Page 2 of Bred Winner

Coen comes up behind my chair and places a chaste kiss on top of my shoulder. “Good morning, sweetness.”

“Good morning. Where were you? Escorting some beautiful woman home?” I tease. Coen is big and broad and attracts attention—both good and bad—with his physical prowess. He’s also the biggest teddy bear I’ve ever known. Small children and animals gravitate to him.

“Of course not. I was helping Mrs. Myers with a grocery run this morning.”

Mrs. Myers is their eighty-year-old widowed neighbor. They take such good care of her.

“Enough stalling, Alora. What’s going on?” Oakley huffs, always the impatient one of our foursome.

As I pull the folder out of my bag, I bite my lip and push the coffee aside. “I’ve decided it’s time to start a family. I went to the fertility clinic and had an initial appointment, and I’m looking into in vitro.”

“IVF?” Coen asks, exchanging a glance with the two men on either side of me.

“Yeah.” I exhale the breath I’m holding. “I’m thirty-four, and I’m not getting any younger. If I want to have a family, I have to start now. Obviously, I’m not doing a good job of finding the man for the family, so I decided why not be a single mother? I mean, I was raised by a single mother and look how great I am?”

“You’re perfect, babe,” Tristan says.

I grin and push the folder forward. “You’re my best friends, and I want you to be part of this from the beginning. I thought maybe we could read through potential donor files together, binge on wine, cheese, and fruit sorbet—kind of like shopping the Christmas catalogs like we used to in our twenties.”

I’m met with silence, which I guess I should expect, considering I’m dropping this on them out of nowhere. While I’ve been thinking about this for months, I kept it from them because I didn’t want to open it up for discussion before I had all my facts. Not that this is a discussion. It’s my life, but these three mean more to me than anything else in the world now that my momma is gone, and while I don’t need their permission, I want their support.

“What do you think?” I search their faces, which are awash with confusion, disbelief, and maybe a bit of anger?

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Coen asks.

“About six months, but I finally made an appointment two weeks ago and had my consultation on Friday.”

“Does this mean you’ve given up on finding the perfect husband?”

I shrug. “It means I’m not going to wait any longer to have what I want.”

“So, instead of waiting, you’re going to pick a bunch of sperm out of a catalog, have them shove it up you with a turkey baster, and then pray for the best?” Oakley bites out, letting me know he’s definitely angry.

“Dude. Chill out,” Tristan says, reaching behind me and smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“Why are you mad?”

Oakley rubs the top of his head and sighs. “I’m not mad, Alora. I’m frustrated.”

“What are you frustrated about?”

The waitress takes this moment to walk up to the table with her iPad in hand. “What can I get you?”

“Actually, could you give us ten minutes?” I ask, unsure if I’m going to make it through a full meal. I don’t think any of the guys have ever been mad at me, and I’m not sure how to sit here under their watchful glares.

“Sure thing.” The waitress walks away.

Coen raises his hand and motions to both guys to sit back and relax. “We don’t begrudge you wanting a child, Alora. You’ll be a great mom, but what if we had a different proposal for you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Give us ninety days.”

“What?”

Tristan leans forward. “That’s a brilliant idea.”

Coen grins. “I’m glad you think so, because I’m making it up as I go.”

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