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I walk out to my car, then stop in surprise. A ute is parked next to it, and leaning against it is Marc, now dressed in navy suit trousers and a white shirt. Jack sits at his side. My heart gives an uncharacteristic hard bump.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I pause in front of him. I feel awkward after what happened earlier, a mixture of resentful and embarrassed. Is he going to yell at me?
But he just says, “Are you hungry? I thought you might like to catch some dinner.”
“No, thank you.”
“It wouldn’t be a date,” he says. “I have a business proposition for you.” He looks serious, but his eyes sparkle, suggesting he finds something amusing.
“A business proposition?” I repeat.
“Meet me at Between the Sheets,” he says, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”
I hesitate, but I’m starving, and although I don’t want to admit it to him, I’m intrigued by his words. Maybe he’s decided to help after all. “All right,” I say, grudgingly.
“I’ll drop Jack off home on the way past,” he says.
I walk past him and get in my car. He gets in the ute, and then follows me out and along the road that runs alongside the beach all the way through Paihia, turning off at the end to his road.
I park outside the restaurant, get out, and stand looking out at the Pacific as I wait for him. A family is playing cricket on the beach, two young boys running between pieces of driftwood stuck in the ground for a wicket as Dad cheers them on. For some reason I’ve always pictured myself with a girl, but of course it could be a boy. My hand strays to my belly, lingering there as I imagine how it must feel to have a life growing inside it. This broodiness—this hunger, and not for food—is new, and it’s overwhelming in its intensity.
“Ready?” Marc says. I hadn’t heard him pull up. I turn and see him watching me. I nod, and together we walk across the road.
“Restaurant or bar?” he asks.
“Bar,” I reply, preferring the relaxed atmosphere. He leads the way into the bar, which is nicely busy. We take a recently vacated table overlooking the beach. The front portion of the building has large doors, and this evening they’ve been pulled back to let the warm, early evening sea breeze blow across the diners.
We examine the menu and decide to have catch of the day—snapper—and fries, with two beers, and the waiter goes off with our order.
Marc folds his arms and leans on the table, but doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he looks into my eyes. His are a dark blue, the color of the sky on the horizon, where rain is coming in. Apparently all babies are born with blue eyes, so if we had one, the baby’s eyes would look like his. Mmm.
“So… you said you have a proposition?” I ask him. I have no idea what he’s going to come out with.
“I do.” Still, he doesn’t say what it is.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No. I’m thinking about how to phrase it.”
Puzzled, I lean back as the waiter returns with our beers. As he walks away, I sip the beer, conscious of Marc’s steady stare. “Will you say something?” I prompt. “You’re starting to make me nervous.”
“Why?”
“You know I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” I reply. “I can never tell what anyone’s thinking. I don’t know if you’re amused or angry.”
“I’m neither of those.”
“Frustrated?”
“No.”
I huff a sigh.
“If I’m anything,” he says, “I’m… keyed up.”
“Why?”
His lips curve up a little. He has a swig of beer. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Let me start by saying I understand why you’ve made this decision. It’s tough when a relationship doesn’t work out, and I can see you’ve been badly hurt, and that you don’t want to be hurt again. And I can sympathize with you wanting to have a family. I know that many women make the choice to have a baby when they don’t have a partner for various reasons. I admire you for not turning your back on that dream because you don’t have a partner.”
