Page 4 of Knocked Up By The Mountain Man

“Sorry,” I shrug.

“It's all right,” she says. “I assume you're paying for the coffee?”

“Of course,” I say. “It's the least I can do for wasting your time.”

She smiles, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She seems to consider for a minute, then bends down and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

“I hope you find what you're looking for, Jack,” she says warmly.

“I hope you do too,” I say back to her. And I really mean it. Even if what she is looking for seems nuts to a guy like me.

CHAPTER 3

ALYSSA

Walking inside the diner triggers all sorts of vivid memories.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and maple syrup revives that fateful evening when I met him, as though it happened yesterday.

I consider turning around and finding somewhere else to go, but my feet hurt.

So I continue on, even though being here and experiencing these memories all over again is a lot harder than I expected it to be.

The weather is overcast, just like it was that day. So much about this diner looks exactly the same, actually.

The waitress behind the counter is the same one who took my order that night.

The music is classic rock, just like it was before, and as I look around the diner, I have to do a double take when I think I see him…or at least the back of his head.

It couldn't be, I think.

It's too easy. Too coincidental. I'm sure there are a lot of men who live in the mountains and dress like a disheveled lumberjack, with a large flannel shirt stretching over their massive shoulders and a wild beard over their face.

Even though I've since acknowledged that night that we hooked up as a massive fucking mistake and lapse in judgment, seeing him again brings back all of those lustful feelings that I felt when I first saw him.

It's no wonder I let the guy knock me up. He's huge. Even while sitting down in a tiny little booth at the diner, his massive size is undeniable.

I don't know what he does for a living. Never bothered to get to know him on that deep of a level, but I know that his body is rock hard with solid muscle from head to toe, and that his cock -

I keep walking forward until I see the woman sitting across from him. She stands and smiles at him, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. I still don't know for sure if it's him.

But when she leans down to give him a peck on the cheek, he turns slightly, and that's when I catch a sliver of his face. Those long, dark eyelashes framing bright blue eyes that crinkle in the corner as he smiles.

Shoot. It really is him.

Worse than that, he's not alone. He's on a date with whoever the woman kissing him on the cheek is. They look cozy and familiar, more familiar than I ever got with him, other than the single night that we took our clothes off, and I immediately feel like such an idiot.

I don't belong here. I'm not from Wildwood. I'm from New York. We couldn't be more different.

He has a whole life here. Friends and family…and a girlfriend, it seems.

I was only ever meant to be a visitor, just passing through, not a permanent fixture in Wildwood or in his life.

All I have is his first name, his address, and his genetic material growing in my womb right now.

But this life, this world, it's not for me. It belongs to him, always did and always will, and my existence and this baby's existence were never part of his plan.

After all, if he wanted to talk to me after the night we spent together, he would have called me. I left my phone number on his nightstand.