A Chance Encounter

“And what if it doesn’t work? What if you get to know me and realize it was nothing more than sexual chemistry? What then?”

“Then we do what everyone else who has a baby together but aren’t together does, we co-parent. But we have several months before the baby comes, and I’d really like to get to know you. Even if we don’t end up together, you’re my baby mama.” He hits me with a lopsided grin. “We’ll be in each other’s lives until we die, so I think we should still get to know each other.”

A laugh escapes. “Until we die, huh?”

“Damn right, woman. You’re stuck with me for life.”

There’s a knock, and Easton gets up to answer the door. I meet him in the kitchen so we can plate up our food. It all smells so good, and my stomach growls in anticipation.

“So, what do you say?” he asks, once we’re seated at the table.

“I can’t make any promises,” I tell him truthfully. “And you’re right, I do have a lot going on…” More than you know… I still need to tell him about Kendall, but once I do, it’s out there. He’s going to ask questions, and I’m going to be forced to lie. Because a secret is only a secret if no one knows. And I have to make sure, for my daughter’s well-being, nobody ever knows who her sperm donor is.

“But I felt what you felt,” I add, “and I would like to explore the possibility of something more.” His face lights up. “But…” His face falls. “I think we should take things slow over the course of my pregnancy and when the baby comes, we make a decision. If we aren’t compatible, we co-parent and move forward separately.”

Easton’s face lights back up. “So, what you’re saying is I have roughly six months to convince you that we’re perfect for each other.”

I laugh. “Or you have six months to realize I’m crazy and plan your escape.”

“Oh, I already know you’re crazy,” he deadpans. “But I have a feeling you’re my kind of crazy.” He grins and takes a sip of his drink. “I hope you’re prepared…”

“For what?”

“To be wooed.”

“Wooed?” I laugh.

“Yep! Wooed. It’s the term my grandfather used to use when he was alive. One thing you need to know about us Blackwood men. We’re great at wooing.”

I groan, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. But also, deep down, I’m kind of excited because I’m twenty-five years old and I’ve never been wooed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EASTON

Dash: I can’t. I’m not feeling well. Sorry.

I sigh, setting my phone down, wondering if Sophia’s really not feeling well, or if she’s using it as an excuse to not come over. After our lunch date at my hotel, I felt like we were making some progress. She told me about school, how she’s planning to one day become a family attorney, and I told her how music has been my entire world since I was little. We made small talk while we ate and it was nice. Shortly after, she said she had somewhere she had to be and promised we’d get together soon.

The last couple days, we’ve been texting—I gave her my number so we wouldn’t have to message on Facebook anymore—and she’s been opening up more.

When I asked her what she’s doing for Christmas, and she mentioned her roommate and cousin, Naomi, would be out of town for the holidays because her fiancé was taking her to visit his parents, I invited her over, so she wouldn’t be alone.

“Is she coming?” Mom asks, sitting next to me.

“She’s not feeling well.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

“I think she’s scared. She doesn’t really talk about anyone but her cousin, Naomi, and I wonder if maybe she’s all alone.”

Mom nods. “The deli on the corner is open. They make the best chicken noodle soup.”

“You’re okay with me leaving?”

“We’ll wait for you. If she’s really not feeling well, you should be there, and if she’s okay…maybe you can convince her in person to join us.”

After letting everyone know I’m leaving, but will be back in a little while, I stop by the deli, pick up some soup as my mom suggested, and then head over to Sophia’s apartment. When I arrive at her door, I knock and wait for her to answer. I should’ve warned her I was coming over, but I was afraid she’d come up with some excuse for me not to.

I hear stomping in the apartment, and a second later, the door swings open. I’m expecting to see Sophia, so I’m taken aback when instead, a tiny little girl, with curly blond pigtails, dressed in red and white striped pajamas is standing at the door.

“Hi, who are you?” she asks, her bright blue eyes meeting mine with curiosity.

“I’m—”

“Kendall Naomi Davis!” Sophia yells, walking down the hallway. “You know better than to open the door to a stranger, and especially without asking who it is!”