Page 2 of Really Truly Yours
If she did give birth to a child—my child—she shed every last ounce of baby weight. She’s tall, and thin enough that the bulky cardigan she’s wearing on top of her jeans doesn’t add sufficient bulk to not make me almost want to offer to buy her a meal, or at least an overpriced, sugary coffee drink.
Stop that. This isn’t a social call, and I’m not buying anything for any woman who thinks she can waltz in here and accuse me of—
Of something I could conceivably be guilty of and responsible for.
I’m so, so sorry, Mom.
Her heart will be broken, despite the fact that I’m a grown man. Yes, you raised me better than this. Dad did too.
I’ve known a guy or two this very thing has happened to, one of them dealing with the same situation last summer. His baby mama is the gold digger of gold diggers. I mean, Zach is guilty as sin and the kid is his, but that lady had a plan from day one.
I digress. The young woman in question in my drama is hesitating even to say excuse me so that the silly, chatty college students blocking her path will let her by. This would seem to make the odds of her being the type to concoct a devious plan to entrap an unsuspecting, innocent—
Scratch that.
One of the coeds finally sees her waiting and hauls her friend out of the way. The lady passes and, yep, takes the final half-dozen steps to my table.
Her long, thin fingers, jewelry-free, work themselves into a nervous knot at her waist. “Mr. Smith?”
Her voice is soft and sweet, landing with the whisper of a petal hitting grass. But, mister? I take it we’re past that formality.
“May I have a seat?”
Yeah, if she was all decked out for a night on the town, I might have been sucked in. Silky hair slides near her eye, and she sweeps it back. There are a handful of freckles on her creamy skin, skin free of makeup. Her eyes are a mild yet pretty blue, and her lips are—
Not a factor in this meeting. I gotta keep my head straight. Right is right, but I will not be scammed. I narrow my eyes and inject severity into my expression. “I don’t know you.” Right?
She blinks like my simple statement is confusing. “No.”
Oh.
She admits it? In a blink, the hippopotamus that’s had its fat derriere parked on my chest all morning starts to stand up, relieving some of the pressure. “Sooo…you and I have never met?”
Her lashes flutter in a double blink. “No.”
“Ever?”
“Of course not.”
I lug my slumping self higher in the chair. “To be clear, you’re not here to tell me I’m your baby’s daddy?”
Yes, her eyes are blue. Blue with emerald sprinkles. I know this because her eyelids fly sky high, affording a fantastic look at the orbs within. Her mouth gapes.
And then she turns. Spins like a twister and is almost out of reach by the time I tune back in.
However, I’m a big guy with long arms. My rear end comes just far enough off the chair for me to reach across the table and snag a handful of ridiculously oversized and too-hot-for-the-day cardigan. “Hey. Hold on a minute.”
She swirls back, the beige knit twisting in my hand. “Let go of me!”
No whispery voice this time, but one that garners us some attention from around the room. I do let go, of course, simultaneously asking her to please wait.
It’s a family matter…
I have to know what brought this visit on. I lower my rump to the seat. “I’m sorry. Please.”
She eyes me like I’m either Atilla the Hun or some arrogant, overpaid, reckless, skirt-chasing pro-ball player with the morals of an alley cat, who can’t—
Never. Mind.