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"Not sure. It's tricky," she carefully states.
"Because my daughter's father is a Cartwright?" I say, but can't help smiling a bit. I made Carla promise not to tell me anything about Jagger, even when she knew I was having his baby. Being the friend she is, she kept it.
A thick breath comes out of her, then, "So you know?"
"Yes."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. But I don't have anything to wear on our date tonight?"
"Carla, we're starting," a man's voice says in the background.
She groans. "I can't believe you just sprung this on me like this. I'm going to need full details tonight."
"It'll have to be after our date," I say, unable to stop smiling.
"Carla," the man gruffs out.
"I'm seriously going to kill you when I see you next. Gotta go. Call me tonight. I don't care how late it is," she orders and hangs up.
I put my phone in my pocket, laugh a little, and then the facts hit me again.
I have nothing to wear.
I'm going on a date.
It's not that I've never been on a date before. It's that I haven't been on one that mattered in longer than I want to admit. And definitely not one where the man across the table is also my baby's daddy. Every other date I've been on in the last few years has been low stakes by design, safe men I picked specifically because they wouldn't ask too much of me or expect too much back.
Jagger Cartwright has never once fit into that category. Not on New Year's Eve nor now.
Beau turns the corner and asks, "You still good, boss?"
"Yes. Go ahead and get out of here," I tell him again.
He smiles, and I stare at him until he disappears through the barn doors.
I push myself off the wall and exit, too. The orange and black Halloween lights turn on and the sun slants over the west pasture. I walk toward the Butterfly House, going through the items I packed, but it's the same disastrous truth. My wardrobe currently consists of work jeans, one pair of decent boots, and enough yoga pants to outfit a small studio.
I step on the porch, pull out my phone, and type fast.
Me: Where exactly are we going tonight?
Jagger: Nope. Still not telling you.
Me: I need to know what to wear, Jagger. This is a legitimate logistical concern.
Jagger: I told you. Wear whatever you want. I'll like it.
Me: That's not helpful.
Jagger: I'm still in favor of you wearing nothing.
Heat crawls up my neck.
Me: Behave.
Jagger: I make no promises. But seriously, don't overthink it.
