That was over twenty-four hours ago. And if I know Beck, which I do, his mobile is never more than a meter away from him.
“Lousy, no-good bastard,” I mutter as I get off the couch, deciding to call Stana later. Keeping this secret from my friends was never the goal, but as the hours pass me by, I can’t seem to get the guts to call them.
I’ve never been a secretive person. Sure, I’m loyal as hell and would keep a secret for a mate, but keeping them from a mate, not my style. But I suppose I’ve never had something to really keep from them.
I’ve lived a good life. Up until I was twenty-one, I lived with my parents here in London before they decided to move to France nearly four years ago. Their leaving didn’t come as a surprise to me. Like my mum’s brother, Stan’s dad, my parents could never sit still. I’m surprised they lasted in London as long as they did.
Their departure left me with my own flat in Notting Hill and a comfy pharmacy job down the road. I’ve never really known hardships like my friends. Ali and Em’s parents died years ago, Reeve’s dad was never in the picture, Owen’s dad died before he even knew him, and although Stana has both her parents, they could use a little assistance in the parenting department.
But not me. My parents’ desire to leave London wasn’t to get away from me, just to begin a new adventure. I’ve never lacked in love or material things; my life has been relatively normal. That is, until now. Here I am, newly twenty-five and alone and pregnant.
And no one knows, except me, Beck, and bloody Owen.
My front-door buzzer goes off despite the fact I’m not expecting anyone.
Who the hell is buzzing at this time?
I peel myself away from the comfort of my couch, cringing slightly at the pajamas I’m still in.
“Hello,” I call through the intercom.
“Hi, it’s Owen.”
I eye the speaker, as if he could possibly see my uncertainty.
“Um, can I come in?” His voice breaks through my mind and I reluctantly press the buzzer and walk to my front door.
After a few moments I pull the door open, Owen’s face greeting me.
“Uh, hi?” I laugh, feeling awkward and unsure.
“Do you mind if I come inside?” He lifts his shoulders and I notice the two full grocery bags in his hands. Uncertain how I can say no, I open the door wider, signaling him to enter.
“Thanks,” he says as he walks into my home. It’s not a huge space. There’s a bathroom to the left of the front door, and my bedroom is off to the right. Both doors are closed and my small kitchen is straight ahead, open, looking into the living room.
It doesn’t take Owen even a moment to get to the kitchen, where he places the two bags of stuff on the bench.
“Uh, it’s not that I’m unhappy to see you, puppy. But what are you doing here?” No need to beat around the bush.
Owen takes his attention off my modest living room. It could have a bit more character, but I’ve yet to take the time to furnish it more than the tan couches and TV. Lord knows it needs some love, but working and having a semblance of a social life take up most of my time. I can’t even imagine how it will be after the baby arrives.
The baby. It’s a sobering thought that leads me right back to Owen. One of the only people who knows about the baby. He wasn’t showing up at my house before he found out, so my only guess is that he’s here for that reason.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, looking down at his brown boots before returning his attention to me. “Is it okay I wear shoes in the flat?” he asks, as if he’s possibly broken some cardinal rule by crossing into my flat in shoes
“You’re fine,” I assure him. “Back to what you’ve been thinking?”
He nods, seemingly glad he hasn’t upset me. I guess his mother really did raise him right. Stana always told me behind his playboy persona Owen was a mama’s boy.
“Right, anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been doing some thinking. And…” He pauses, looking me over. “Sorry, do you want to sit down? I could make you a cuppa and some—” His forehead creases as he paces back and forth. “Perhaps a biscuit, or if you’re hungry I could throw together some lunch?”
“Owen!” I can’t help but choke on a laugh as I say his name. I don’t think for a minute that he’s stalling; he just genuinely wants me to be comfortable. “I’m fine. Let’s sit down and you can tell me what’s going on.”
I move around the couch before sitting down, motioning for him to sit across from me. He’s not a small guy by any means. Tall, golden, and I reckon under that white T-shirt, he’s probably fit as fuck. Shit. Lottie, no!
He sits and I wait for him to begin, feeling I’ve probably said enough.
“Okay, sorry, I don’t mean to come across as a worrywart. I just know how rough it can be in the first trimester. Mum was always so sick, and I didn’t want you to be standing listening to me go on and want to be sick or something.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling at his terminology. For a tall, sexy drink of water, sometimes he can sound like my nan.
“Anyway, the real reason I’m here is that I want to help you, Lottie. I know we aren’t exactly close, but it’s clear we get along. What’s also clear is you’re going through this alone and that can’t be easy on anyone. I know this might come off as weird or pushy. I’m not trying to put the moves on you or anything; I want to help.”
I sit back, attempting to process his words. I
