Underfoot

“Oooh, hot date?” Jenny asked.

“Business.”

“Oh,” Jenny said in a disappointed tone. “I wish I could, but the wedding machine is in high gear and Marc and I have a meeting with the minister tonight.”

“That’s okay. No problem,” Trina said.

“But you have to promise that you’ll ask me again,” Jenny said.

“I promise,” Trina said, thinking Jenny had to be one of the sweetest people in the world. “But since you’re getting married soon, you may be starting on your own babies.”

“One thing at a time. Call me soon.”

“Sure thing,” Trina said and dialed the number of another friend who already had plans.

She winced as she regretfully dialed her last choice. “Mom, it’s Trina.”

“Hello, dear. I’m playing bridge.”

“Okay, I’ll keep it quick. Any chance you could pick up Maddie tonight and keep her for a little while?”

“Yes. Do you have a date?”

“No, business.”

“Oh,” her mother said, her voice full of disappointment. “I wish you would start—”

“Thanks so much, Mom. I shouldn’t be long. Just pick her up at the company day care. Kill ’em at bridge,” she said and hung up.

After work, Trina stopped by a salon close to the office and got a shampoo and blow-dry. With every sweep of the round brush, she rehearsed how to tell Walker about Maddie.

I had a baby six months ago. You’re the father.

I don’t expect anything from you.

I don’t want anything from you.

I don’t know why the contraception didn’t work. Perhaps because we were both plowed.

Why didn’t you tell me before? he would ask.

I just kinda never got around to it.

Trina rolled her eyes at herself. Lame, lame, lame. She glanced at her fingernails and wished she had time for a manicure. With Maddie-girl, she was always washing her hands after changing a diaper or before feeding or after cleaning carrots off Maddie’s face.

She was glad she’d worn black today. It made her feel less vulnerable. Exactly how was a woman supposed to dress when she told a man that she’d had his baby?

She swallowed over the bubble of panic in the back of her throat.

What could he do to her? she asked herself, trying to approach the situation rationally. He couldn’t accuse her of trying to trap him into marriage. He couldn’t accuse her of trapping him into being a real father to Maddie because she had resolved a long time ago to ask and expect nothing of him.

What if he didn’t believe her?

She clenched her jaw. That bothered her. That really bothered her.

It probably wouldn’t happen, she assured herself as she left the salon and ducked into a drugstore to pick up a compact, lipstick and mascara. She applied the cosmetics in her car, feeling as if she were putting on an extra layer of armor.

She possessed the edge here, she told herself as she walked into the bar. She had the knowledge and she had Maddie. That last thought warmed her like sunshine.

She glanced around the bar and didn’t see Walker. A cowardly sliver of relief ran through her. Oh, good, he was a no-show.

“You beat me by seconds,” a familiar male voice said from behind her.

She whispered a swear word, but managed to turn around with a smile. “I wondered if we might need to reschedule.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He gestured toward a table across the room and waved at the bartender for service.

She felt his hand hover at her back and automatically quickened her pace.

He pulled out her chair for her. “Busy day?”

“The usual,” she said, taking her seat and thinking she didn’t remember him being so tall.

He sat across from her. She didn’t remember his shoulders being quite so wide. She did remember the intensity in his eyes, his mouth, and the way he had kissed her that night. Frustration had mixed with some kind of carnal wanting. She’d felt the same way, frustrated from the insane almost-wedding day and curious to find out how he would handle a woman. How he would handle her. He must have felt some curiosity, too. The first time had been fast, but there had been a second. And a third.

Trina felt a rush of heat. The sensation reminded her of how two glasses of wine affected her, the warmth that spread from her chest to her face and the way her heartbeat accelerated. It was the memory of wild sex, she told herself. It wasn’t specifically Walker.

A waiter approached their table. “I’ll take a beer. Whatever you have on tap,” Walker said and turned to her. “What do you like? Martini?” he asked and looked at her for a long moment. “No, it was something else,” he said, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Mojito.”

The fact that he’d remembered her drink gave her a thrill. A very stupid thrill, she told herself. “It’s different now. I’ve turned into a lightweight. Pinot Grigio,” she said to the waiter.

“Lightweight,” Walker echoed curiously. “When did that happen?”

“A while ago,” she said with a shrug and wished she had a glass so she could do something with her hands. Should she tell him before the waiter returned or after?

He nodded. “Okay. So what have you been doing for the last year and a half?”

Having a baby. Not quite right, she thought, looking away from his expectant gaze. “Working, moving. How was Paris?” she asked, turning the conversation away from her.

“Good.”

The waiter returned with their drinks and she fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “Hard to come back?”

“Yes and no. It was time and I didn’t want to lose Bellagio.”

She lifted her glass to her lips. “It’s just another account, isn’t it? With the bonus of public humiliation and a few bad memories.”

He paused a half beat and studied her carefully. “I could almost think you didn’t want me around,” he said in a silky but cold voice.