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Phillip was going to lose his marbles.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“That’s what was so great.”
Sticking out my tongue seemed like the right reaction, but I wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t the hormones.
Carter’s pocket buzzed and he dug out a cell phone the size of a deck of cards. He glanced at the screen and winced. “I need to take this,” he said and left the booth without glancing back at me.
I blinked, taken aback by his rudeness.
If this relationship were real, the cell phone would be the first thing to go, I thought.
“Can I get you something to drink while you wait to order?” the waiter asked when he approached our table, like a polite ghost ready to disappear at the shake of my head.
“I’m ready to order,” I said. “We’ll both have the porterhouse. Bloody. And potatoes.”
“Baked? Scalloped?”
“Both,” I said. “And we probably need something green.” I patted the baby, who was clamoring for cream cheese.
“Our vegetable today is asparagus.”
“Perfect.”
The waiter blinked and nodded. “Drinks?”
“Water is fine,” I said, taking a sip to prove it. “But bring him something fruity. With an umbrella.”
The sillier the better.
The waiter smiled and vanished, only to reappear with a bread basket—bless him—and winked before vanishing once more.
I caught a few interested looks and some very dark glances being thrown my way from other diners, but I just tried to appear Zen as I covered a roll with butter.
Bola was busy and getting busier. Perhaps Phillip wouldn’t have a chance to take a break and come find me. He didn’t know I was here, after all. Would never in this life expect it.
“This is a joke, right?”
No such luck.
“Hi, Phillip,” I sighed.
5
Phillip, gorgeous in his white jacket and some tasteful guyliner, stood beside my table, using tongs to replenish my still-full bread basket.
“I’ve been trying to call you all day long,” he said.
“I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Obviously. Are you actually dating Deputy Deadbeat Daddy?” he asked, his voice climbing above the muted din that filled the restaurant. “And you didn’t tell me?”
I glanced behind him for a sign of Carter, but he was nowhere to be found.
“I know, I should have answered—”
“Damn right you should have answered.” He radiated anger and my bread basket was about to overflow but Phillip wasn’t about to walk away. He managed to place one more rye knot on top of my leaning tower of carbohydrates.
“Is this…relationship between you and Carter O’Neill for real?” he asked, dropping his outrage. Now he was just Phillip, my best friend since dance class in the fifth grade.
“Carter and I are just…friends,” I said, the lie falling awkwardly from my mouth like a big fat rock.
He stared at me askance, and I tried to keep my face as composed as possible, like in those books when people are trying to stop psychics from reading their minds by thinking of beaches or something. That was me, trying not to let on that the whole situation was out of my control and freaking me out.
“Uh-uh,” he said. “I’m not buying that for a minute, sugar. Is he—” Phillip glanced behind him, but still no Carter, and leaned down “—the father?”
“No!” I practically shrieked. “Good God, no.”
Phillip stared at me for a long time, his black eyes acute and concerned. “I know you’re convinced you’re not lying when you won’t tell anyone who the father is, but it feels like I’m being lied to.”
Sadness pinged through me, ricocheting off shame and embarrassment. This baby wasn’t even born and was already so scandalous.
“Carter is not the father,” I said, refusing to let the guilt budge me from me decision to keep my baby’s father a secret. I had a plan, damn it, and I was sticking to it.
“Then tell me, honey, what is going on?”
I couldn’t tell him. Shouldn’t.
Phillip traded his bucket of fancy bread for a silver pitcher of water from another passing waiter. “This isn’t another one of your follow-your-heart moments, is it? Because last time you dated one of these suit guys he wanted to change you—”
Mute, I watched Phillip fill my glass with water.
The problem with best friends, I thought, is that they know too much.
“Carter doesn’t want to change me,” I whispered. He doesn’t even know me. Or like me.
It was killing me not to tell him, and I realized that Phillip wasn’t going to go run off to USA Today and spill our secret. Phillip wasn’t like that. He was my friend, and frankly, I needed a friend right now. “Listen, I shouldn’t tell you this, but—”
“Zoe.”
Carter was back, standing right behind Phillip, making my friend’s own spectacular glamour seem somehow childish. That was the thing about Carter—all other men seemed like boys around him.
“Enjoy your bread,” Phillip said, glaring at Carter as he walked away.
Carter sat, folding his napkin into his lap with precision. “Who was that?” he asked.
