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I stalk down the hallway. “I thought we weren’t remodeling the guest room?”
“Did I say that? I don’t believe I said that.” Taking the towel off, he runs product through his hair. “I said I won’t be using Jean Paul Pierre Luc. But luckily, his cousin, Fontaine, was available.” He looks over at me while I pace. “But don’t worry, he isn’t nearly as eccentric as JPPL.”
I stop pacing. “His name isFontaine?”
“I know, totes adorbs, right? I think it means ‘fountain’ in French. Anyhoo, Fontaine is in construction and is building bookshelves for us. I wanted it to be a sweet surprise when you came home tonight, but he’s taking longer than expected.” He holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, I promise we’ll pick out the rest of the nursery stuff together. We have plenty of time.” He washes the gel off his hands and kisses my cheek. “Ready to go pick up our baby mama from the airport?”
My eyes soften at the excitement in TJ’s voice. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Do ye think it’s safe to leave Fontaine here alone?”
“Totes safe. Let’s tell him we’re leaving.” He looks down at his watch. “Sam and the crew guys are meeting us downstairs. I hope that’s okay. I wanted them to film us meeting her for the first time.”
“Whatever ye want, Love.” I squeeze his hand. TJ has been a lot more cognizant of the film crew being in our personal space. They haven’t been around much, so I assume he said something to them.
TJ knocks on the guestroom door before opening it. “Fontaine? Fontaine!” he shouts and the drill turns off. “We’re leaving. You’ll be done in two hours?”
“Yeah, no problem,” a deep Boston accent responds. I arch my neck trying to get a look at this guy because I can’t picture that voice matching the name Fontaine or being cousins with Jean Luc Poop. He’s facing the wall, wearing a plain white t-shirt, a manly no-nonsense toolbelt, Levi’s, and steel-toed boots. His head is bald and shiny, like Mr. Clean.
“Hi, I’m Connor,” I pipe up. Fontaine peers over his shoulder at me and frowns, then returns to his work. Grunting, he snaps his measuring tape up against the wall. He takes a yellow pencil from behind his ear and marks the measurement. “It was nice to meet ye,” I say. We close the door and I raise my eyebrows at TJ. “Are ye sure that guy is related to the other designer?”
“Who, Fontaine and JPPL? Of course, silly. First cousins. Moms were both from Pare-ee. You can see the similarity when they smile.”
“Fontaine smiles?” I joke as we grab our coats and the car keys. TJ picks up a large posterboard covered in bright fluorescent marker and glitter. “What is that?”
“Oh, I made a sign to hold up at baggage claim so she knows who we are.”
“I’m pretty sure you can see that sign from space.” I chuckle. “Besides, she’s seen us on the video chat.”
“I know, I…I want her to feel special. This is a big moment for us. We’re about to meet our baby mama, Connor.” He sniffs.
“Awe, Love, are ye gettin’ emotional on me?”
“Yes,” TJ blubbers. I hug him as we ride the elevator down and greet Sam, Brody, and the other crew members fromNashville Nextin the parking garage. They follow us in their car to the airport. TJ’s knee doesn’t stop bouncing the entire way there.
“Ye nervous, Love?”
“A little. You?”
“Yeah, but eager too.”
TJ leans over to smack a kiss on my cheek. “In this forever.”
“Forever,mo chroí.”
We park and head to baggage claim with theNashville Nextcrew trailing behind us. TJ checks his phone. “Okay, her plane landed ten minutes ago, so she should be on her way down if she’s not already here.” He holds the sign up, craning his neck to see above the crowd.
I check to see which baggage claim is assigned to the Los Angeles flight number. “Let’s head to carousel six.”
TJ holds his sign up like a little kid. “Ooh, is that her? That redhead over there.”
I turn to see who he’s pointing at, but when the redhead turns around, we both deflate. “Definitely not her. Why don’t ye try callin’ her? I’ll hold yer sign.”
TJ nods, handing it over to me. “Make sure you hold it high so she can see it, babe.” He dials her number. “It’s going straight to voicemail. Must still be on airplane mode.”
We stand and wait for another ten minutes with TJ calling her several more times. Everyone from her flight has come and gone. My heart sinks as I look over at TJ’s crestfallen expression. His glitter sign, long forgotten, lying on the floor.
“Love? I done think she’s coming.”
“There must be a mistake. She may have missed her flight. Or maybe she’s here, but she’s stuck on the plane? Perhaps she’s helping an elderly woman to her gate or she’s trapped in line at the women’s bathroom. You know how women like to pee right after they get off a plane. Maybe—”
