Tasty Mango: A Billionaire and Single Mom Romantic Comedy Read online

  If they think I’m going to avoid Havannah, they can forget it. I’ve never met anyone like her. And I don’t care about her predicament, dating while pregnant.

  I care about her.

  I feel completely lost in the giant baby store. There are aisles of things I can’t even fathom the use for. A baby butt fan? To air-dry a baby?

  I turn to a clothing display and spot leopard-print baby high heels. For infants.

  I’m totally out of my element here. I text my brother.

  What should I take to the hospital as a gift? Bottles? Diapers?

  I know he might be in a meeting. It’s nine a.m. in New York. But he texts me right back.

  No, no. Flowers. Something for the mother.

  Damn. I’ve taken a completely wrong tack. But I’m already here. Might as well get something.

  A young saleswoman in bright pink overalls approaches. “Looking for a gift?”

  “Yeah. A…friend had a baby.”

  “Is she registered?”

  “I have no idea.”

  After we check the listings and don’t find Havannah, the woman leads me to a display of elaborate wicker baskets surrounded with cellophane and topped with bows. “These always go over well. It’s a layette.”

  Looks like a bunch of clothes to me.

  She tilts a basket so I can see inside. “It has all the essentials for the first weeks. Bibs. Sleepers. Onesies.” She’s speaking Greek, but gamely continues as I stare. “This pink one is for girls and blue for boys.”

  I ignore the gendered choices and choose the pale green set. “Thanks.”

  I pay for the layette and have the limo driver stop at a florist. The amount I pay for a normal bundle in New York creates an obscene bouquet in Boulder. When the woman returns from the back, I almost ask her to cut it in half. But I’m anxious to see Havannah.

  I’m quite the spectacle walking through the lobby of the hospital with my explosion of flowers and giant basket, but the woman at the desk smiles at me. “Maternity floor, I take it?”

  I nod. I don’t know what the rules are in this hospital regarding visitors, so I smoothly say, “I’m the proud uncle.”

  I had a thousand uncles who weren’t actually related. In Alabama, everybody’s your uncle.

  “Who’s the patient?”

  “Havannah Boudreaux.”

  “Oh, yes, I saw her famous sister in the cafeteria this morning.”

  Right. I forget that Anthony and Magnolia were quite the talk show darlings for the better part of last year.

  The woman clicks on her keyboard. “She’s in 743.”

  “Thanks.”

  I wind my way to the elevator. I’m not sure how my presence is going to be taken, but I have to see her. First date or not, it’s almost impossible to drop off a woman at a hospital and let it go.

  My accessories get even more smiles as I walk down the hall. It’s midmorning, thirteen hours since Havannah’s water broke.

  No doubt by now she’s curled up in her bed with the baby at her side. She’ll be the picture of maternal bliss.

  I knock on the door, but a guttural scream from inside drowns it out.

  What was that?

  Then a raspy voice that could only come from a middle-aged chain smoker shouts, “Stop saying that!”

  I check the door number again. It’s the right one. Did the woman downstairs get it wrong?

  The door flies open and John Paul Boudreaux barrels through, almost knocking me over.

  He halts, staring at me a moment. “You’re still in town?”

  “I am.”

  He glances behind him at the open room. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” With that ominous remark, he takes off down the hall.

  Oh, boy. I’m intruding. The baby hasn’t been born yet after all.

  But as another keening cry comes from the room, my protective urge takes over and I dash inside, flowers, basket, and all.

  I’m not prepared for what I see. Havannah, grasping the bedrails with both hands, red-faced, sweating, her hair everywhere. Her sister, mopping her forehead with a cloth. Her mother Malina, standing in the far corner, looking up at the ceiling, tapping her face with her hand in agitation.

  And a broad, serious nurse, standing at the foot of the bed, red-faced herself. I pause just in time for the woman to say, “Havannah, you have to calm down.”

  I make sure my gaze goes nowhere near Havannah’s bare knees or anything below. That’s way too much for someone at my level of acquaintance to see. It takes a moment for anyone to notice me, even with my giant flower arrangement.

  But when Havannah’s eyes lock on me, they go wide. She sucks in a breath. “You came back?”

  This was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

  “I have your purse and your phone. And I brought these.” I hold out the flowers and basket.

  I look around but don’t see anywhere to set them. Each surface is covered with clutter. A silk robe thrown over a table. Some knitting, probably the mother’s. Cups. Wrappers. And…a fountain? I place my offerings on the floor.

  Both Magnolia and Malina stare at me.

  I take a step toward the door. “I’ll see myself out.”

  But the nurse holds up her hand. “Wait.”

  I’m not ordinarily a man to take orders from anyone. But this woman stops me cold.

  “What?” Magnolia asks.

  “She’s calmer. Her blood pressure has improved.” The nurse faces me. “Who are you? Dad?”

  “I, uh…”

  The nurse’s gaze fixes on me. “It’s about time you got here.”

  Everyone turns to Havannah. Her face does seem less red. She’s still heaving air, but it doesn’t seem much more than what she did in the limo.

  “Stand over there,” the nurse orders me, pointing to the head of the bed on the opposite side from Magnolia.

  “Take her hand,” the nurse says. “We’ve been within an inch of an emergency C-section with her stress levels. Her blood pressure skyrocketed. We could have used you before now.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Well, hold on to her,” the nurse says. “Don’t take all day.”

  I lean down to Havannah. “Should I go?”

  She doesn’t answer, another keening wail coming out of her.

  “Take her bloody hand!” the nurse shouts.

  I pry Havannah’s hand off the rail and hold it.

  “That’s it. See? Her blood pressure dropped again.” The nurse bends down over Havannah’s knees. “Havannah Boudreaux, it’s time to get this done. Hold on to your man and push.”

  Havannah glances up at me. Tears are streaming down her cheeks.

  “I’m here,” I tell her. “You’re going to be okay.”

  She nods.

  Magnolia looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, sweat stains on her shirt. “Sit down,” I tell her. “I’ve got this.”

  In truth, I don’t have anything. But I’m here. A pinch hitter.

  “Scoot her back a little. It will be more comfortable,” the nurse tells me.

  Havannah tries moving backward, but she’s pretty spent. I lift her up and shift her until she sits up, knees high.

  The nurse’s face is less scarlet now, too. “Breathe, Havannah. Let’s see if we can get that baby to crown.”

  Havannah sucks in a breath, then lets it out with a long groan, her eyes squeezed shut.

  The nurse actually smiles. “Good, good. Dad, you want to feel the baby’s head?”

  “Noooo,” Havannah says, keeping a vise grip on my hand. She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

  “Now we’re talking.” The nurse pulls out her phone and taps on it quickly. “I’m paging the doctor.”

  “I guess I got here right on time,” I whisper in Havannah’s ear.

  She huffs out a laugh. “Are we calling this a second date?”

  “Head is coming,” the nurse says. “Slow it down. Pant your way through this one. Don’t push.”<
br />
  Havannah glances up at me. I stick out my tongue and pant like a puppy.

  She laughs again. But she mimics me and we pant together.

  This is the wildest moment I’ve ever had with a woman, hands down.

  A tall blond man in blue scrubs enters the room, snapping on a pair of gloves. Havannah relaxes immediately upon seeing him. “Dr. Briggs!”

  “I hear we’re about to have this baby,” Dr. Briggs says. “I appreciate you waiting until I could get here.”

  The relief on Havannah’s face is clear.

  The doctor glances at me, his eyebrow quirking. I wonder if he thinks I’m the missing dad as well. But he doesn’t comment, pulling a small stool out from the bed. He positions herself at Havannah’s feet. “I’m sure you’re ready to get this done. Ready to push?”

  “I’m so tired,” Havannah says. “How do people do this?”

  “To end their suffering,” he says with a grin. “Let’s all rally around Havannah for this final stretch.”

  I hold Havannah’s arm close against my chest. She and I have very little shared history, but I can pull from what we do have.

  “Picture a cantaloupe down there,” I say. “Imagine popping it right out of your nether regions and smacking into that evil nurse.”

  Havannah laughs.

  “She’d go down like a bowling pin,” I say.

  The nurse raises an eyebrow at that, but she’s probably heard worse.

  Havannah’s grip tightens on my hand. Her face turns red again.

  “Watch her blood pressure,” the nurse says. “We almost called it ten minutes ago.”

  “I see it,” the doctor says. “Havannah, let’s get this baby out right now. Count with me while we push to ten. One, two, three, four…”

  I focus on Havannah’s face while she concentrates on pushing down.

  “I have a head,” the doctor says. “Now for the shoulders.”

  They repeat the sequence of pushing. Havannah seems too tired to scream. Or maybe she’s calmed down because of the doctor. But she lets out a low, raspy hiss.

  “Nine, ten,” the doctor finishes.

  For a moment, there is utter silence in the room, and then, a cry.

  “I’ve got him,” Dr. Briggs says. “A perfect baby boy.”

  The doctor suctions the baby’s nose, and my body prickles all over. I had nothing to do with any of this, other than to show up in the ninth inning.

  But the sight of that baby, red and squalling and attached to Havannah with a cord, is unbelievable. Dr. Briggs lays him on Havannah’s chest. She lets go of my hand and curls the baby up to her neck. “He’s here,” she whispers. “Mom? You can come back.”

  Malina springs to action from her corner. She kisses her daughter’s forehead. “You did it.”

  Dr. Briggs leans in. "Let me take a quick look.” He presses his stethoscope to the baby and nods. “All good.”

  The nurse tugs a stretchy hat over the baby’s head and lays a blanket over them both. “Keep him warm. We’ll do the assessment in a few minutes.”

  Magnolia heads for the door. “I’ll go get Dad. He’s no longer banished, right?”

  Havannah nods. “It’s all good. Why don’t you both go?”

  Malina looks from me to Havannah for a moment. “All right.”

  The doctor continues to do something near Havannah’s knees. Havannah’s eyes are only on the baby’s face.

  “Look at him,” she says. “Just look at him.”

  I touch his little head. We remain there for long moments.

  “No stitches.” The doctor stands up. “We’ll be back very shortly to assess the baby and get him cleaned up. You guys take a moment.”

  The nurse follows him out. We’re alone.

  “Should I be here?” I ask.

  Havannah looks up at me. “I don’t know. You just are.”

  “Should I leave you two?”

  She shakes her head. “I know we only had a single date. And maybe we won’t see each other again. But I like you being here.” She lets out a shaky laugh. “Besides, I sent the others away and I’m terrified to be by myself.”

  Her arm starts to shake, so I shift the baby to the center of her chest to relieve the pressure. “You want a picture?”

  She nods.

  I pull out my phone. “I’ll send it to you. Your phone is in your purse. I brought it. And your shoes.”

  She glances over at the pile I left by the wall. “Thank you for the gifts.” She waves her hand at the room. “Your tie is…somewhere.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  I smooth her hair back and step back to take a shot. She looks ethereally beautiful, light from the window on her blond hair, her cheeks rosy from the strain. The baby’s face is right below her neck. I snap a few more and AirDrop them to her phone. “I just sent them.”

  “Thank you.”

  I tuck my phone away. “I certainly didn’t expect this when I showed up this morning.”

  “I bet. I thought you were supposed to be in Boston by noon.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets. “My meeting was an hour ago.”

  “Oh no!”

  “It’s fine. We rescheduled everything. But I will have to leave this evening. I couldn’t leave Boulder without knowing you were okay.”

  Havannah’s eyes rest on my face. “Thank you. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see you.” Her gaze skitters down to her baby again. His little eyes blink and blink as if he can’t figure out what’s happened.

  “Text me. We can FaceTime. You can show me this little guy once he’s more used to the outside world.”

  She nods. “Let’s do that.”

  The door opens and suddenly the room is full. Magnolia. Malina. John Paul. Even the grandmother has arrived.

  It’s time for me to go.

  I lean down to kiss Havannah on the head and touch the baby’s cheek. “Good luck.”

  My presence and then my departure is scarcely noticed as the family circles the bed to get their eyes on their newest member.

  I head out to the hall, my feeling of elation at being there for the baby’s birth quickly sliding down into hollow emptiness. In a few hours, I’d be back to my own grind. Travel. Meetings. Business dealings. An endless routine where the only things that change are the numbers on the contracts and the faces around the conference table.

  But, for a little while, I’ve seen exactly what it might be like to live a completely different life.

  5

  Havannah

  It’s time to name this baby.

  They’ve brought back the drill sergeant nurse because I haven’t been cooperating. My parents exchange a nervous glance as she smacks a form on my over-the-bed tray.

  “No name, no going home,” she says. “And your insurance stops paying for you in precisely one hour.”

  The baby stirs against my chest. “Shh,” I tell the woman. She doesn’t scare me, not after what I’ve already been through. “You’ll wake him.”

  But the woman doesn’t budge. “I’m not moving until you put a name on that form.”

  I look over to my father for help. Normally he would take on Godzilla for me, but he shrugs. “The baby needs a name.”

  Mom is no use, busying herself by packing all the flowers and gifts I’ve managed to accumulate since I got here two days ago.

  I turn to my sister. “Mags?”

  “Havannah, we have a great list. Let’s go over it one more time.” She pulls up a chair and cracks open the baby name book. “Aaron.”

  “He’ll think he has to play baseball.”

  Magnolia rolls her eyes but keeps going. “Bernard.”

  “Bookworm. What if he’s more like me than you?”

  A sigh this time. “Constantine.”

  “I liked that one before?”

  “You thought it sounded classic.”

  “They’ll call him con-man!”

  “She’s not wrong,” Dad says.

  I glide my
fingers across the baby’s cheek. To be honest, I thought seeing him would make his name obvious.

  But nope. The only thing that pops into my head when I look at him is perfect love. Can’t name him that.

  “Dennis,” Magnolia says.

  “The menace?” What was I thinking?

  “Fergus.”

  “I was smoking something. Give me that book. You’re making stuff up now.”

  Magnolia passes it over. I shift the baby into the crook of my elbow as I flip through it. Actually, I did highlight those names.

  Gary. Hastings. Jericho. Liam.

  Okay, those are better.

  “Liam,” I say to the baby. His face scrunches. “Okay, maybe not.”

  Magnolia’s exasperated. “You’re letting the baby judge?”

  “It’s the cosmic energy!” I say.

  “The baby’s more decisive than she is,” Dad says.

  The nurse nods. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  “Here, take him.” I hold the baby out to Magnolia. She clucks over him as I go through the book. “How permanent is this choice today?”

  “You can change it,” the nurse says.

  I sigh. “Great.”

  “In court,” she adds.

  “Oh.”

  Back to the book. Morty. Paul. Ranier.

  “Say Ranier to him,” I tell Mags.

  She takes in a long breath, like she’s trying to stay patient. But she whispers, “Ranier,” next to his ear.

  He doesn’t move.

  Hmm.

  Stefan. Xander. Zeke.

  Crap, I’m at the end.

  I lean back against the pillows. “Why is this so hard?”

  “It’s a big decision,” Mom says.

  “Right! So why am I being pushed?”

  “Hospital rule,” the nurse says. “It’s for the social security forms.”

  “Maybe we can be rebels,” I say.

  “You already are,” the nurse says.

  Mom pops her head up. “That was my father’s middle name.”

  Dad snorts. “He was definitely a rebel.”

  Mom punches his arm. “No, I mean for real. His name was Gustave Rebel.”