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When and where?
From John:
Nine-ish? Is the place on Third Avenue okay?
To John:
Yes
From John:
It’s a date then
To John:
It’s NOT a date
From John:
*cool face emoji* See you tomorrow, Mayer
The next morning at five past nine, I turn the corner on the opposite side of the road to the café John suggested we meet at. I’m about to cross the street when I spot him. He’s waiting outside the coffee shop, holding the hand of a girl—his daughter! She’s looking up at him and is smiling while he explains something.
My heart gives a pang.
Oh, the bastard!
I see his game.
I’m about to make a run for it, turn the corner, and sprint for my life when he raises his gaze and our eyes meet. He waves at me. The girl, following her father’s stare across the street, spots me and waves as well, destroying my ovaries with a tooth-gaping smile.
I want to cry. I hate being pregnant. Everything makes me cry. She’s adorable.
Marissa, don’t rely on first impressions. Maybe his daughter will prove to be a horrible brat, and my reproductive organs will get back in check.
I straighten my coat and cross over to their side.
“Marissa, hi,” Dr. Not Playing Fair greets me. He makes an awkward attempt at going in for a hug, but I take a step back, making it clear physical contact is a big no-no.
The embarrassing moment is broken by his daughter stepping forward and offering me a hand. “Hi, I’m Nora, I’m in the first grade.”
I squat down and shake her hand. “Hi, Nora, I’m Marissa.”
“You’re beautiful,” she says. “You look like a Disney princess.”
Instead of toughening up, all my reproductive organs melt. “Thank you, Nora, you’re beautiful, too.”
She is. She has strawberry blonde hair, clearly not her father’s, but everything else is a dead ringer for John: the blue eyes, the strong jaw, the cute dimples…
“Thank you,” Nora says. “I’m smart, too, you know? One day, I’m going to be an inventor.”
And she’s no brat.
I manage a small smile. “That sounds like a wonderful career plan.” I stand up and glare at her father.
“Nora Bora, why don’t you go ahead inside and ask if they have a table for three?”
“Sure, Daddy.”
