JACKSON
Better now, pretty girl
When are you going to let me take you out on a date?
The thought of blurting out my news in a crowded restaurant is enough to make me type out my reply.
ME
You can come over to mine. I’ll cook.
JACKSON
I like the sound of that? When?
I tug my glasses off and throw them on the kitchen counter, rubbing my eyes until I see spots. I already sound desperate, what’s one more comment? Once I tell him, he’ll run a mile the other way anyway.
ME
Tonight at 8?
JACKSON
I’ll bring the wine ;)
Please don’t, I think miserably.
By the timeeight pm rolls around, I’m as calm as I can be given the fact that my unwitting baby daddy is about to walk through my doors and I’m going to change his life over a vegetable curry.
I check my reflection in the mirror. I still look pale no matter how much blush I apply. Whoever said that pregnant women glow was a cruel liar.
The intercom buzzes and I take a deep breath before letting him up.
The walls in this building are old and thin and I can hear him bounding up the stairs before I hear a polite knock on the door.
I brace myself as I open the door. He’s wearing a smart button down and jeans, his hair neat and tucked behind his ears, a few strands curling across his forehead. He grins, his eyes crinkling in the corners and I can’t help the smile that returns.
“Hey pretty girl,” he says, leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek.
I let him and try to stop my eyelashes fluttering as his lips meet my skin.
“No tears this time, that’s what I like to see,” he says, lifting his hand for a high five. I laugh and lightly press my palm to his. It’s a weak attempt that he rectifies by claspinghis fingers around mine and tugging me closer until our hands rest against his hard chest.
I can’t help but admire the way our hands look, mine swallowed by his. I’ve never been small and dainty; my ex-boyfriends’ clothes have always just fit instead of looking oversized. But Jackson’s hands are twice the size of mine and I can still remember how they felt worshiping my body.
I gently tug my hand free, avoiding his gaze as I step back. “Come in, I’ve got food ready to go.” I return to the table, anxiously straightening the plates so I don’t have to watch him follow.
“I brought wine,” he says once he reaches my side.
I nod mutely. How long should I keep up the charade?Can’t have wine, sorry. You put a baby in me.
“Glasses are over there.” I gesture to the bar rack installed above the fridge where wine glasses dangle upside down.
He reaches around me and plucks them off the shelf. He’s so tall, and my flat so tiny, that he barely has to stretch to reach from one end of the room to the other.
“I hope you like vegetarian,” I say, allowing him to hand me a glass that I know I won’t touch.
“I didn’t know you were veggie,” Jackson says as we finally take a seat at the table.
