Chapter 7: The Launch

Three years later. . . “Stop it, Ash. You’ll ruin mommy’s cake,” I say, and he smacks the icing off the cake with the pastry brush, giggling naughtily. Growling, I take the brush out of his hand and lift him off the counter. He makes a cooing sound, pleased that he has my attention again and bites my cheek softly as he murmurs, “Mama.” Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. Ash is my life; my joy; my son. My little bundle of joy, I like to call him—and maybe trouble too. His jewel-toned eyes sparkle as he holds a lock of my hair and regards it with pure childlike fascination. He always does that. Then he asks why he doesn’t have red hair. The conversation always goes downhill from there, because my answer to that question will always be, “You take after your father.” It is one of the reasons why I left LA. Anyone would take one look at Ash and know he was Ryan’s. From his dark hair, to his sapphire eyes, to his small cute ears and the slight tilt to his lips when he smiles—he is almost an exact replica of his father. He has my expressions and mischief, but everything else is all Ryan. After considering the odds of my son being accepted into the Holden family and the fact that Grant—Jasper— is his brother, I decided that it would be best for everyone if I left with Ash. The farther away we are from the Holden family, the better. Call it cowardice, call it selfishness, I don’t care. I will raise my son myself. Actually, I’m already doing a pretty great job with that. Sorta. The past three years have been taxing, demanding, and life-changing. Using my life savings, I got an apartment here in Stowe, Vermont, and opened my own bakery. I got off the high of realizing a part of my dreams when I had to shuffle between work, deliveries, and Ash. July was with me for the first two months, helping me with the bakery and my son until I could handle it without breaking down. I did a lot of those in the first days after delivery. Even July couldn’t stand me. I cried nearly as much as Ash did. Never had I wished so much for my mother’s help. But the woman had stopped taking my calls entirely after I told her I was pregnant. She had asked all but one question. “Who knocked you up?” And I had lied, “I don’t know.” From her silence thereafter, I knew she was done with me. I might have cried, if I wasn’t done with her and father as well. My phone buzzes, drawing me out of my reverie, and I gasp. “Oh no. I’m late. I’m so late.” I have a delivery to make and I’m late. My gaze shoots to the slab where my keys usually reside, but they aren’t there. I dash to the slab and search around it for my keys, hackles rising. “Ash? Where are my keys?” He starts to giggle again. “Your room!” he squeals. “Mommy forgets everything.” My cheeks flame. Right. I’d kept them there last night. After placing the last bit of icing on the cake and packaging it in the fancy sturdy box, as well as the rest of the pastries requested by my client, I grab my keys from my room, all the while keeping my eyes on the clock. Ten minutes late. The delivery is for a business event and my client is paying heavily for my services. It’s the first time I’m getting a paycheck this huge—and I’m screwing it up with my tardiness. “Up. Get up, my love. We’re running late,” I say, ruffling Ash’s hair and he scowls, leaning out of my reach as he gets off the couch, taking his favorite Superman action figure with him. Ensuring that I have everything I need, I head out to what’s been my daily routine for years now. **** *Ryan* I twirl my wine glass as I stare at the teeming crowd. I can tell from their furtive glances that they are growing as impatient as I am. For what seems like the fifth time, I glance at the door, expecting my secretary to walk in and give me a go ahead to commence my speech. To commemorate the launch of my newest project in Stowe—a luxurious resort and spa—my secretary, Mary, placed an order for a few refreshments. The said delivery is late by a whooping twenty minutes. I hate tardiness. Mary walks out to take a call, staring out like she's expecting someone to walk in at any moment. I proceed to the back of the gathering where the entry point lies, wanting to see the woman who has kept me waiting for so long. "Mr. Holden!" someone exclaims and I turn to see Mrs Michel Singh and her husband waving. I flash them my best smile, still walking. Not quite watching where I'm headed, I bump hard into someone. A sudden silence fills the hall and I can feel eyes on me. Something soft rubs on my chin, and the tantalizing scent of vanilla and strawberry fills the air. I peer down at my tux. It's been soiled. There's icing and strawberry on my tux, my shirt, and probably on my chin as well. A child's sharp laughter has my gaze drawn in the opposite direction. I find blue eyes laughing at me. I cock my head slightly. Who would bring a child here? "I'm so sorry, shouldn't have taken it out of the darn box," a familiar and pleasant female's voice draws my attention back to the mishap in front of me. Wavy red hair flits about as the female hands the misshapen cake to Mary while apologizing to her. Why is she apologizing to Mary? It's my tux she got cake on. My lips part to demand what the hell she was thinking bringing out the cake out of it's box when it hadn't reached the venue yet, but the woman sudden turns around to dab my suit with her kerchief. My world spins when hazel green eyes meet mine. Not in a hundred years would I forget those eyes, those tender lips, that perfect little nose, and the nearly imperceptible cleft in her chin. Her eyes widen and the kerchief drops from her hand along with a bunch of keys as I say, "Amber?" just to be sure I'm not seeing things again. But it would seem I am not because the child suddenly says, "Mommy, you dropped your keys again." My gaze flicks to the dark haired child who bends over to pick up her keys, and rise back to meet her shocked gaze. Mommy? And like she did three years ago, she turns around so quickly, I can hardly process it, until she's running out the door with the child in her arms. I blink. I am barraged with tons of emotions but I do not bother to understand them. I run after her.