Tara made one back as she listened. “I’m not certain. I would have to think about it.”
Abruptly, Britney set down her coffee, quickly striding toward the desk, her hand reaching out for the speaker button.
Tara’s hand snaked out and grabbed Britney’s wrist to prevent her from pressing the button. “Let me get back to you.”
Britney used her other hand to hit the tiny button.
“Goodbye Gabe,” Tara hung up the phone, leaning back in her swivel chair with a satisfied smile.
“Why did he call?” exploded Britney. “What did he want?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you,” a smug Tara answered. “It is a private conversation between your best friend and your groom.”
“Tara, I love you, but I will tear every hair from your head and you will be bald in my wedding photos,” threatened Britney.
“You would not,” Tara rolled her eyes. “Your mother would have a conniption if you did and you know you can’t abide Naomi when she’s having an episode.”
“True,” sighed Britney, deflating. She eyed Tara. “Can I bribe you with the best lunch in the city as my treat?”
“A lunch bribe is acceptable,” conceded Tara. “Mr. Ramesly is curious to know where his bride might want to go for a honeymoon.”
Britney sank into the chair across from the desk, feeling slightly dazed. “He asked for ideas for the honeymoon?”
“Yes, he did,” confirmed Tara. “I guess he’s a little more involved than I thought. Good for you, Brit. Maybe you can make a go of this marriage.”
Britney beamed in delight. “Where should I tell him we should go? What about backpacking through Indonesia or Peru?”
“I will take care of this,” said Tara confidently. “I’m going to find somewhere both of you will enjoy. The last thing you want is a honeymoon where someone is sick, unhappy, or gets hurt. You should start your marriage off happy.”
“I didn’t expect a honeymoon,” admitted Britney. “I’m so happy.”
“I’ll call him back later with a couple of ideas,” Tara grabbed her purse. “Now, let’s go to lunch.”
The weekend.
Fifteen days before the wedding.
“The last place was great,” protested Gabe as he pulled up to the curb of a quiet neighborhood. The trees were mature on the street, framed in by large traditional houses. A park was in sight with kids playing.
“You liked the last place because it was all modern,” Britney looked around in delight at the surroundings. “It was sharp edges, windows and glass furniture. Kids need to be raised in places where they can get dirty and occasionally break something by accident.”
Gabe shuddered. His quiet, risk-free life was being turned upside down. “It had all the modern amenities. A pool, gym, proper security, it was a great place.”
“Not to raise a child,” declared Britney as she got out of the car. “Are you coming?”
Gabe admitted defeat and got out of the car. He looked at the two story house with yellow siding which their realtor Candi had insisted was exactly what Britney was looking for. Walking to the driveway, he stood beside Britney as she gazed in delight at the house, with its large windows and black shutters. “Why is the door red?”
“It’s a decorative touch,” Britney practically crooned in delight. “Can you imagine hanging a Christmas wreath on the door? It will look so pretty. We could light up the small pine tree, and there is room for Santa’s sleigh or maybe one of those inflatable snowmen!”
Like he was going to have tacky junk on his lawn. Gabe frowned. “Why would you want that?”
“Wouldn’t it be fun? Kids love those sorts of thing,” Britney happily grabbed his hand and pulled the reluctant Gabe to the front door. “Did you see the park down the street? I want to go have a quick look after we’re done here. We could spend Sunday afternoons there in the summer having picnics and playing with our son.”
Gabe had the feeling Britney was romanticizing this whole parenthood thing. “Are you certain you don’t want to rethink the having a nanny idea?”
“We’re not getting a nanny,” Britney calmly repeated. She figured it was progress that he had left his hand in hers as she opened the front door. “We are going to raise this child. We already discussed this. Studies show children whose parents are actively involved in their lives are happier.”
“What is your definition of actively involved?” wondered Gabe before his question was forgotten by the over enthused realtor greeting them.
