That left me on a bit of an island, but I was okay with that. I was used to being alone.
I fiddled with the plastic top on the to-go cup, belatedly realizing I’d gone quiet again. “December, huh? That’s a good month.”
She beamed. “I think so, too. I’m going to Sweden to visit my parents during the holidays. I’ll have a couple of weeks to get in shape.”
“I thought your folks were thinking of moving back to the States.”
“No, Sweden is home. My older brother and sister live in London and Stockholm. They have kids, and my parents want to enjoy them.” Her voice trailed off, and it was hard to miss the hint of regret.
Freya had provided the egg and her body, but this baby wasn’t hers. She knew the score. This was a legal business deal involving a contract and an exchange of money. A lot of money. With that in mind, we’d both been careful not to divulge unnecessary personal information. I knew she had siblings and that they were all educated and gainfully employed, and that was it. I wanted to keep it that way.
And I had a feeling she did, too.
Freya had an air of secrecy that seemed at odds with her good-natured, easy mannerisms. She had no history of substance abuse,but she’d confided that she’d opted to try surrogacy to pay off some debts. Apparently, she was a reformed shopaholic who hoped to be entirely solvent by the time she gave birth. She’d also claimed to be the black sheep in a family of high achievers, and I could certainly relate to that.
“I see. Well…I’ll be back in town for your next doctor appointment for sure. Do you think we’ll hear the baby’s heartbeat?”
Freya widened her eyes. “I have no idea, but that would be amazing.”
I rolled my lips, glancing briefly away in a last-ditch effort to keep my emotions under control. “Yeah. Amazing.”
“Do you, um…mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Of course not. Go for it.”
“I know you own a donut shop and that you used to play football and?—”
“I still play flag football,” I interrupted.
“Ah, sporty! I knew that.” She cocked her head curiously. “You said you live in a small town. Where exactly?”
“Wood Hollow. It’s in the forest a couple of hours south of here. Great place, but I’ll be coming to you. The roads are winding and thick with trees, and I don’t want you to worry about the drive.”
I was going to add something about Lake Norman and the mill that had saved the town from being swallowed by the forest. I could have gushed about the wave of opportunity it had opened for other businesses. Like mine.
My donut shop was thriving. I had to pinch myself sometimes because the entire venture had been a whim I’d expected would be a write-off if things had gone sideways. But they hadn’t. So I’d stayed. I’d met some wonderful people, bought a nice house with a lake view, and had built a life I was proud of.
But I doubted my surrogate was interested in hearing a monologue about Wood Hollow. I peeled the top off my cup, sipped the last of my drink, and stuffed the used napkins inside. If I got on the road now, I might make the end of practice. I hoped so. I coulduse a little stress release exercise. I pushed my chair from the table and finally registered Freya’s shocked expression.
“Wood Hollow? Really?”
“Uh…yeah.” I furrowed my brow as the first tendrils of panic set in. “Have you been?”
“Yes, my best friend lives there.”
Best friend? The fuck? How could that be?
Okay, now I was on high alert.
Wood Hollow was barely the size of a postage stamp. People didn’t happen to know people from Wood Hollow—it was too remote. It was the type of place you went to for a reason—like to fish, hike, or pass though on your way to Elmwood to drop your kid off at the hockey camp made famous by the NHL residents in the area.
And here’s the thing…I knew almost everyone who lived in Wood Hollow. They were fellow shop owners or mill workers, students, teachers, or retirees. Which one of them knew my surrogate?
“Who’s your best friend?”
“Viggo. Viggo Gustafsson.”
My mind zipped through an internal rolodex. Gustafsson? Viggo? Nope. Nothing.
