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“I didn’t know this place was here. It doesn’t look like much from the outside.”
“It’s my little secret.”
“Thanks for sharing it.” He smiles down at me.
The hostess greets us and leads us to a booth in the back. As we walk, Marco puts his hand on my lower back leading the way. He hasn’t touched me like that in a while. It feels so simple, but intimate. This is the celebration I wanted. Just him and me.
We settle into a patchwork booth that’s wrapped around a warm oak table with an eclectic scattering of tealight candles flickering in the center. Out of all the places we’ve been, galas and work events, this is probably my favorite one. It’s intimate in a way the other places weren’t, and it’s just us two.
Marco studies the menu from across the way, and instead of studying my own, I’m looking at him. He’s physically perfect, somuch that it pains a small part of me. I don’t know why he’s here with me. He could have anyone.
“What’s good here?” he asks, looking up and seeing that my eyes are already on him.
I blush and quickly look down at the menu. “Um, the coffee is stellar. And the pastries are out of this world.”
“Pastries and coffee it is.” He closes his menu.
“For dinner?”
“Why not?” He shrugs.
I laugh and sit back against the booth. When the waitress comes by to take our order, Marco orders every pastry on the menu and two cups of coffee. If this is a first date, it’s winning. A firstrealdate.
When I look at him again, he seems to be in his head again.
“What is it?” I ask gently.
“Hmm?”
“What are you thinking about?”
He furrows his brow and looks at me intently. “Why did you introduce me to your brother as your boss?”
“You are my boss,” I say, avoiding what he’s really asking.
“But I’m also Josie’s father…”
I take a deep breath and look down at my hands in my lap. He’s asking questions he should be asking, but I’m not sure I’m ready to answer them. Yet, I know I have to. We’ve been pretty bad at communicating, and if I want this to work, it’s time to let go.
“I haven’t told my family that her father is back in her life…”
“Or that it’s me…” he adds softly, and I hear the pain in his voice, which makes me feel so much worse.
I shake my head solemnly, thinking back to when I had to tell my family I was pregnant. I had done a pretty good job of hiding it for the first two months, but then I was running out of excuses for how tired I was or how much time I was spending in the bathroom. I was also running out of ways to camouflage my bump that was beginning to show.
I remember the night I told them. I had arrived for dinner at my parents’ house upstate. My brother was already there. He was the one to notice first. He gave me a strange look when I politely declined a glass of champagne, his eyes drifting to my midsection. My heart sped up in my chest, thumping violently.
My mother must have noticed his strange look in my direction because her eyes followed his gaze to me and her mouth dropped. She let go of her champagne glass and it shattered at her feet, causing everyone to jump. My father demanded to know what was going on and I had to tell them.
Telling them I was pregnant wasn’t the hard part. Explaining that I didn’t know who the father was made me want to disappear into the floor. For my parents, a very traditional couple, it shattered them like the champagne glass still at their feet. It was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, and we are still not healed from it. We mostly keep our distance now, except for holidays.
I don’t know why I didn’t tell them the truth. It seemed easier to pretend I didn’t know than to bring Marco into it. Knowing my father, he would demand a paternity test and go after him for money and make everything that much messier. I didn’t want to deal with all of that, and I didn’t think I could handle Marco rejecting us with some sort of payoff. Josie deserved better than that. So, I lied. To everyone.
“When I found out I was pregnant, and thatyouwere the father, I was scared,” I say, looking down at my hands. “I was so scared you would not want anything to do with me or the baby. I didn’t know how I would handle that rejection, or having to explain it to her one day…”
“I would never do that,” he says, reaching for my hand underneath the booth.
I look up at him, fighting back the tears that burn at the back of my eyes.