“I’ll give you a minute, so no one thinks there’s any funny business.”
I opened my mouth to say that would be unlikely, then closed it again because (a) it might offend him, and (b) after this exchange, was it so improbable?
Funny business with Jason Isner. The world had gone mad.
“Thanks for thinking of my honor.”
I turned to take the stairs and gripped the rail so I would be less likely to trip and fall into his arms like some ditzy damsel. Strange how I had liked it, though. I liked how he touched me. It had obviously been far too long.
I looked over my shoulder, but he had already moved out of sight to retrieve the burger buns and ensure no one suspected we were up to no good at a children’s birthday party.
Chapter Ten
Franky
* * *
“Look what I did, Mommy!”
I turned to the highchair to find my little girl lining up her Cheerios.
“You’re so clever. How many have you got?”
“Four!”
It was five but one of them was hidden under a mandarin segment, so I cut her some slack. At the age of two, she was already so advanced.
“Where’s Daddy?”
“Out in the garden, darling.”
“With the burgers?”
I chuckled. “You know it. Daddy doesn’t do much hunting, but plenty of gathering. And grilling.”
At the mention of my child’s father, he appeared but I couldn’t see his face. That was when I realized I was dreaming, but like many dreams, I could control the narrative. My clever child. Her sparkling curiosity. Her dark hair and … green eyes.
The rarest eye color, something like two percent of the population had it. The statistical probability of a sperm donor with that shade of moss green eyes was … I would need a calculator to work it out.
Never tell me the odds.
Oh, it was Hans Solo. That made much more sense.
“Daddy!” Our little girl held out her arms.
“Hey, punkin! You counting your Cheerios again?” He scooped her up, her dark hair covering his face. I could just make out the strong jaw of …
Not the man who made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs.
I should have been horrified. Not him. Anyone but him. But a dimple popped in the hard plane of his cheek and my heart soared.
Or somewhere further south.
He winked one of those glittering green jewels at me. “What’s up, Doc?” And then he offered me a carrot as my little girl—our little girl—pulled on one of his long rabbit ears.
I awoke with a start on my sofa, sweaty and agitated. Apparently, witnessing Jason Isner play nice with his niece had made an impression. Dreams were such a curious reflection of our subconscious.
Something was buzzing. Loudly. I checked my phone, not the source of the sound. It was 9:07pm and I had been asleep for over an hour since I came home from Tilly’s birthday party. The September issue of Ecology and Evolution was open on my chest, so I placed it aside and sat up.
