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HARPER
When I wakeup the next morning, I feel like I’m in a daze. Last night, I’d convinced part of myself that I’d wake up and all of this was just a dream.
Well, it definitely wasn’t.
I’m still pregnant.
I still have no clue how to contact the father since I don’t have any info other than his first name.
To say I have regrets on how everything went down on New Year’s Eve is the understatement of the century. Why didn’t I at least get his last name? Or his number? Just something.
Ugh.
I grab my tea and sit in the lounge chair by the window. Soft snowflakes fall from the light-gray January sky, the motion oddly soothing. I sit there for a while and continue to stare outside until a sudden urge to go for a walk overcomes me. Definitely not the craziest thing that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. So twenty minutes later, I’m in front of the apartment building, dressed in my puffy winter coat and furry snow boots, with a thick wool hat, scarf, and gloves completing my winter outfit.
I wander around for a few blocks without a real destination in mind until I feel like a popsicle. Time to go back home. Just then, a billboard catches my eye.
It takes my brain several minutes to figure out what I discovered.
Or rather . . . who.
It’s Ryan.
My Ryan.
The man who got me pregnant.
And he’s staring back at me from an ad.
What the heck?
I move closer to get a better look and to take a photo for good measure. Which is all my frozen fingers are capable of, or I’d instantly google the hell out of this discovery.
The ad is for a popular sports clothing company, and Ryan’s dressed in athletic shorts and a tight workout shirt that stretches perfectly over the muscles I remember so vividly.
Why on earth is he on an ad?
My thoughts are trying to find their way through the mush my brain has turned into as I speed walk back home.
The snow has been getting worse, and I keep my head down as I move as fast as I can. Sirens blare somewhere, joined by cars honking and brakes squealing, but nothing can distract me from my goal of getting home.
I finally have a lead, and I’m sure I can find Ryan this way.
I mean, I just have to.
Nerves flutter in my stomach at that possibility.
I’ll be able to find the father of my baby.
Holy crap.
When I finally make it back to the apartment, I resemble a wet rat, but I couldn’t care less. I’m just glad my mom isn’t here to lecture me about ruining her floors with the wet clothes I drop everywhere.
I wish I could take a hot shower to warm up, but there’s no way I can wait a second longer to figure out who Ryan is.
It takes me a few minutes to change into dry clothes before I slip under my covers with a towel wrapped around my head, booting up my computer.
One Google search later, and I’m staring straight at Ryan’s gorgeous face.
