Despite Nick’s compliments on her work, he was a clever business man and Jess wasn’t convinced he’d be quite so on-board with the idea as Libby. There was an inherent safety net in employing someone else.
“Jess? Promise me?”
She swallowed a sigh, knowing Libby wouldn’t let the topic drop until she agreed. “Okay. But I have conditions. I’ll only call after you’ve told him it’s your idea, otherwise he’ll think I’m ambushing him.”
“Of course he won’t think that. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll take it one step further and let him think it was his idea to employ you.” Libby laid down again. “So, have you got big plans for the weekend?”
Jess gave a wry laugh. “Huge.”
Libby’s eyes sparkled with interest. “I hope it involves Will Azzopardi? Nick said he’s on shore this week.”
Jess fiddled with her bracelet. “It might.”
Libby squealed, the pitch and the tone identical to when they’d been fourteen and Jess had told her that Jack O’Loughlin had not only kissed her, he’d gone down on her and been surprisingly talented for a ginger. Right from the start of their friendship, Libby had always quizzed Jess on her love life. When they were teens, Jess knew Libby was living vicariously through her, too indoctrinated by Karen to risk going beyond French kissing. At university, she and Dylan had taught Libby a lot, but even so, whenever she had a date, she’d always sought Jess’s advice right up until she’d met Nick. Once they were a love-drunk couple, Libby had tried to partner Jess with Nick’s best friend. Years later, she was still doing it.
Jess’s fingers fell from her bracelet. “My weekend also might not include Will. Who knows?”
“Jess! Will adores you. He’s adored you for years. Why are you holding back?”
“I’ve got Leo to think about now.”
A casual observer wouldn’t have noticed Libby’s mouth tighten, but Jess had known her for twenty years. “If you’d waited instead of rushing into things, Will could have been Leo’s father.”
“I think you’re conveniently forgetting that when I got pregnant, Will was shacked up with Sharnee Dixon.”
“And you’re conveniently forgetting the conversation we had when I flew up to Sydney for our girls’ weekend.”
Jess hadn’t forgotten that conversation—it had set her on an unexpected course that changed her life. But she wasn’t going to tell Libby that. Sometimes her best friend’s competitive nature, which extended to her need to be right, needled like a burr.
Libby’s first pregnancy had ironed a wrinkle in Jess’s rusted-on belief that motherhood would never be part of her life. Up until then, being a mother wasn’t something she’d ever wanted or needed. No way was she ever risking doing to a kid what her mother had done to her. But Libby’s second pregnancy turned that wrinkle into an unexpected but permanent crease. Whenever she cuddled her goddaughters, the urge to hold a child of her own brought tears to her eyes.
The strong response shocked her. Sure, she’d shed a tear when the attorney’s fees for Linda’s shoplifting spree had vaporized her nest egg, but prior to that, the last time she’d cried she’d been twelve. She’d cut off the tears with brutal efficiency when she realized crying didn’t stop the hurt or pain, dent her hunger, change her mother’s behavior or lessen her longing. All it did was give her red and puffy eyes, churn her stomach and leave her feeling more alone than ever. She’d replaced crying with action. It was better to do something—anything—than sit sobbing like a weak and pathetic kid.
So, when she’d hugged Libby’s daughters and breathed in their sweet baby scent, she’d been shocked and scared by the threat of tears. Her initial response was to throw logic at the problem. Children were a long-term investment with no fiscal return. They choked spontaneity. They were dependent and needy and she hated neediness in any form. They more than interfered with career paths—they killed them. The list of reasons not to have a child grew but none of them completely squashed the need. If anything, it strengthened it.
When Libby flew up to Sydney for their annual girls’ weekend and announced she was pregnant yet again, something hard and soft and messy formed inside Jess. It took up a permanent position, sitting heavily behind her sternum. It featured elements of delight for her friend and heartache and disappointment for herself and all of it was wrapped in a massive and unexpected emerald bow of envy—the type and intensity she hadn’t experienced since Libby had flashed a pavé-set diamond engagement ring at her, announced she was marrying Nick and asked Jess to be a bridesmaid.
The strength of the combined emotions had unwisely propelled her hand to the neck of a champagne bottle. Three glasses in, she was drunkenly touching Libby’s belly, the bubbles of alcohol lobbing cannon balls into the steel-reinforced walls she’d erected long before she’d met Libby.
“Do you know how freaking lucky you are? You’ve got the trifecta. A career you love, a man who not only adores you but is a great hands-on dad and now, three kids.”
Libby glowed in the way only a pregnant woman can—proud and just a tiny bit smug at her fecundity. “Almost three kids.”
Jess rolled her eyes at Libby’s scientific mind that always unnecessarily split hairs. “Most of my Sydney friends can’t convince their man to have one kid, let alone three. You got the last good bloke.”
Libby snorted. “Hardly.”
“I’m not kidding. Men like Nick are mythical creatures.”
“He’s not that mythical. His dirty socks and jocks fall short of the laundry basket most nights.” Libby poured Jess a glass of water as she’d done many times before and pushed it toward her. “I don’t understand. You hate the idea of commitment. You consider three months a lifetime and if you’re still with a guy after that, you dump him. Plus, you always tell me good men are dull and boring and you
