Page 3 of His Valentine

“You should come up and see the view,” he said.

I don’t liketo think too much about the details of sleeping with Magnus that night. When I do, it makes me depressed that it didn’t work out. He was so attentive, so raw in his masculinity, so…good. And, God, the way he looked at me—it made me feel so desired, like I was the only one for him. When I drifted off to sleep in his arms that night, it felt like the world had changed.

And it had. But not in the way I thought. I woke up feeling mortified about what I’d just done. I’d slept with astranger. I’d been more sexually uninhibited with him than I’d ever been with anyone, and I couldn’t even look at his still-asleep face without my cheeks turning hot in embarrassment.

I had to get out of there.

I’m not proud of the fact that I snuck out of his hotel room without saying goodbye. But it’s what I did. As I hurried home, I told myself the one-night stand wasn’t a big deal, that I should just think of it as a great story I could tell my friends about and move on.

Four weeks later, I stood in my bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test in my hands.

I didn’t cry or freak out or anything at first. All I felt was numb. When the numbness wore off, I worked up the courage to seek out Magnus.

The problem was, I had practically nothing to go on. I didn’t have his phone number. I didn’t know his last name. I didn’t even know what kind of work he did, or where he lived; and since our little rendezvous had happened at a hotel, he could have been fromanywhere.

Okay, maybe not anywhere.It was probably safe to assume he wasn’t from, say, New Zealand or Zimbabwe. But narrowing it down by country didn’t exactly help much.

The first thing I tried was calling the hotel he’d been staying in. But of course—rightly—they refused to share any information about their guests. Next, I searched online for him. But as uncommon of a name as Magnus was, my searching didn’t amount to much.

Not even when I searched forsuper handsome guy named Magnus.

Finally, a light bulb went off over my head. Social media! Of course. The only little problem was that I didn’t have accounts for any of the sites anymore—I’d deleted them all a few years ago, when I’d realized that I was spending way,waytoo much time scrolling through the sites and not paying attention to real life around me.

It didn’t take long to make new accounts. I entered the minimum amount of information needed to create a new account on each site, then continued to search for Magnus.

I couldn’t find anyone who seemed like they could be him on the first couple sites I checked. But when I checked the third one, a whole page of guys named Magnus appeared on my screen. Some of the profiles were easy to rule out right away; the guys were obviously not him. Other profile photos were too vague to tell—a cropped photo, a nature shot, a silhouette.

Then I saw him. His smile radiated through my laptop screen.

My heart began to beat double time as I clicked on his profile and started to type.

Hey Magnus.It’s Lena, from a few weeks back.

After sending it, I just sat there for a while, staring at the screen. Finally, telling myself that he would write back when he wrote back, I forced myself up out of my seat.

But the day went on and no reply came.

A few days later, I sent him another brief message, but that one went unanswered, too. About a week after that, I tried one more time.

Hey, sorry to bother you again. But I really need to talk to you. It’s important.

Once again, silence.

So I said screw him. I told myself I didn’t need my baby’s biological father in our lives if he was going to ignore me. I told myself I could do this on my own. There were single mothers everywhere—my own mother had been one. I could do this.I could fucking do this.

You know what’s a lot harder than I expected, though? Being pregnant. Especially now that I’ve got a sizable belly. As I walk down the sidewalk this snowy evening, I’m extra cautious, because I could easily slip on a patch of ice and go tumbling down.

Which is exactly what happens a few seconds later.

Well, almost. Istartto slip. I feel my feet go out from under me, and in that slowed-down moment, I desperately think,Don’t let me fall on my belly. Don’t let me fall on my belly.

In the next moment, though, a pair of strong hands are gripping me. A man is steadying me. Pulling me upright.

“Close one,” a baritone voice says. “You okay?”

I nod, gathering myself. “Yes. Thank you. Gosh, I—”

But then, as I look up at the kind stranger, my mouth goes slack. It’s Magnus. Standing before me.