Page 83 of The Trouble with Flings

I hear the smile in her voice. “Is that so?”

“Yes, but I don’t remember telling you my favorite restaurant, so either that was a very lucky guess, or you’ve been running some kind of recon mission on me.”

“Let’s go with a lucky guess.”

She’s quiet for a beat. “How about we go with the truth?”

She says it a little teasingly, but I know she’s not kidding, and after what she said about the guy she went out with being a control freak, I don’t blame her. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to get mad.”

“I can’t promise that. Not after what I’ve been through.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Just do me a favor, if you get mad, aim your anger at me, not at my source.”

“Your source? Please tell me you didn’t call Reggie,” she says exasperatedly.

“I didn’t. I reached out to Mia. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Mia?” she says with relief. “I bet she swooned as much as I did.”

I love knowing Jennifer swooned, but I need to get to the root of her worries so I can help her through them. “She was definitely happy to help, but I’d like to understand what you were worried about.”

“I’m sorry for asking. That guy I went out with, the control freak, crossed some pretty big lines, and I ignored the red flags. I told myself they weren’t that red. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

“Jen, who hurt you?” I pace the grass, gripping my phone tighter.

“He was a teacher from another school, but he’s long gone. He moved out of state after we broke up.”

“Did he put his hands on you?”

She’s quiet for so long, I know the answer before she speaks. “Yes, and tracked my every move.”

I grind my back teeth to harness my anger so it doesn’t bleed into the conversation. “Did you report him to the police?”

“No.”

My other hand balls into a fist. “I want his name.”

“Fitz—”

“Jennifer, this is a safety issue. A man like that is dangerous to you and other women. If you don’t want to report him, that’s up to you. But I’m going to keep tabs on him to make sure he never hurts you, or anyone else, ever again.”

“Can’t we just forget him?” she asks.

“Forget the man who hurt the mother of my child?” I scoff. “That’s not going to happen. Think of it this way. If someone hurt our child, would you want to look the other way and hope for the best?”

“Of course not,” she says vehemently. “I’d want to tear them apart.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

She’s quiet for a second. “His name is Gary. I’ll text you his information. I’m sorry for being skeptical of you when you’ve given me no reason to worry. I know you’re not him, and you don’t deserve to take the brunt of my mistrust. I’ll try to be more careful.”

“There’s no need to censor yourself. You have every right to question me about anything that makes you uncomfortable, and we can’t build a strong foundation for our baby if you’re worried that I might be hiding some nefarious side of myself. So please ask, and I will always be honest with you.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“We’re in this together, remember? I have a great idea,” I say. “You can eliminate the need for outside sources by showing me all your favorite spots.”

“You’re not sick of coming to the city?”