Single Dad's Secret Baby (His Secret Baby)

“Sorry,” I mouth with a wave.

“Okay, after your poem, we have to get out of here,” Jessica says.

“Before we get thrown out of here,” I agree.

I take one last glance around the room as the guy on stage is finishing his poem. Professor Mitchell still isn’t here, which I guess I shouldn’t keep expecting. Still, I can’t help but hold out hope.

“Good luck!” Dr. Myers says to me with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “You’re gonna do great!”

Jessica gives me a look where Dr. Myers can’t see, as if she can’t believe how nice she’s being to me after her remark the other day, but I just shake my head at her a little and tell Dr. Myers thank you. When I do this, however, I catch a certain look come across her face as she’s gaping at the stage, and I find myself turning to try and see what she’s looking at.

The host of the evening is at the mic and I suddenly can’t believe who he’s introducing. It’s not me, but rather a man standing off to the side of the stage.

“We have a very special guest with us here to introduce our next poet. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage critically-acclaimed poet, Professor Trenton Mitchell!”

The crowd goes wild.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hear Dr. Myers say next to me.

I turn to look at her, but before I can say anything, I hear Professor Mitchell introducing, me, I think?

“The next poet coming to the stage is one of the most talented poets I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting, let alone teaching. This poem she’s going to read for you, she wrote as a part of her midterm assignment, and it left me so rattled to my core that I had to abruptly end our class after she was finished reciting it. Ladies and gentlemen, poets and writers, please welcome Caroline Channing.”

The crowd stands to its feet in applause, although it’s clear they’re cheering for him and not for me. Weakly, I walk to the stage, and Professor Mitchell pats me on the shoulder and says, “Kill it,” before walking away and dashing through the crowd long ways toward the staircase and down toward the first floor.

It takes me a moment to gather myself because I’m wondering why he’s chosen to leave.

“Um...” I sputter out. “I’m so surprised by that. I feel, I feel so touched that Professor Mitchell came here just to say that, and apparently to then leave.”

The crowd laughs. I look over at Jessica and Brandon, who are both thumbs-upping me, but Dr. Myers now appears to be gone.

I begin to read the poem aloud and everyone in the audience watches me. This time I have less of an issue looking up at them, because I’m secretly trying to eyeball around to see if I was mistaken and if Professor Mitchell is still somewhere in the room.

But he isn’t here, and when I’m done, there’s a thunderous applause, and tears are being shed. In the corner, I see Dr. Myers standing at the bar taking a shot of what looks like tequila, based on the lime. Not far from her, I see Brandon whispering something with Bri and then breaking out into giggles, no doubt about how Professor Mitchell had come to introduce me.

“Thank you,” I say into the mic, both to the host and to the house, and I exit the stage. I grab my purse off the couch next to Jessica.

“You were amazing,” she says.

“Thank you! But I have to go,” I tell her without another word.

Then I push through the crowd of people and rush down the stairs. Out past the crowd in the room downstairs, I exit out onto the street and set out on foot after Professor Mitchell, with absolutely no idea as to where I’m going.

Chapter Four

Caroline

Immediately outside the front door, I am already lost and unsure of where to go. I look to my left and see a crowd of strangers smoking cigarettes and vape pens and one even smoking a joint— because apparently that’s legal in DC— and then to my right and, oh!

Standing right to the right of the door, also smoking a cigarette, is Professor Trenton Mitchell.

“You left...” I say. “Once my poem makes you leave immediately after I read it, and this time you get ahead of the game and leave before I even start reading it,” I tell him. “Despite everything you keep saying, that’s not really a vote of confidence.”

“I listened,” he says. “I just listened in the stairs a little out of sight so that no one would catch me if I started to cry again.”

I smile, blushing again, I’m sure.

“Hey, could I invite you back to my place?” he asks me, which I know immediately is a bad idea.