Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,103

it.

Once they found out about Faye, they said, “Emmie, get back here where you belong! We can’t let you raise a Frothingham in that big city all alone.” As much as I expected the citizens of Creek Water would judge my indiscretion, I knew my family would be nothing but supportive. I am more thankful than I can say.

I truly did think of staying in New York City, but the thought of handing off my baby to a total stranger to raise while I worked hellishly long hours to support us did not seem appealing in the least. Not to mention the fact that I saw Armie Hammer lookalikes everywhere I went and couldn’t help but wonder each and every time if he was Faye’s daddy.

Don’t worry, I googled the actor’s whereabouts on the night of the conception and discovered he was nowhere near Brooklyn. More’s the pity. So, I lived out the length of my severance and then gave notice on my apartment before shipping my worldly possessions home.

*****

Uncle Jed’s wife, Auntie Lee, is the first to greet me when I walk through the door of Frothingham Brothers. She’s sitting at the reception desk addressing notecards when she looks up to see who’s invaded her space. “Emmie!” She jumps up and dances around me like I’m a maypole and she’s vying for queen. “Look at you. Welcome home, honey.” She hugs me so hard she nearly pops the stuffing out of me. Then she holds me at arm’s length and declares, “Will you just look at those boobies?”

I’m still breastfeeding Faye, so my regular B-cup has jumped to a D. You’d think I was a walking sideshow the way she’s ogling me. Uncomfortable, I tug up the already modest neckline on my sweater dress and say, “Hey, Auntie Lee.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m here to see Uncle Jed and Uncle Jesse.”

“Honey, they’re waiting for you in the big office. They’re just finishin’ up a meeting with the contractor. You might as well go on in.”

I steel myself for this step back in time and wish there were a way to stop my racing heart. I tentatively knock on the door and Uncle Jesse booms, “Get in here.”

It sounds like he’s expecting someone else, but I open the door anyway. My uncles nearly tackle me to the ground when they rush me and give me great big hugs. I’m not sure who’s saying what, but there’s a lot of “Girl, look at you!” and “Finally, our Emmie’s home!” and excited sentiments like that. It’s nice to be the recipient of such a warm welcome. Their support combined with my postpartum hormones brings tears to my eyes.

But before I can start blubbering, Uncle Jed pulls back and says, “You remember Zachary Grant, dontcha?”

I turn to see a tall, shockingly gorgeous man with sparkling green eyes get up off the sofa and walk over to greet me. My god, Armie Hammer lookalikes are everywhere. Ever since the night Faye was conceived, I’ve been bombarded by them.

Zach’s metamorphosis is so astonishing I would have never guessed he was the same boy I knew in high school. Of course, a lot can happen to someone in a decade and apparently has in his case. Gone is the gangly teenager with braces and acne. He’s been replaced by a virtual movie star. That Mother Nature sure is a wonder.

Zach lets his gaze stray to my bosom before meeting my eyes and saying, “Hey, Emmie.” He smiles shyly, almost expectantly.

I flash back to the time he asked me to the spring dance at the club his senior year in high school. I was a sophomore. I said no because, well, it was at the club. Mama and I weren’t members at the time, and I didn’t want to draw any more attention to myself. The less those nasty gossips saw of me and Mama, the better. Unfortunately, I never explained that to Zach.

“Hi there, Zach,” I say back.

I feel like he’s waiting for something more, like maybe an apology for turning him down without an explanation. I know I hurt him because he went out of his way to never speak to me again. Seriously, he’d be walking down the hall at school, lay eyes on me, and turn around and go the other direction just to avoid me.

I segue into wondering if apologizing after all this time would even be appropriate. He’d probably think I was pretty stuck on myself