Accidental Pregnancy

I climb out of the car. I can do this.

“Lyle?”

My head jerks up. Standing beside the open door of the white car beside me is Amanda, blinking at me, as surprised to see me as I am to see her. For a moment, no words escape me; I’m struck dumb by her sudden appearance.

Then I rouse myself.

“Amanda!” I say. “Looks like we both got here at the same time.”

Amanda’s face relaxes into a smile.

“Looks like it,” she agrees. “We’re both early, too.”

I glance at my watch. There’s still ten minutes until two o’clock. I smile.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you,” I say, and she laughs, looking pleased. “Ready to have that coffee?”

“It sounds good to me,” Amanda says warmly.

The Parker Bar, an out-of-the-way bar, is one of my favorite places to be. It’s small and warm, the clients are always friendly, and the staff never make a huge deal out of having to break large bills for me. As we walk in, Amanda pauses, taking in the woody décor and colorful paintings.

“This is a nice place,” she says approvingly.

“It is,” I agree. “I come here a lot. The coffee is amazing.” I wink at her. “On top of that, it’s a bar, so it sells stronger drinks if we want them, too.”

Startled, Amanda glances at me, and then laughs.

“Alcohol is why we’re here in the first place,” she points out.

I trail my eyes over her full lips and round green eyes. My heart is beating strongly, the pound of it clear in my ears.

“Maybe…but I think we still would have ended up here even if I met you on the street,” I say.

Amanda is just as beautiful in the daylight as I remember. The only difference is the clothes she’s wearing, neat and business-like, and the way her hair is brushed back into a ponytail. The look suits her just as much as the short, floaty dress and the wild hair she wore at the club.

“Maybe,” Amanda says, but her eyes are smiling, apparently happy with my words.

There aren’t many people here, just a few customers and the two workers, a bartender who is wiping glasses and a barista who is taking someone’s order. The bartender looks up as we enter and smiles, recognizing me from several other times I’ve been here. He simply waves, however, to my relief. So far, it doesn’t appear as though Amanda recognizes me, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“Coffee?” I offer.

“Yes, thank you,” she says with a smile.

I lead her to a small table in the corner, the muted red tablecloth fitting nicely with the rest of the décor. The barista approaches us with a pad of paper and a pen.

“What can I get for the two of you?” she asks.

“Two coffees, please,” I say. I glance at Amanda. “White or black?”

“White with one sugar, please,” Amanda requests.

“And one black with two sugars,” I finish.

“Sure, that won’t be long,” the barista says with a smile.

When she’s gone, I turn to Amanda. Now that we’re sitting, I’m at a loss as to what to say. What do we even talk about? Two nights ago, we got incredibly intimate, very quickly, and it’s hard not to remember the sight of her curved body or the feel of her soft skin as I look at her now. My mouth grows dry and I clear my throat as I look away.

“So…business?” I ask a little roughly. “You said you had a meeting the other day?”