Ashton Andrews stared at the two pink lines, laid out in front of her, six times over.

Pregnant.

Looking at herself in the mirror, her blonde curls practically bouncing with excitement, she watched as a smile formed on her lips, stretching wider and wider until her cheeks hurt and her eyes started to water. And as the timer for test number seven went off, she knew that she would forever associate that sound with the feeling of pure happiness.

At thirty-four—nearly thirty-five—years old, and finally free of a decade long relationship that had gone nowhere, she’d hemmed and hawed about whether trying to get pregnant was the right move. After all, in her girlish dreams of motherhood, there had always been a man by her side, supporting her, loving her, cherishing her and their child.

And for eight short days when she was nineteen, she thought she’d found the man for the job.

Except that relationship—such as it was—had ended, as did the next and the next and the next, until she met Nathan. And despite all of her previous relationships, he was, in fact, only the second man she had thought was the one.

But, in the end, he’d really only been the first one to break her heart.

Not that it mattered now—in the days and weeks after the end of her relationship with Nathan, she’d made a decision. She wanted a baby and she damn well didn’t need a man, any man, to make it happen.

All she needed was a donor.

And a metaphorical turkey baster.

Oh, and to dig down deep for the final store of courage that would see her through the entire process.

It worked. Her mind ran those two words on repeat. It worked. It worked. It worked. Again and again, she reminded herself that she’d taken the bull by the horns—not literally, of course, since she wasn’t crazy—and forged the future she wanted, for herself, and by herself.

Now all she had to do was break the news to Aaron.

As if he had known she was thinking about him, her phone chimed with the sound of Sam Smith lauding his own abilities at saying goodbye and alerted her to the fact that Aaron was calling. “Big brother, what’s happening?”

“Little sister, not much.” The warmth in his tone told Ashton that Aaron, who’d been through more than his fair share of drama and angst in his thirty-six years, was relaxed and happy. “We just got home.”

“And how was the honeymoon? Did you and Simon enjoy yourselves?” It was more of a rhetorical question than one that required a response. After all, her brother had finally married the love of his life—sixteen years after they had met, and fifteen years after her parents had told Aaron that he was no longer welcome in their home.

The sound of hmming agreement came down the line, and Ashton could practically hear the lewd thoughts and memories that her brother was projecting.

Cutting him off before he could bring on non-pregnancy-related sickness by giving her a play-by-play of his time on the lush beaches of Hawaii, Ashton shared her news for the first time. “I’m pregnant.”

Okay, maybe a little lead-in would have been smart, she thought as the hmming became a rapidly indrawn breath followed by a startled fit of coughing.

“You’re a—who, what now?” Aaron stumbled over his words, no doubt trying to give some order to the myriad questions that were surely fighting for the right to be answered first.

“I’m pregnant. I just—”

But she didn’t get the chance to finish before her brother shouted down the line, “If that baby is Nathan’s, I will castrate him and make a necklace from his balls and force him to wear it to work.”

“Somehow I think Tucker and Smith would disapprove of a ball-necklace in place of the more traditional tie, but regardless, it’s a non-issue. It’s not his.”

“Good. Fucker.”

“Aaron,” Ashton warned, not wanting to again get into a conversation with him about the failings of her ex—she just didn’t have that kind of time or patience today.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry.” The apology was begrudging, but she let it roll off her back, knowing that all her brother wanted was for her to be happy. And maybe to make a necklace out of Nathan’s balls, but that was a discussion best suited for his therapist.

“I’m happy, A. I wanted this.” She also wanted to reassure her oldest sibling, the man who had been through so much, but who’d always had her back—just as she’d always had his.

When their parents had disowned Aaron, she had disowned them right back.

“I’m coming over. You can explain.”

“I’m headed down to The Avenue,” she said, referring to the bar she owned with their younger brother, Austin. “I have to get payroll done this morning.”

“Where’s Aussie? Can’t he do it?”

“He’ll be there, too, which is more reason for you to come in later today. I can explain to both of you at once.”

“Ash—” he began, but she wasn’t interested in hearing him.

“Nope. Not arguing this with you. Come around lunchtime, I can fill you and Aussie in then.”

“Fine, but only because I get free food and drinks and the honeymoon left me broke.”

Ashton scoffed at that. Her older brother, a hotshot lawyer, was definitely not hurting for cash. And even if he was, his new husband, Simon, was making damn good money too, as a photographer and model.

“Whatever, A. I have to go.”

“Wai—wait!”

“What?” she asked, no small amount of frustration creeping into her voice. She wanted to get on with the celebration, then shower—after all, she’d peed all over seven sticks that morning; if anyone needed a shower, it was most definitely her—so she could get to work.

“The test. I assume . . . seven times?”

The question made her smile. “Of course.”

“Good. Congratulations, Little,” he said, using the nickname that she’d had for as long as she could remember. The smile in his voice was noticeable, but whether it was because of her news or because she’d taken the test seven times, she didn’t know.

She also didn’t care.

He was happy for her.

But more importantly, she was happy for herself.