Page 62 of Not Mine to Rescue

“Since I negotiated only the afternoon, yes.”

“I could come by tonight, get you off. What do you say, eight? Ten…?”

“Times?”

He laughed. “I’m not fucking Superman.”

I lowered my volume. “You’re pretty super to me.”

“Babe.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Habit.”

I hadn’t paid attention to much but the rumble of his voice so I missed the clicking of paws on the hardwood, and the scuffle of Jim’s house shoes.

But something made me turn toward the open door. He stood there, baby in his arms, Molly leaning against his leg. Her snout pointed up at the bundle in his arms.

An instant pang of regret swept through me. This could have been us.

“Who are you talking to?”

Wombat had said something in the same moment, and I couldn’t hear him. All I could focus on was the accusation in Jim’s voice.

“Are you seeing someone?”

Oh, crap.

I froze.

“Honor? Who’s that?” Then, “Is everything okay?” Wombat’s voice cut through my fog.

I answered on autopilot. “Fine, just fine. Listen, I’ve got to go.”

“You called me, are you sure?”

I pressed the button, cutting him off.

I addressed Jim, “It isn’t what it sounds like.”

That was the worst thing to say. I mentally kicked myself for being the stupidest person on the planet.

“It sounded like the way you used to talk to me.”

“Can we not?” I fired back. I switched subjects before he could start on me. The man was a great lawyer simply because he wouldn’t shut up until he won an argument. “What did Denise want?”

“She wanted to know if you needed a glass of wine.”

Needed? Like I was some sort of lush or something? I bit down my knee-jerk reaction and spoke as sweetly as I could muster at that moment. “I wouldn’t mind a glass, but I don’t need it.”

The statement came out with vitriol.

Jim’s face twisted as he geared up to berate me.

I held both hands out and pushed down on the air between us. “I came here so you could introduce Molly to y—” My mouth didn’t work. I tried again. “Your… infant.” The word was clinical enough that it came out with the gust of air I’d been keeping locked in my gut.

“Infant? His name is Jake.”