I eye her warily. "And the future consists of talking to a nosy podcaster?"
"For now, yes."
Chapter 6
Mallory
My first morningin Olive Township, and I awake early. I'd been hoping to sleep in, but my body knew I was in an unfamiliar space, pulling me from slumber too soon.
Or, more likely, it's this incessant and insistent need to pee. Four months pregnant, and I'm still not accustomed to the number of bathroom breaks I require in a day.
Rolling over in the passable but not amazing bed, I stare at the ceiling. I'd done the same thing before falling asleep last night, sifting through the day, replaying the moment I realized I was in the same restaurant as Hugo. His easy, lopsided grin, the way his tan work boots were partially unlaced. His unhurried walk, his casual, familiar banter with the owner.
Then the shuttering when he saw the vitamins, plucking my name from the recesses of his memory bank. Still, he walked me here. An ingrained kindness.
Yesterday, I felt embarrassed, and guilty. Today, I feel sad. Sad to have misled him. Sad to have misled myself, even for the briefest of moments. I can't shake the feeling I'm missing out on him.
Stupid of me.
I get up from the bed, exerting just a little more force than I used to. My baby bump is slight, but it still requires a little more effort than before I was pregnant.
Pregnant.
My stomach stares back at me in the bathroom mirror. Some days, I haven't yet accepted I'm pregnant. Other days, I feel that spark of excitement. Nerves, too, plenty of those, but also a feeling of kismet. The man may not have stuck around, but this baby and I? We're meant to be.
I finish in the bathroom, padding over to my suitcase, thrown open on the small desk. I select a pair of leggings, a tank top, and an oversized sweatshirt. My stomach lets out a growl that would mortify me if I were with anybody right now.
"Sorry," I say, patting my belly. I didn't eat the best dinner last night, making do with the snacks I had left from the drive. Slipping my feet into my shoes, I retrace my steps to the lobby, hoping to snag a bottle of water. I'm not particularly thirsty, but it never hurts to have a bottle, especially in the desert.
A head of greasy, black, stick-straight hair greets me.
"Hello," I say, slowing down.
The person looks up without hurry, eyes meeting mine as his unkempt hair falls in curtains around his face. "Good morning," he says evenly. No smile or show of welcome. "How can I help you?"
The name tag clipped to his shirt readsBraxton. His cheeks are pocked with acne scars, eyes faintly bloodshot. I would put him in his mid-thirties, maybe younger if not for his poor posture. My muscles tense, near-flinching, but I school my reaction.
Objectively, his appearance is off-putting, not to mention his overall demeanor.
I snap on a smile and say, "Are there any breakfast places you'd recommend around here?"
He takes a glossy tri-fold paper from a rack, sliding it over the desk with one finger. And then he says nothing.Nothing. The silence stretches on, growing more and more uncomfortable.
"Ok, then," I murmur, taking the paper. "Thanks."
I have the urge to be gone from there as fast as possible, but I hate the idea of him seeing he's rattled me. Forcing myself into a steady pace, I walk from the lobby and out into the fresh Olive Township morning air.
I feel his eyes on me the whole time.
"Thank you."I smile up at the young woman as she places my breakfast down on the table in front of me. Cherry pie pancakes.
Fluffy and warm, a crackle of sugar in the air. I take abite, nearly groaning. I need these calories. Me, and Peanut.
Very few people know I'm expecting. Jolene, of course. My mom and stepdad, whose reactions were not great after finding out I'd be raising the baby alone. The father, obviously, though I'd like to forget about him.I willforget about him.
And Hugo knows. Not that it matters. He, and Olive Township, will be in my rearview after this weekend. Hugo has made it clear he wants nothing to do with me.
Despite my hunger, I only make it through half the serving of pancakes. I push the plate away, sitting back and wrapping my hands around my mug of honey chamomile tea. One of my favorite activities in life is finding a cozy spot from which to people-watch. Tucked in this back corner booth at Good Thyme Café, there is no better vantage point.
