I let loose a groan. “It’s going to be weird. What if he thinks I … want to be together? Or what if he thinks we should be together? I don’t know if that’s what I want. I barely know him.”
“Well, maybe it’s not what he wants, either. But I think it’s the right thing to do. Plus, he can help support you and the baby.”
I sighed, trying not to let myself latch on to the idea. My father had never cared to support the child he’d left behind. Would Max?
“I guess you’re right. I guess I should give him a call.”
Jesus Christ. Way to go, Savannah.
“I’ll have a—dammit.”
“Excuse me?” the barista asked.
“Sorry … I just remembered something. I’ll have a decaf coffee, please.”
Probably for the best anyway. I was so nervous, caffeine would have made me even more jittery.
As I waited for my drink, I reached into my purse for the ultrasound printout my doctor had given me a few days before. It was thin and narrow and curled at the edges, like a grocery store receipt. Floating in a black and white sea was a tiny, blurry blob shaped like a lima bean.
It was the first picture of my baby—my baby with Max. A guy I met in a bar a couple of months ago.
As the barista handed me my drink, I turned around and spotted him walking into the coffee shop. I shoved the printout back into my purse, my heart pounding in my chest. How was he going to take this?
He looked good; his dark brown hair was still damp from the shower. He was dressed casually in a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, his hands in his pockets. There was a light layer of stubble on his cheeks, which I liked.
The night we met had been my first night alone in my new apartment. I’d felt out of place, restless. It had been years since I’d spent a night alone, having lived for more than three years with Jason, and then the last nine or ten months at my mom’s after he’d left. The quiet in my apartment was suffocating. I’d called Ellie, hoping she’d want to come over or meet me at the pub down the street, but she was filling in for a coworker at the upscale bistro where she tends bar.
After about fifteen minutes or so of sitting on my brand-new IKEA couch, staring at the ceiling, I’d put on my coat, grabbed my purse, and headed to Ellie’s bistro.
I sat at the bar for a while, chatting with Ellie whenever she had a moment in between customers. I downed a glass of red wine and ate a plate of the night’s special that she snagged from the kitchen for me.
By the time I’d finished eating, the bistro had gotten more crowded. As I settled into a second glass of red, a handsome guy in jeans and a brightly colored band T-shirt pressed in between me and the guy sitting on the stool to my left, trying to get Ellie’s attention to order a drink. He’d looked down at me with striking hazel eyes and an alluring, lopsided grin, and mumbled an apology. I felt my face flush with warmth as I realized, for the first time in years, I was actually finding a man other than Jason attractive. The feeling felt odd and unfamiliar, but also kind of nice.
When the man on the stool next to me tossed a few bills onto the bar and left, the handsome stranger swooped right in to take the seat. I was surprised when he turned to me and introduced himself: Max Hunter.
Two bottles of Malbec and an hour and a half of conversation later, and I was being walked home by the sexy and funny Max. I invited him in, under the guise of showing off my brand-new apartment I was so proud of. We barely made it inside before his lips were on mine.
It was strange, waking up next to another warm body, after a year of sleeping alone. But when I opened my eyes the next morning, there he was.
“I had a nice time last night,” he said, brushing a stray brown lock out of my eyes as he gazed into them. “It felt really good to talk to someone.”
I remembered him talking about a recent breakup, and me sharing a bit about my own. “Me too. Thanks again for walking me home.” I smiled shyly at all that “walking me home” had ultimately entailed.
We exchanged numbers but made no promises to call or meet again, which I later decided was a good thing. That wouldhave felt like too much pressure for me at the time, and though my pulse quickened every time I remembered how it felt to have his body pressed against mine, his warm breath next to my ear as he nibbled on my neck while his hands explored me, I hadn’t decided exactly what I thought of him just yet. I wasn’t even sure I was ready to date again.
The following week, we ran into each other at the bistro again. I remember being a little flattered, like maybe he’d gone there on purpose, since I’d told him I went there often to visit Ellie. He said he was there meeting some buddies from the office, but I liked the idea that maybe it was more than that. We spent the night together again, at my apartment.
We saw each other a couple more times after that, but the mood was different. I think we both enjoyed each other’s company—and the amazing sex, of course—but were hesitant to keep going in case the other started to take it too seriously. After a while, we were calling and texting each other less and less. I didn’t see him at the bistro again.
I let it go, since I didn’t have the energy or emotional capacity to pursue it when, deep down, I knew I would only be doing it out of loneliness, and not any kind of real connection.
Now, six weeks later, here he was, walking toward me again. I wondered what he was thinking, about the way I’d texted him out of the blue. As he got closer, I felt a tiny moment of panic.Should we hug? Are we friends?
“Hey, Savannah. It’s good to see you.” He stopped about a foot away from me, took one hand out of a pocket, and raked it through his hair.
“You too.” I smiled shyly. “Do you want to order something?”
“Yeah.” He walked up to the barista and ordered a dark roast.
