Page 54 of Pregnant By the Playboy

Ah. I smile. “Those don’t sound so bad. What else did you do?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I had a stuffed dinosaur called General Bloopy the Bloopisaurus that I carried everywhere. Apparently he was destroyed and replaced at one point, and my mom lied to me and said he went to a spa.”

“Oh, the outrage!” I laugh.

“The point,” Vince says, leaning forward, “is that they all seem convinced our child will be a terror. I apologize in advance.”

I’m not fazed by this. Children are always a bit troublesome. I doubt ours will be a complete terror.

And that dinosaur story? It’s cute.

“Who was at your family dinner on Friday?” I ask.

“My mom, my dad, my grandma. My oldest brother, Julian, and his wife and baby. My other brother Cedric.”

“That sounds nice.” I have a bite of salad. “I know my mom wanted to have more kids, but...” I pause. “My dad died when I was three, a few months after we came to Canada. He was hit by a car. My mom asked him to go to the convenience store for a bag of Cheetos, and he never came back.”

“Marissa,” he says, reaching across the table. He brushes his fingers against mine, and I grab onto him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I want our child to have what I didn’t. Extended family nearby. Another parent. That’s why it’s so important to me that you be involved.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He squeezes my hand. “I will do the best I can, I promise.”

I swallow, my throat a bit scratchy.

“Anyway,” I say, sounding more upbeat than I feel, “my dad’s death cast a cloud over my childhood, and my mother had to work hard to provide for us. I couldn’t cause trouble for her. Not that she was overly strict, but she was always tired, always working.”

I look at the last bite of sausage on my plate. I’m not craving it anymore.

“You going to eat that?” Vince asks.

“Nah, you can have it.”

He finishes the sausage, then takes out the plastic container with chocolate cake.

Yes, that’s exactly what I need. My mouth starts watering again. He slides his chair around the table so we’re sitting next to each other, and he lifts a forkful of chocolate cake to my mouth.

I moan. “Oh, that’s delicious.”

He has a bite of his own. “It is, isn’t it?” He pats himself on the back. “Good job, Vince.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart feels full. Vince has been here for me, he’s listened, and that’s just what I needed.

From lusting after him while he cooked sausages...to this.

It’s a little overwhelming.

After we finish the cake—Vince lets me eat two-thirds of it—he takes my hand and leads me to the couch in the living room. He pulls me into his lap, and for a while, we just sit there together.

Eventually, he cups the back of my head and brings my mouth down to his.

He kisses me slowly, gently, as though we have more than a night or a weekend. I feel both boneless and a little keyed-up.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

I nod, even though I have no idea what he’s going to say, and it makes me a bit nervous.

“Will you go on a date with me?”