smile.

He gave me a squeeze and kissed the top of my head. “You don’t give me enough credit.” Cooper held up his coffee and donut in a salute, then made his way to the door. “See you later, sweets.”

He probably did believe he could fix this for me. Granted, he had a good record of fixing things on my behalf. He’d saved me from what would’ve been the worst marriage in history and he’d been a refuge for me when my mother died, despite the fact that I’d been ghosting him for nearly two years at the time. Cooper had always been there. But we were adults now and regardless of how close we were, I wouldn’t let him do that anymore. I didn’t need anyone to save me.

“Ally, I don’t know how you’ve gone all these years without climbing that like a tree. Damn!” Jilly looked back at me, then out the window as Cooper balanced his coffee, baked goods and car keys. “Seriously, look at that ass.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve seen his ass.”

“I would bite it on a regular basis,” Jilly said.

“I seriously doubt that.” I’d offer to hook them up, but Cooper didn’t do relationships. Jilly had that whole curvy seductress thing going for her, but with an acerbic wit she intimidated the hell out of most men.

“Y’all are weird.” Jilly stepped around the counter and into the kitchen to get to work. “I mean, if I had a guy look at me the way Cooper looks at you, I’d never wear clothes and I’d buy an industrial size box of condoms.” She tilted her head. “But I’m not trying to get pregnant.”

“Good Lord, Jilly. You know it’s not like that between me and Coop.” I blew my hair out of my face and wondered yet again if I should grow out my bangs. “He doesn’t see me as anything but a friend.”

“Uh-huh, so you’re always saying. But how do you see him?”

“He’s my best friend. I’m not blind, I can objectively see that he’s an attractive man—”

“Babe, he goes so far beyond attractive,” Jilly said.

Coop and I had no chemistry, or else something would have happened between us years ago. Jilly was right, he was hot as hell, and I was frumpy and awkward at best. We barely made sense as best friends, but as a couple, that would never work. Besides, Coop was a major commitment-phobe and I knew from my own personal experience that romantic relationships always failed. At least mine did. And I didn’t want to risk losing Cooper. Not again.

“Maybe you two should indulge in a one-night stand and see what happens,” Jilly said. “Babies are made that way more often than not.”

“That is a terrible idea.” Jilly might be the one I told about my quest to have a baby, but she didn’t know the sordid history of my dating life. Oh, sure, plenty of people dated, broke up, and moved on with their lives. Not me. When my relationships ended, they nosedived to spectacularly disastrous effect. Communist regimes had ended more peacefully than my last relationship. Why would I want to risk that again? Let alone with my best friend?

The bottom line was I wouldn’t let anything put my friendship with Coop at risk again. Ever.

Jilly shrugged, then her eyes brightened with a smile. “Oh, you’ll never believe what happened to me last night at The Back Door.”

I rolled out the sugar cookie dough, then grabbed the cookie cutters. “I’m all ears. I have to live vicariously through you.”

Jilly shook her head. “That’s just sad. You need a wilder friend than me for vicarious living.” Jilly held up one finger. “Or you could actually go out with me.”

Maybe I should. Maybe I could talk myself into a hot one-night stand and hope for a baby. My luck though, I’d end up with an STD and a stalker. No thank you. I shivered at the thought.

“So, I’d barely gotten there. Walked to the back, by the pool tables, and this hot as shit guy is eying me from a table away. I smile because I’m polite like that and he saunters over and says, and I quote, ‘fancy a fuck, love?’” she mimics an English accent.

“Seriously?” I transferred the cut cookies onto the baking sheet.

“Oh, I’m not done. Then he looks at me with his smoldering green eyes and says ‘You big girls don’t get an offer like this every night and I’m feeling like something different.’”

My mouth fell open. “He did not!”

Jilly nodded. She finished mixing her dough and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, he totally did. And then seemed baffled when I gave him the finger and walked off.”

“What a dick.”

“I know.” Jilly shook her head. “Shame too ‘cause I’ve always wondered if British guys moan with an accent.”

I laughed. “You’re a nut.” I eyed my friend. “You know he was completely out of line, not to mention wrong with what he said.”

Jilly shrugged. “I know I’m not every man’s preference but I like my curves.” She gave a little shimmy.

“You’ve got banging curves.” I put the baking sheet in the oven and went to check on how my cinnamon rolls were rising.

“Sadly, no one is begging to bang my curves.”

“Mine either.” It’d been so long, I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to have a night of hot, wild passion. “Thank God for my battery-operated friend.”

“I hear that!” Jilly was quiet for a few minutes before asking, “Are you going to tell me what happened? I heard some of your conversation with Cooper, but not all of it.”

Before I could answer, Mrs. Franklin came in the bakery, our first customer of the day aside from Cooper. I never counted him because I never charged him for anything. And I always gave the ridiculously large tip he left to Jilly.

I busied myself in the kitchen while Jilly helped Mrs. Franklin and a handful of other customers that came in.

I was thankful for the interruption. I didn’t particularly want to rehash my fertility woes. It wouldn’t take much for me to break down.

Jilly appeared in the kitchen. “You’re going out with us girls tonight. Drinks and nachos.” She pointed at me with a glare. “No excuses.”

I nodded because I knew fighting with her about this would be futile.

* * *

Several hours later I sat in a crowded booth with Jilly and her two closest friends, Calliope and Sadie.

“Okay, what are we drinking to?” Calliope asked.

“Our girl here had a shit day,” Jilly said. “So we’re commiserating.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sadie asked.

I glanced at the table of women. They weren’t really my friends, they were Jillian’s tribe, but they’d adopted me easily enough. I took a hearty sip of my Jack and Coke because why the hell not, it’s not like I was pregnant.

Jilly and her friends were about as different as women can be and they’d welcomed me into their little ragtag group. Calliope was a children’s book illustrator. She was so boho chic—I loved the way she dressed. The style fit her riot of golden curls and petite figure perfectly.

Sadie, on the other hand, was a genius. Like a certified genius and worked in some lab as an oceanic botanist or something like that. She was kind to a fault and oblivious to fashion or pretty much anything about her appearance, which explained why she was always pushing her oversized glasses up on her nose. Then there was Jilly—curvy and sassy like a 1950s pinup girl and dressed just as retro. Most of her clothes she made herself with items she snagged from thrift shops because she was a wizard with a needle and thread. She was, hands down, the best friend I’d ever had with breasts.

I was the odd man out having joined their little group only recently. My penchant for pop-culture T-shirts, baggy jeans and Chucks and my boring brown hair tamed into braids gave me my own style, but it was neither glamourous nor particularly flattering. I’d never been comfortable in fashionable clothes. The fabrics were never right and I inevitably ruined them anyway. I spent so much of my time in a hot kitchen baking that it didn’t seem worth the effort to try anything else.

“I’ve been trying to get pregnant and it’s not working,” I blurted out.

Sadie’s mouth rounded and a squeak came out.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Calliope said.

I shook my head. “I’m not. I’ve been working with a fertility doctor. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in years so I decided to have a go at it alone. I’ve done two cycles, but they both failed. So all I can show for all that work is an empty savings account and a few extra pounds I gained thanks to the all hormones.”

“Damn, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Calliope said, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand.

Jilly wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. “I’ve tried to tell her there isn’t a rush, she’s still young and has time to meet someone, the perfect someone.”

“You don’t even believe in that,” Sadie argued. “Perfect someones.”

“Correction, I don’t believe that for me,” Jilly pointed a short, black lacquered nail at her chest. “But for the rest of you, sure I do.”

I wasn’t going to go into all the details behind my decision to try to get pregnant now and on my own. No one wanted to hear my sad ass story of how long it took my parents to have me and how they’d tried for years afterwards to give me a sibling and nothing worked. I wouldn’t drag down the night with my story of how my dad died suddenly of a heart attack my sophomore year of high school. And how that had kicked my mom into early-onset Alzheimer’s. Yes, technically I was still young—only twenty-eight—but my family genes weren’t on my side when it came to fertility. Or longevity. Suffice it to say my biological clock ticked in my ear like a fucking bomb about to blow.

Calliope leaned in. “I know this dating site.”

“No!” Jilly yelled. “She’s a dating disaster.”

“You just said she needs to meet someone,” Sadie said throwing her hands up in the air. “Make up your mind, Jillian.”

“True. But what I really meant was she already knows her perfect someone and she just needs to get her head out of her ass.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not this again. For the last time, Jilly, Coop and I are only friends. We’ll never be more than that for so many reasons. Least of which is the fact that he’s a total commitment-phobe.”

“Okay, wait let’s back up. Before we talk about the delicious piece of man your best friend is,” Calliope said, “I want to hear more about why you’re such a dating disaster.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sexy enough.”

Calliope shook her head, pale gold ringlets swished in the movement. “That can’t be it. Men don’t need much more than a pair of tits to think a woman is sexy.”

I knew better than that. I happened to have pretty great tits, though I hid them well in my clothes. Men just rarely hit on me. And those who did always ended up with a sexier woman. I took a sip of my drink. “Honestly, I don’t know. I have a tendency to scare men away.”

“She bakes for them,” Jilly said.

“Well, that doesn’t seem so wrong. Everyone enjoys baked goods,” Sadie said.

“Thank you.” I smiled brightly at Sadie then took another hearty sip of my drink. The whiskey heated a trail down my throat and warmed my belly. Later, I’d have to thank Jilly for making me come out. I was so used to relying on Coop that I forgot I needed girlfriends too. I’d needed this tonight. Even if it did entail airing all my embarrassing laundry.

“After the first date—” Jilly started.

“If the date is good,” I added, holding up a finger.

“Okay, after the good first date,” Jilly conceded with an eye roll, “she sends them baked goods.”

“As a thank you,” I said.

“It scares them off.”

“Men are ridiculous.” I emptied my drink and before I could even consider another, the waitress had a fresh one in front of me. “Coop loves my cookies.”

“Coop loves you,” Jilly said.

Warmth filled my chest and my heart sped. Clearly, my drink was hitting faster than I’d anticipated. “Friends, Jilly, we’re just friends.” How many times did I have to assure people of that? It was almost a robotic response at this point.

“Tell them about the last guy,” Jilly said.

I blew out a breath. I’d had so many decent first dates in the last year, it was obnoxious. But never a second date. “Okay, so I went out with this guy named Jim who was an investment banker or something—I don’t know because I wasn’t paying close enough attention—we had dinner and it was nice. We had some things in common. He was attractive enough.”

Jilly was already shaking her head. “No. He wasn’t attractive. He had way too many moles,” she interjected, then shuddered. “Too much like Matt Damon, but way less cute.”

Sadie snorted, then fell into a coughing fit.

“Anyways, he gave me a sweet kiss at the end of the night and said he wanted to see me again. So the next day I sent him cookies to his office to say thank you.”

Calliope was hiding a grin behind her hand. “What did he say?”

“He said nothing. Not a thank you or anything. I mean, I sent him shortbread. Shortbread are the carnations of the cookie world, totally innocuous.”

“Baked goods freak men out,” Jilly said.

“Why?” Sadie asked.

“They represent family and home so it makes them think she’s ordering wedding invitations and subscribing to Modern Bride,” Jilly said.

“That’s so dumb,” I said. “I’d never pick a dress from that magazine.” I grinned at my friends and before I knew it that drink was emptied too, followed by another until I was pretty much feeling no pain.

BUY Knocking Up His Best Friend