Page 31 of Masquerade Mistake
“Like, top secret kind of stuff,” he whispers, his eyes roaming over the beach as if we’re being watched.
I laugh at him, but inside I’m at a crossroads.
Tonight has been wonderful. It wasn’t over the top, and nothing huge happened at all. It was just a night full of small, thoughtful things that not only helped us know each other, but also served as a prelude to what it would be like if I were with Ethan. If he was a player before, he certainly doesn’t seem like one now. Even more, I can see myself falling for him, and the wild, curious side of me wants to find out what that feels like.
But more than anything, I realize how complicated my big secret is making everything.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, turning so I can face him. He reaches for my hands, but I keep them in my lap. “It’s the biggest thing about me, and I’m not sure how you’ll take it.”
Ethan doesn’t speak, even when I stay silent for a moment, trying to find courage, let alone the words, to tell him the truth. I breathe slow, doing my best to hide my shaking hands from him by clasping and unclasping them. This is it. Once I tell him, he could very well break things off immediately. I have to find the right words. This might not even be the right time. I could be making the biggest mistake, or maybe it will offer clarity to what happens next.
Finally, I just blurt it out.
“I have a son.”
Chapter 12
I study his face, trying to see into his mind. He says nothing at first, and all I can feel is my pounding heart. It was the right thing to do. I know this. But I also can’t help feeling like I made a terrible mistake. We’d just had an amazing night, and I had to go ruin it and tell him I had a kid.
The moment I think this, I’m filled with paralyzing guilt. I’m acting like I’m ashamed of my kid, as if I’m more worried about Ethan’s reaction than the existence of my son. Our son. It’s terrible that Ethan’s dad left him, and even more so that Ethan has been carrying this burden around for so long. But it’s not my issue. My responsibility lies with Finn. If Ethan can’t accept that I’m a package deal, he doesn’t belong in our lives, regardless of his DNA mingling with mine in our son.
“What’s he like?” Ethan asks.
And just like that, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I tell him about Finn’s obsession with dinosaurs, and how he’s bothered when people color outside the lines, and his aversion to all things vegetable.
“You hide vegetables in your brownies?” Ethan looks at me likes he’s wounded.
“Well, do you like vegetables?” I ask.
“I do now. But I didn’t used to,” he says. “My mom used to pull the same trick, and it never worked. In fact, it made me suspicious of everything and everyone.”
I wrinkle my nose, not missing the comparison. “Fine then, how did you learn to like them?”
“First, it was realizing that if I wanted to be fit and strong, I had to start eating vegetables. So I started with salads, adding things I liked to it like bacon, croutons, and bleu cheese dressing, then slowly weaning down to just vegetables. Then I started experimenting with other vegetables. I learned that I liked them roasted more than steamed, though I’ll steam when I’m trying to be healthier. Oh, and seasonings. A piece of cooked broccoli tastes a hell of a lot better with garlic salt.”
“And how old were you when you figured all this out?” I ask, my eyes sweeping over his firm physique.
“Not until my twenties.”
I shake my head, looking out at the ocean in front of us. “Well my kid is six, and I’d rather not wait another fourteen years before he realizes vegetables are good for him.”
“Then don’t hide them,” Ethan says. I look at him curiously. He laces my fingers through his, then shoots me a sheepish grin. “I’m not a parent, so I’m not going to pretend I know how to raise a kid. But I think if my mom stopped hiding vegetables and instead dressed them up in delicious ways, I probably would have liked them a lot sooner.”
I wrinkle my nose at him, but I’m genuinely curious about what he means, especially since it might be similar to what Finn might like. “Examples, please.”
“Like, covering steamed broccoli with nacho cheese, or making fun dipping sauces for roasted carrots, or even having him help you make a huge salad with all his favorite toppings.”
Admittedly, my ego wants to tell him off for suggesting any kind of way to feed our son. But he also has a point. I’d tried feeding Finn vegetables straight up, and I’d tried hiding them. But I haven’t tried meeting him in the middle by making vegetables fun.
“All right, I’ll try it your way,” I say, nudging his shoulder with mine. He nudges me back. Then his face takes on a pensive look.
“Did you make me believe Maren’s house was yours because you didn’t want me to know you had a kid?”
I gape at him, and his face breaks into a huge grin.
“You knew that wasn’t my house?” I ask. “All this time, and you didn’t say anything?”
“I was afraid you had a boyfriend or something, but I still wanted to get to know you.”