Page 69 of The Trouble with Flings

We get two loads going, and as we settle into chairs by the window, I grab the bag of books. “Time to read up on my new job description.” I choose a handbook for first-time fathers, then hand her the bag. “Have at it, mama-to-be.”

She looks at me like she’s puzzling something out for a moment before peering into the bag like something might jump out and bite her.

I open the handbook, wanting to study it cover to cover so I don’t miss a thing, but my mind won’t settle down. I’m worried about Jennifer feeling trapped and overwhelmed, and after what she said about her job, I’m worried about it affecting her career, too. I know how hard she fought to get where she is and how much it means to her to be the best role model possible for the students. It’s not the 1950s, but that doesn’t mean she won’t take to heart any judgmental looks she might receive.

I glance at her, absently flipping through a book. She’s beautiful on this life-altering Saturday morning, in black leggings, a maroon sweater, and cute leather ankle boots, carrying my baby in her womb.

The immensity of that reality burrows deeply and powerfully into the center of my chest.

We’re having a baby. Jesus. I’m going to be a father.

I should be as scared as Jennifer is about all of it, but all I can think about is how much I want to do right by her and the baby and protect them from whatever she fears.

I look down at my book and start reading. When I finish a couple of chapters, I grab the bottle of water and open the pastry box, the scent of cinnamon and sugar wafting out.

Jennifer glances over.

“Here.” I hand her the water bottle. “You should eat one of these, too. You need the calories.” I hold the box out for her.

She raises her eyebrows. “I need the calories?”

“You’re eating for two now. According to this book, I’m supposed to make sure you’re well nourished, properly hydrated, and generally sufficiently pampered.”

“That’s unexpectedly endearing.” She tears off a piece of the caramel cinnamon roll she’d been eyeing in the café and hands it to me. “I’m not eating alone.”

“Thanks.” I eat it, and it’s even more delicious than I expected.

She tears off another piece and puts it in her mouth. Her lashes flutter closed. “Mm.” Her face is a mask of pure pleasure, and I can’t resist taking a picture.

I’m admiring the picture when she opens her eyes and looks appalled. “I can’t believe you took another picture. You’re going to have a phone full of awful pictures of me.”

“Hey, don’t dis my date. This is a great picture of you enjoying a moment.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

A little while later, she’s nibbling her way through the cinnamon roll when I say, “This says foot rubs are essential for pregnant women. They improve circulation and reduce swelling.” I pat my thigh. “Put your feet up here.”

She nearly chokes on the pastry. “I am not putting my feet on you in the middle of a laundromat.”

“Why not?” I glance around. People are folding laundry as fast as they can, or focused on their phones, or rushing in or out, arms laden with laundry paraphernalia. I nudge Jennifer’s leg with mine. “No one’s paying any attention to us.”

“No.”

“It’s practically medicinal.”

She shakes her head, but I catch the way her lips twitch.

“Fine,” I relent. “We’ll revisit this when we get back to your place.”

“We will not be revisiting it.” Her fingers tighten around the book in her lap.

Her brow furrows, and I can practically see her mind racing, picking the offer apart. That’s when I realize, this isn’t just about a public foot rub, although I think that’s part of it. It’s about letting me take care of her, surrendering even a little control outside of a sexual realm. In her mind, giving up control is how it starts, and getting hurt is how it ends.

I reach for her hand and soften my tone. “It’s just a foot rub, Jen. No strings attached.”

She wants to believe me. I can see it in her eyes. But wanting and trusting are two very different things. I brush my thumb over her knuckles and say, “Pregnancy can be overwhelming. I saw it with Grant and Jules. You’re the one doing the heavy lifting for the next several months, and I want to support you in every way I can.”

She exhales, her shoulders relaxing a little. “I appreciate that, but I’m barely pregnant, I don’t have swollen ankles, and I’m trying not to have a panic attack.”