Page 23 of Claiming His Baby

“How was your day? Designed anything interesting?” I ask, filling the silence.

“Yeah.” Grace starts talking about her latest work, a poster for a local band’s event at some club. She tells me all about the shrill, demanding lead singer, who makes her revise the design dozens of times.

Interesting. Grace only talks when it’s about her work. It’s either because she’s actually passionate about it, or she’s trying to avoid other topics of conversation.

By the time we reach the park, the orange sun has painted the sky purple and yellow. We cast long shadows on the asphalt as we walk across the parking lot.

Grace pulls a black cardigan from her bag as a gust of wind blows, raising the hem of her dress a few inches to show off her smooth, creamy skin. “I’m not dressed for hiking.”

“Who says we’re going hiking? The last time you went camping, you died. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Grace doesn’t laugh. Maybe it’s a bad joke.

At the entrance to the restaurant, a man wearing all white greets us and takes us into the only part of the woods with warm spotlights pointing at the tree trunks. “You came just in time for the sunset.”

I smile to myself as Grace swivels her head, looking up at the canopy of leaves blocking our view of the sun.

So she hasn’t been here. Strange, considering her fascination of the outdoors. I wonder if the woods reminds her of bad memories.

“Please,” the man says, gesturing at a pod made of wood and bamboo. A roof hangs about ten feet above the bottom of the pod.

I let Grace enter first through the small opening on the side of the pod.

Grace thanks the man and steps confidently into the pod, taking a seat by the table. I guess she figures I won’t be able to abduct her with this thing anyway.

Sitting across from her, I watch the gears turn in her head as the man checks the thick cables attached to the pod.

When the whole pod sways in the air, she gasps in surprise, grabbing the sides of the pod. Her hair sways, stray strands floating as the man remains on the ground and hoists us up with the cables.

“Oh my God.” Grace grins even as her fingers continue to grip the wood, her eyes darting between the rough texture of the massive tree right beside us and the changing views around us as we rise higher through the canopy. She laughs at the birds looking on with curiosity.

When the pod stops at the top, Grace widens her eyes at me in silent wonder.

“Not a bad place, huh?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.

She laughs, her eyes sweeping all around us. “Are you kidding? This is amazing. I can’t believe there’s a place like this so close to where I live. Sometimes I wish I could get out more, but I—” Grace swallows the rest of her sentence.

“But you . . .?”

“But I have too much work to do.” She gives me a measured smile. Her gaze flicks away from me. “Oh, wow. Is that the waiter?”

A man zooms toward us through the trees and lands with a thump on the fixed platform beside our pod.

“Is that a zip line?” Grace asks with unrestrained excitement.

“It sure is,” the waiter says as he hands out menus. He takes our orders and zips away.

“I wonder how he balances the food while hanging from that thing,” Grace muses out loud. A smile plays on her lips as she looks around. “It’s so beautiful up here.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

She avoids my gaze, but her smile widens slightly.

The waiter comes back with the food. Silence descends as we dig in. Grace seems to be plagued by her thoughts.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” I say.

She hesitates. “I’ve been wondering . . . did you know who I was when we met at the club?”

“No. I would’ve taken you home with me that very night and refused to let you leave me side if I’d known.”

A flush rises to her cheeks and spreads down her neck.

I can’t help but glance at the cleavage peeking from the top of her neckline. I remember how her tits felt in my hands. God, I’d give anything to bury my face between them.

“You should’ve told me,” I say. Things would’ve been so different.

“I tried to call you. A woman picked up. She said you were getting married.” She stares at her plate as her fork stabs at a piece of potato. “I thought you were just . . . I don’t know. You wanted one last night of fun before you got married.”

“I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t completely honest that night,” I remind her. “Were you already planning on running away that night?”

She shakes her head. “I wanted to.”

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