With prenatal vitamins in hand, Ashton made her way to the parking lot, her excitement mixed with a nervousness she hadn’t expected, but perhaps should have.

“Congratulations, Ms. Andrews, you’re going to have a baby.”

Of course, she’d imagined those words coming from her doctor’s mouth for quite some time, but something about the reality of them had her a little bit on edge. To stave off full-blown panic—because what use would that be?—she started picturing tiny hands and feet, sleepy eyes and little pink lips.

“Ashton?” The soft voice that broke through her thoughts was punctuated with a gentle hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

Ashton turned with a smile to face one of her favorite bar patrons, having recognized the warmth in Brighton Figures’ words. “Brighton, hi.” She leaned in for a little hug, surprising herself and Brighton, to whom she’d never before opened her arms, but who returned it with little hesitation.

Sandwiched lightly between them was Brighton’s baby girl, Stella, who Ashton estimated must be coming up on one year of age.

“Are you okay?” Brighton asked a second time, stepping back to end the hug, but keeping that one hand on Ashton’s arm in a show of support.

“Oh, yes, sorry.” Ashton forced her mind to blank, emptying it of nervous thoughts and images of what her baby might look like, so she could focus on the conversation. “I just . . .”

Brighton leaned in, a move Ashton was sure was designed to encourage her to share, but she stalled.

Should she share? Or should she wait?

It was a sad but simple fact that, outside of her brothers, Ashton didn’t really have that many people to tell about her bun-in-the-oven status. She had friends from college, but most of them lived in another state or, in the case of her best friend, Bianca, in another country. She loved them, but rarely saw them and spoke to them only slightly more often than that.

Her situation was all so fresh—the words of her doctor, the confirmation that she’d longed for and now feared just a little. And besides, it was Brighton, of all people. They might not now—or ever—be best friends or bosom buddies, but they talked fairly often and Ashton liked her. Trusted her.

And honestly, she just really, really needed to say something to someone. The news felt like a weight that needed to be lifted.

“You just . . . ?” Brighton echoed. From anyone else, it might have been needling—an attempt to meddle in her life—but Ashton had come to know Brighton well enough in the time she and her friend, Jade, had been coming into Ashton’s bar. She knew this was a person who genuinely cared.

“Imhavingababy.” It was a run-together sentence that barely made sense but Ashton saw the moment Brighton figured it out.

“Oh, oh, my God. Congratulations,” she exclaimed, wrapping Ashton up in a second hug, careful as always of the baby attached to her chest. “Ashton, that’s amazing. How far along are you?”

“Six weeks. I—well, I know the exact date.” Don’t say anything else, Ashton Marie, she warned herself, already anticipating that the verbal diarrhea that had plagued her at one point in her life was about to make its second appearance of the day. “I used a sperm donor, you know? So, I know exactly when it happened. I had to, like, be patient and not force it, but I swear I’ve been wanting to pee on all those sticks since about an hour after I got home from my appointment at the clinic, but I marked this date in my calendar as the day and somehow I made it without giving in and now I’m going to have a baby, surprise!” She was aware that, at some point during her word vomit, Brighton pulled back from the hug. So, to cover her growing embarrassment, Ashton decided to do what any normal, calm, definitely-ready-to-be-a-mother woman would do.

Jazz hands.

And on that note . . . “I’d better get going and you must have an appointment you need to get to, right? How is the baby?” She began backing up and away from the conversation even as she asked a question that invited more talk. “She’s looking good, you’re looking good. You should come in soon, with Jade, we can talk about stuff and, you know, or whatever.”

“We’ll be in later this week, actually.” Brighton offered a radiant smile—the smile of someone who was genuinely happy for her, and not, as Ashton might have expected given her recent explosion of words, the smile of someone who wanted to escape the bartender having a nervous breakdown in the parking lot. “And yes, Stella’s pediatrician is in this complex, too”—she gestured to Madison’s Medical Park, which sprawled over several buildings and had all manner of doctors and specialists—“so, I’d better get going. I’ll see you later, Ash.”

Once Brighton disappeared into another building, Ashton let out a long breath and made her way over to her car. When she and Austin had bought the bar, taking it over from the previous owners, she’d downsized her car to a black Kia Soul. It wasn’t the prettiest of cars, in Ashton’s opinion, but she loved how zippy it was, and how much cheaper it was on gas than her previous car, a Ford F150 that she’d bought when she’d finished college. Settling into the driver’s seat, she rolled her shoulders and attempted to find her chill. Lord knew she’d lost it at some point during her “chat” with Brighton.

Chat, meltdown. Potato, potahto.

The enclosed space offered a little comfort. Enough, at least, that when her mind started reminding her of that time in her life when word vomit was her norm—all because of one tall, dark and handsome man—she welcomed the memories instead of pushing them aside.