dinner conversation,” she jokes flatly and then calls out, “What do you want for dinner, Bridge? Scagetti?” She mimics the way Bridget says spaghetti and the two of them clap when my little girl shrieks with joy.
“But what’s he want to talk about?”
“He didn’t say. I would think it’s a new position maybe?” He’s always kept me up to date whenever something’s changed for him. When he bought a house, when he transferred departments. Every step of the way, he’s kept me informed. “Something must’ve changed,” I say and slip on my heels.
“Yeah … it has nothing to do with Romeo showing up?”
“I told you.” With my voice lowered I remind her, “I told him about Brody already.”
“Yes, you told me. You told me he understood and I told you politicians are bred to be liars.” She rolls her eyes just like she did last time.
“Well, whatever it is,” I tell her, picking up my car keys, “I’ll spill the beans when I get home. Promise.”
“Enjoy your fancy dinner,” she calls out after me, “I’m going to enjoy my fine dining with my favorite little girl in the whole wide world.”
I have to smile as I kiss the top of Bridget’s head, who’s hard at work scribbling in her coloring book. “Love you, my little miss.”
She’s too invested in the red and blue swirls so I head out with a wave and say thanks again to Renee.
The drive there, I can only think about two things: how I forgot my jacket so it’s going to be chilly with only this sleeveless cotton dress on, but mostly, how the last time I was at Morgan’s I was having an official first date with Brody.
Clicking the radio off, I let the turmoil eat me up. I’m with Brody now. I’m not a girl who sleeps around and even though Brody didn’t say anything to make it official, I am not doing anything with Robert while I’m seeing another man.
As I hit every red light on the way there, I groan. Feels like a sign this conversation isn’t going to go oh so well.
That’s the thing with Robert, though, I can have any conversation I need with him. I always have.
We should have done this years ago. It’s all I can think as I walk into the restaurant and make my way to where Robert’s sitting. He stands like a gentleman and pulls out my chair.
“You forgot your jacket?” he asks with an asymmetric grin. Rubbing my arms, I scrunch my nose and tell him, “I’ll warm up.”
When he politely pushes in my chair, I thank him and then the waiter who’s already beside me with a menu.
My nerves rattle, but even as I order a drink, I keep thinking we should have done this years ago. “We should have had a paternity test years ago.” My hushed comment slips out the second the waiter has let us be.
The ease and peace I feel with the decision today is not at all reflected in Robert’s surprised eyes. Regret instantly consumes me.
With a glass of wine to help me settle, I take a sip of ice water as he reaches for his tumbler of whiskey.
“A paternity test?” he asks and the thud of the glass on the table matches the thud in my chest.
“You don’t think so?” I whisper the question and his head shakes silently as the waiter sets my glass of wine down.
“Thank you,” I manage to get out with a small smile, even though Robert’s lips are pressed in a thin line.
“It’s not that I want anything … legally.”
“It’s not that, Mags.” The words rush out of him and worry plays across his handsome features. With a hand running down his face he lets out a rush of air and adds, “This is not what I wanted to talk about tonight.”
“I’m sorry.” That guilt in the pit of my stomach climbs up higher.
“Don’t be; it’s all right,” he tells me and lays his hand out on the table, palm up, coaxing me to take it. I can only stare at his outstretched hand in disbelief. We’ve had plenty of dinners together in public. And I’ve held his hand privately many a time. But … public affection? PDA or whatever it’s called? There’s an unspoken rule between us that we don’t cross that line.
Pulling his hand back, he continues, his cadence easy. “If that’s what you want to do.”
“You don’t want to know?” I ask him with earnest.
Robert hesitates and it’s then