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Me: I’m headed home. Need anything?
Meredith: No. Thank you for everything today. And thank you for dinner. I know it was all you, so don’t try to deny it.
Me: Guilty.
Meredith: You didn’t have to.
Me: Someone did. You and the baby need to eat meat. Speaking of that, is Willie’s Bar & Grill okay with you for our date? We could go somewhere else if you’re feeling bad about not being able to have a drink.
Meredith: Nate, you don’t have to take me anywhere. We could just hang out.
Me: I think we need to spend more time together in public so we don’t push things too far, too fast, on the physical side.
Meredith: What if I like it fast?
Me: You’re not making it easy for me to be careful with you, baby.
Meredith: You do not have to be careful with me. I’m a grown adult with grown adult interests.
Me: And we can talk about those interests at Willie’s when I pick you up tomorrow.
Meredith: Drive safe, and let me know you made it okay.
Me: Will do.
The front gate of the Jesse J Ranch swings open when I punch in the code, and the security lights illuminate the dirt paths and the wood-burned signs pointing to the ski lodge.
In the woods off to my right, I can see the lights of the main house are still on. Dad and Mariam probably have three-year-old Julius and baby Shiloh tucked into bed and are enjoying a late-night movie together.
My heart feels a nagging tug at that. When I picture myself coming home at the end of a long day, crashing on the sofa with kids and a wife, Meredith’s face is the only one I can see.
I park my car at the lodge and head into the kitchen before going home.
Chef Dominique is putting the finishing touches on a wedding cake for this weekend.
“What can I do for you, Nathaniel?” Dominique asks with a smile, not looking up from the sugar flowers she’s piping onto a small tool she wears on her hand like a ring.
“I need to place a few more food orders. I can grab one of the staff who’s not busy….”
“Nonsense,” she says, setting down her piping bag and walking around the counter to retrieve her pen and pad by the phone on the wall. “I need a break; I’m starting to go blind from staring at teeny petals.”
When I order a week’s worth of freezer meals, Dominique raises an eyebrow. “Are you catering a conference I don’t know about? Trying to compete with your father?” She gives me a wink.
“No. It’s for a friend.”
She nods. “I see. Well, I’ll tell your father it’s tax deductible.”
It’s not charity, so there’s no way I’m letting her not bill me for the food. “Just charge me full price and let’s not involve my dad, okay?”
She shrugs. “None of my business.”
I blurt, “I’m in love, and she’s pregnant.”
Dominique drops her pen.
She exclaims in French and attacks me with a hug.
Gripping my shoulders, she tells me to spill everything.
