Liars (Licking Thicket #2) - Lucy Lennox Page 0,14

was when I made all my best decisions—that it couldn’t be my business. That way lay madness and heartbreak and disaster. “But I’ll pass the info along.”

“Sure.” Colin tapped the doorframe lightly with his wedding ring. “You know, you might also want to check out Kinder-potamus, the baby store over on Francis Street. They have one of everything, and they’re super helpful.”

I nodded and filed away this knowledge to pass on to Diesel when I called him up and very politely declined his fake-marriage proposal, which I’d sort of been putting off all morning. I rolled my chair back and paced the little office whose front window looked out on Walnut Street.

Calling him was totally appropriate, right? Probably best to just rip off the Band-Aid? No need to see the man again and make things all… feelsy and complicated. No need to see that sweet baby again, either, and wonder what her future was going to look like if she was taken away from her uncle. I couldn’t imagine the look in Diesel’s eyes when he realized I wasn’t going to help him.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, which somehow felt as sick as when I’d eaten all that frosting.

A phone call was the answer. Definitely.

I chewed my lip. But then again… I would imagine if Uncle Beau were here, he’d say a phone call wasn’t nearly good enough. If I was going to say no, I really should do it face-to-face… and probably bring him a present. Something even better than an apology casserole.

My eyes fell on my closed laptop, and then I grabbed my phone and ran out the door.

“Hey, Colin? Where’d you say that baby store was?”

Kinder-potamus was a pastel kaleidoscope that smelled like strawberry candy and sounded like a tinny music box lullaby. It was equal parts delightful and horrifying. It was also, conveniently enough, nearly empty.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said to the cool blonde behind the counter. “I need your help. I—”

She turned around and blasted me with a high-octane smile. “Welcome to Kinder-potamus! I’m Kelsey. Expectant father or baby shower guest?”

“Uh.” I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. “Neither? The baby’s already born.”

“Ah. So you’ll be needing a gift, then. How old is the precious bundle? Newborn? First birthday? Second birthday?”

“Er.” I shook my head. “I don’t need a gift, exactly. More like—”

“Something for your own little one, then! How old?”

“Around nine months,” I said, bewildered. “I think. But—”

“You think?” Kelsey pursed her lips. “Shouldn’t you know, if you’re the father?”

Wow. It was incredibly annoying when people tried to answer their own questions.

“I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong idea, Kelsey. You see…” I hesitated. “I’m looking for something in the way of an apology baby basket.”

It was Kelsey’s turn to look at me in confusion. “An apology… baby basket.”

“Yes! Mmhmm. Sort of like an apology casserole, but on a larger scale. Something that says ‘I’m sorry things won’t work out, but I still want to support you and the baby.’ I’m thinking something with, like, a soft toy? And maybe also some of the bottles with the good nipples that prevent gas?”

Kelsey’s perkiness evaporated. “You’re breaking up with someone by sending them a baby basket? Seriously?”

“What? Lord, no. Not breaking up! More like…” I coughed lightly. “Saying the relationship will never happen? But with high-quality nipples, to soften the blow? And I’m going to deliver it. In person.”

She tilted her head to study me. “Sir, have you thought this through?”

I sighed. “I promise you, Kelsey, I have thought of hardly anything else in the past day. Can you help me with my nipples? And…” I remembered the day at the courthouse and Diesel saying the baby had only come with one of each accessory. “Do you have a chicken pacifier or two?”

“Sir, we only sell pacifiers for babies,” Kelsey said faintly.

I ignored her. “And one of those nondescript black diaper bags for dads? Oh, and maybe some board books? And some teethers? Some butterfly pajamas?”

By the time we were done, my order rang in at just under eight hundred dollars, and Kelsey had to haul it all to the back room so she could find a basket big enough to contain it. But unlike when I’d borrowed Miss Sara’s kitchen to make my apology casserole, buying the apology baby basket only made me feel worse; every squeeze pouch of organic baby food I’d selected had been a reminder that I was telling Diesel “no.”

Which was possibly why apology baby baskets were

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