“Next week? You shouldn't be out here in your condition.”
“Don't be dramatic.” She studied him for a moment, taking in his features. He hadn’t aged at all, whereas she felt as though retinol could no longer hide the fact that she’d passed her prime.
“Do you know what you're having?”
“A girl.”
He nodded, his eyes moving from her stomach back to her face. “You look—”
“Like a whale?”
“I was going to say radiant.”
She pulled a face. “Now, we both know that's a lie.”
“I wouldn't lie to you,” he said. “Ever.”
They stood there for a moment, with pockets of passersby edging past them from every direction. Then, almost like he was unsure what to say next, he suggested they grab a coffee.
Seated across from him, she’d found herself fixated on his missing wedding ring. She wasn’t intending to ask, but he must have read her thoughts because he admitted he was divorced.
By the time he’d walked her home, her mouth had been dry from talking, and judging from the kicks coming from her uterus, if she’d laughed any more, she could’ve sworn she would have gone into labour.
“I enjoyed this,” he said as they approached her street. “It's always so different with you.”
“Don't get sentimental,” she teased. “Remember, we aren't even friends.”
He stopped and turned to face her, shaking his head. “You keep saying that, but somehow, I disagree.”
She would never forget the way he’d looked at her that day. There they were, light snow falling around them like paper planes, and the street lights illuminating his face. In another life, she would have kissed him, taken him by the hand, and led him to her bedroom.
But it wasn’t another life; this was reality.
XVI
LOGAN
When her email had come through, he’d stared at it, re-reading the words one by one. He could imagine her sitting there on her wedding day, thinking of him. It might have been just a fleeting thought, a sporadic surge of impulse, but something woven into the shortness of her words made him question otherwise.
Wanting to do right by her, he chose not to respond, and as the months rolled on, he forced himself to think of her less and less.
It had been a while since he’d thought of her when he saw her approaching him. In an instant, it was as if time froze, and his heart began to race like an infatuated schoolboy.
“Miss Daisy,” he called out, the words feeling dry and strained.
Pregnant women had always borne a certain radiance to him, and on her, it was ethereal. From her glowing skin to the way it had added an extra ounce of volume to her hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
They decided to go to a café down an old town sidewalk. It was nearly empty, save for a group of a dozen middle-aged women who looked like they were in the midst of hosting a capricious book club.
After ordering their drinks, they settled into an easy conversation about life, but Logan couldn’t help noticing the way her eyes kept glancing at the empty space where his wedding ring once sat. “We divorced,” he admitted, rubbing his finger over the invisible indent where the ring had been. “Guess you could say we rushed into it and soon realised we weren’t right for one another.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” She stirred her tea, watching the swirl of steam rise. “The positive is you found out before you had children and all.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He studied her for a moment, wondering if there was a loaded meaning behind her words. “Well, here’s hoping you have better luck than me.”
She laughed, but it seemed forced. “Here’s hoping. Guess I won’t know till he’s home.”
“When is he home?”
