She follows me to the door. I turn just before she closes it. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, pretty girl.” I wink as she nods her head and whispers a quiet, “Bye.”
I can’t help but laugh to myself as I head down her hallway. Not how I expected that to go but I still find myself skipping a few of the creaky stairs on my way out.
7
ROSIE
I thinkI blacked out somewhere between Jackson Harper knocking on my door and him closing it behind him. Or maybe I’ve imagined it. Maybe I’ve never even met him and I’m actually still seventeen and going to see Starseeker on the big screen for the first time and my imagination has run away with me.
But, when I wake up the next day and throw up in my bedroom bin, I know it’s not a dream.
I’m still pregnant and the father unknowingly walked back into my life with a cheeky smile and a devilish ability to make me laugh.
I panicked. As soon as I saw him on the other side of the door, any control I was clinging onto disappeared in a flurry of tears and sobs. He immediately went into protective mode, sitting with me and offering up his strength, even when he had no idea what the hell was going on.
Throughout the whole bizarre twenty or so minutes he was in my kitchen, I felt like my body was floating above the room.
I struggle through my day at work avoiding the annoying questions from Kevin and the guys.
It’s early evening by the time I take my headphones off and pack away. I check my phone reflexively and my heart stops at the text on the screen.
JACKSON
Hey, pretty girl. How was your day?
I blink at the screen. How was my day?
I shove my phone in my bag and leave the office without acknowledging anyone. Those seven words tumble around my brain on the long commute home.
How was my day?Does heknow?
I don’t know what I thought he would do with my number but I knew that I would need to use it first. And soon.
I need to tell him. I need to tell him the next time I see him. I should have done it when he first barged into my flat, but the shock didn’t wear off until after he’d left.
I swear to myself that the next time I see him, the first words I speak will be “Hello Jackson. I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”
I tap my card on the barriers, escaping the crowded tube station to the equally crowded street. I’ve lived in London long enough that I can dodge and weave pedestrians like a pro, but today I barely notice when I’m stuck behind an elderly couple taking up the entire pavement, adding at least forty-five seconds to my journey.
How was my day?
My day? I threw up this morning and can no longer drink milk because your super sperm has had a pretty inconvenient consequence.
I stumble up the stairs to my flat, finally taking my phone out in the safety of my own four walls.
My phone buzzes again as soon as it’s in my hands and I jump out of my skin. It’s just a news notification.
This is ridiculous. I need to get a grip. If this were Anya, I would tell her to rip the bandaid off and tell him. It’s not something I can—should—keep to myself for much longer.
Jackson Harper literally walked back into my life right when I needed him. I have to tell him.
Taking a deep breath, I type out a reply.
ME
I’m good thanks, you?
He replies immediately.
