Page 56 of A Baby For Her Billionaire BFF

Outside of organizing my maternity leave, I haven’t told anyone but Lynn and Oliver about the pregnancy. I need to figure out how and when I’ll break the news to my parents, but that’s something that can be put off for another week. First comes adjusting to pregnancy and getting settled at my new job.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, slicing through the silence like a siren. I hesitate before picking it up, half expecting another slew of work emails I no longer need to answer. Instead, Oliver’s name flashes on the screen, sending a flutter through my chest that’s neither joyful nor fearful. It’s… maybe both.

I’ll be at the campus library at nine tonight. Please come. I need to talk to you.

I stare at the message, reading it again as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less cryptic. The library — that place is a vault of memories, pages upon pages of shared history between us.

“Oliver,” I murmur, his name a ghost on my lips. What could he possibly want? He already established — extremely clearly — that he’ll be sending his support in the form of checks, nothing else.

So what more could there possibly be to say?

Uncertainty knots in my stomach, a counterpoint to the tiny life growing inside me. Yet something about his request feels urgent, important. Perhaps it’s the nostalgia of the location, or maybe it’s the lingering connection between us, frayed but not severed.

Can we talk? Another text comes through, almost as if he senses my indecision from miles away.

Fine, I type back, the word feeling more like a white flag than an agreement. I’ll be there.

Setting the phone down, I let out a long breath. This is it — one last conversation, face-to-face, to close the book on whatever this is — or perhaps to start a new chapter altogether. Oliver and I are no strangers to complex negotiations. This time, though, the stakes are higher than any business deal.

I make myself busy the rest of the evening, doubling up on dinner’s recipe so that I have leftovers for the next couple of days. I try my hardest to not think about mornings spent in this kitchen with Oliver, his arms around me and his lips against my neck, and just focus on the cooking instead.

It’s hard, though. Like every other little memory of him that I still have, it’s hard to let it just be. Instead, my heart breaks — again and again — each time the slightest reminder of him crosses my path.

Finally, at eight thirty, I grab my keys and head out the door. The evening air greets me with a chill, a reminder that seasons change, whether you’re ready for them or not. Oliver’s waiting, and whatever happens next, I’ll face it head-on. Just like I always do.

It’s a bit of a drive to campus, a place that I haven’t been back to in years. Parking is easy to find this late, and I cut across a lawn damp with dew.

The library looms ahead, its familiar Gothic architecture cast in soft shadows under the moon’s silvery gaze. I hesitate at the edge of the pathway as my heart does this funny skip-and-jump thing; it always does when I’m about to see Oliver. I tell myself it’s just residual adrenaline from the breakup and not enough sleep.

“Hey,” comes a voice from the darkness, and there he is, stepping into the light, his tailored suit jacket draped casually over one arm.

But it’s what’s in his other hand that throws me. Two shovels, their metal heads gleaming faintly.

“Oliver?” My voice is a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “What are those for?”

He offers me a sheepish grin, the kind that used to make me forgive him for anything. “Our time capsule. Remember? We buried it right here eight years ago.” He gestures to a spot near the library’s side entrance, an area now more shadow than grass due to the encroachment of night.

“Are you serious?” I balk at the idea. It seems so… whimsical, and whimsy is a luxury I can’t afford right now, not with life becoming one stressful event after another.

“Come on, Nora,” he pleads, his eyes searching mine. They’re the same deep hazel that once held promises of forever. “It’ll be fun. Like old times.”

“Fun?” I cross my arms, feeling the edge of frustration sharpen my tone. “Why would you ask me here to dig up some old box? What’s the real reason, Oliver?”

He sets the shovels down with a soft thud against the well-tended lawn and steps closer. His presence is as commanding as ever, yet there’s a vulnerability there that wasn’t present before. “I guess… I wanted us to remember who we were back then, what we dreamed of. And maybe find some clarity.”

“Clarity?” The word hangs between us, a plea.

“Please, Nora.” His voice lowers, a touch of desperation seeping through. “Just this one last thing. After that, if you want, you can walk away. I won’t stop you.”

My resolve wavers as I look into his eyes, seeing the man who once knew all my secrets. Now he’s asking for one night — just a few minutes of digging in the dirt to unearth memories better left buried. But standing here, with the crisp night air and the scent of nostalgia heavy around us, it’s hard to say no.

“Fine,” I relent, surprising myself with the ease of my surrender. “But after this, we’re done. We go our separate ways.”

“Deal,” he says quickly, relief flooding his features.

I take the shovel he offers and follow him to the spot where our past awaits, hidden just beneath the surface. There’s no turning back now. We’re about to dig up more than just a time capsule. We’re digging up the remnants of a past life, one where everything once seemed possible.

The moon casts a pale glow over the campus as I plunge my shovel into the earth, the metallic sound grating against the silence of the night. The library looms nearby, its windows dark and watchful. Oliver digs beside me, his movements methodical and sure, as if this isn’t the first decision he’s made today that could alter our lives forever.

---