I sank into the couch, and out of nowhere, Ruby produced a C-shaped pillow and shoved it into my lap. “For nursing.”
Jasper eased Vincent into my arms as I sniffled, trying to control my tears.
“Where did all this stuff come from?”
“The town,” Ruby explained. “We made a few runs to the store, and Jasper coordinated with Basil on the nursery project.”
“Wait, what?”
“You know Basil,” Frankie said. “He had a vision. He and Etienne are almost finished. They’re in there now, ‘styling’”—she used air quotes—“the shelves.”
I giggled. Frankie was not one for style. She and Basil frequently argued at book club about the aesthetics of the waiting room at her auto shop.
“We know Vincent can’t sleep in there for a while, but I didn’t want you to have to worry about fixing up that room,” Jasper said, planting himself on the edge of the couch.
“But it’s only been three days. And you’ve been working.”
Standing, he shrugged. “I’ll go install the other car seat base in your car while the baby is content.” He picked up the bucket seat and set it on the small table by the door. Above it, on a brand-new decorating hook, was what looked like a navy and white stripped diaper bag. That had Ruby all over it.
When the door closed behind him, Frankie shook her head. “I don’t think he sleeps.” She held up a cord, working to untangle it. “He wanted to make everything perfect. Worked nonstop. And I yelled at him. A lot.”
“She did,” Ruby added, her lips quirking. “But he’s so damn easygoing.”
Jasper had vastly exceeded my expectations by showing up with a top-of-the-line car seat fully installed. But this? Working with my friends to welcome us home?
An uncomfortably warm feeling bloomed in my chest, the sensation triggering another round of tears.
I hadn’t known a single one of these people two years ago when I moved to town, yet here they were, showing up for me and my baby when my own family didn’t seem concerned about rushing to see us.
And Jasper? I barely knew him, but since the minute my water had broken, he’d been showing up.
I didn’t deserve all this support.
My parents had a grandchild, and when I’d called each of them, they’d murmured about driving up eventually. My siblings sent congratulatory texts, but that was it.
Yet Vincent and I were not alone.
That beautiful sentiment only made me sob harder.
Once I’d quelled my emotions again and moved Vincent to my other breast, the scent in the air caught my attention. “What is that smell?”
“Chicken soup. My mom made it,” Ruby yelled from the kitchen. “And Etienne baked a fresh loaf of sourdough.”
My mouth watered. Etienne’s sourdough was the stuff of legends. His starter was twenty years old and named Florence.
“He is so beautiful.” Basil removed his horn-rimmed glasses and dabbed at his eyes with the handkerchief Etienne handed him.
“And Vincent is such a nice name,” Etienne declared in his strong French accent. “Distinguished.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at my baby, who was now snoozing in his brand-new swing. “It was my grandfather’s name.”
As soon as I’d burped Vincent, Ruby had scooped him up, changed his diaper, put him in a fresh onesie, and gotten him set up with his binkie and a blanket covering his lower half.
Basil produced a bowl of soup and a piece of bread the size of my head, scolding me about fueling my body.
I sniffled as I took the bowl from him. “You guys are spoiling me.”
“Nah,” Frankie said. “We’re just taking care of our friend and her stupidly adorable baby.”
