Babymoon or Bust

Babymoon or Bust Copyright © 2023 Ava Hunter All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. Babymoon or Bust is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, angst and incidents are a work of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real life events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. Cover Design: Leni Kauffman, www.lenikauffman.com Editing: VB Edits Formatting: Champagne Book Design TABLE OF CONTENTS Title Page Also by Ava Hunter Dedication Playlist Note from author Epigraph I. Chapter One Chapter Two II. Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two III. Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Epilogue Bonus Epilogue Author’s Note Acknowledgments About the Author Nashville Star Series Sing You Home Find You Again Love You Always Need You Now Bring You Back With You Forever This story goes out to anyone trying to walk that fine between motherhood and woman, sanity and struggle. Motherhood is hard, so let's fuck it up, and find that happily-ever after you deserve. Find this Tessie and Solomon-approved playlist on Spotify! Hotel Key | Old Dominion Morgan Wallen | Sand in My Boots Some Nights | Fun. Stars | Grace Potter and the Nocturnals At the Beach | The Avett Brothers I Saw the Light | Hank Williams Galway Girl | Steve Earl Water Me | Lizzo Waves | Luke Bryan Toes | Zac Brown Band Girl from the North Country | Bob Dylan & Johnny Cash C Sections and Railway Trestles | The Avett Brothers The Mother | Brandi Carlile Psst. The next page contains trigger warnings. Please skip if you wish to avoid spoilerish content. A Note from Ava Dear Reader, This book contains a descriptive traumatic childbirth scene as well as brief references to the past death of a spouse by accident and to the past death of a parent to cancer. If you’re sensitive to subjects such as these, please use this warning to make an informed decision about whether to proceed with the story. But I always promise a happy ending and a growling mountain man. With big love and all good wishes, Ava ba·by·moon /ˈbābēˌmo͞on/ noun INFORMAL a relaxing or romantic vacation taken by parents-to-be shortly before the birth of their baby. “on the eve of the third trimester, two strangers are stuck together among the whispering palm trees of Mexico for a torturous week-long babymoon” o a critical period of time after childbirth where the new parents run on madness and caffeine while establishing a bond with their newborn. “a babymoon is regarded as a special time for the mother and father to fall in love with their baby. . .and each other” Get lit, get loose, get laid. Tessie Truelove lives to cross out each and every item outlined in her carefully planned agenda—three priority tasks a day. But this specific request doesn’t make the cut. As much as she’d like it to. Tess shuts her planner on tomorrow’s lengthy to-do list. Exhaling a determined sigh, she swivels on her barstool to survey the dank Tennessee bar the locals call the Bear’s Ear. She can appreciate dive. Hell, she was raised in a dive. Dives can give lessons in bold clashing patterns and thinking outside the box. Automatically, her mind goes to prettying up the surly space. She can’t help it. It’s ingrained. The walls could use a coat of paint. She’d nix the antlers. Small furry beasts of burden. Get rid of the wooden beer cooler. Add black horseshoe booths for smooth lines. Keep the loud music. Funky country with a beat. Locals and tourists alike face off over beers and booths. A bachelor party, the men pounding shots with masculine exuberance, roars in the corner. A singer on the jukebox croons about whiskey and the way his ex-wife slugged him with two rounds of lead back in fifty-three. Tessie squints at the plaque behind the bar proclaiming Bear’s Ear a must-visit destination. Drink. She needs a drink. And maybe a tetanus shot. Pushing herself up on her stool, she lifts a hand to the bartender. “Excuse me. Do you have a wine list?” He scowls, pulling drafts with reckless abandon. “Beer or liquor, blondie. That’s all we’re servin’.” She holds his hard stare. “The name is Tess, and yours?” He sighs. She presses her palms together in a prayer pose. “I really need a glass of wine.” Another sigh. “Tequila okay?” Inhaling a breath, ready to ramble, ready to work her best no-nonsense magic, she leans across the bar and locks eyes with the man. “Listen, I didn’t work a seventeen-hour day and get lost on these dusty back roads to shoot piss-poor tequila shots in a dive bar with nudie calendars on the wall and an eardrum-shattering jukebox. No offense. After the day I’ve had, I deserve a glass of wine.” The bartender’s jaw twitches. “Please.” She lifts her chin. Narrows her gaze. He stops. Wipes his rag along the bar. Tilts his head. Then a sigh of defeat. “Red or white?” She smiles. “White, please. With ice.” A curl of his lip. “Don’t push it.” He Hulk-smashes a hand into the ancient fridge and fumbles around until he retrieves a dusty bottle. The wine is a translucent white with peach undertones. She doesn’t need to pull her Pantone book out of her bag to know which color she’d assign to the drink. Swatch 9180. She lives by Pantone colors. They are blissful order. Neat squares that tell a