About That Fling (27 page)

“It wasn’t that bad.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head before opening them. “That’s a lie. It was exactly that bad. I don’t know what got into me.”

“You’re stressed, for one thing. You’re hugely pregnant, your workplace is in turmoil, and your husband just pulled a no-show.”

“Is this supposed to be cheering me up?”

Jenna winced. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I was bitchy to Adam, and he didn’t deserve it. I’ll e-mail him an apology as soon as I get home. It’s just—I get so angry sometimes.”

The waiter reappeared at their table and discreetly cleared his throat. “Congratulations, ma’am and—um, ma’am. So you’re celebrating the impending arrival of your baby?”

“That’s right,” Jenna said, and reached across the table to take Mia’s hand again. “My wife is due in two weeks.”

“It’s kind of our last big date before the baby comes,” Mia added. “If she plays her cards right, she’ll totally get lucky.”

“Or
you
might,” Jenna said, smiling up at the waiter. “The server at our anniversary dinner wasn’t planning to be a sperm donor, but look how that turned out.”

“I, uh—”

“So I think we’re ready to order an appetizer,” Mia said, offering up the first real smile Jenna had seen from her all evening. “Do you still have those bacon-wrapped apricots?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“I’ll have an order of those.”

“Make that two, please,” Jenna said. “And a bottle of your house champagne. You know how pregnant lesbians are. Can’t get enough of the bubbles.”

“Er, right. Yes, of course. Uh, will there be anything else?”

“Mineral water,” Mia said, smiling in earnest now. “Extra bubbles, if you can manage it.”

“Of course. Right away.”

The waiter hustled away, and Jenna turned her attention back to Mia. “So you were saying about Mark?” The name
Adam
had been on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted the urge to make this all about him.

“Right, yes.” Mia sighed. “Look, I get that he can’t make it to every birthing class, but this was the last one, and we’d made such a big deal about it. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was caught up in traffic or having gall bladder surgery or visiting some sick relative, you know? But fixing the roof on his ex-wife’s house?”

“You said yourself it was all about Katie. About needing to fix the roof over Katie’s bed.”

“Right, right—I know.” She picked up a piece of bread, but didn’t take a bite. She just flipped it around in her fingers, fiddling with it like a worry stone. “It’s just—well, there’s a guest room at Ellen’s place. How hard would it be to move Katie’s things for a couple nights and call a repairman after the holiday weekend?”

“Maybe it’s a guy thing? He wants to be the rescuer. That can be a pretty strong male instinct.” She picked up her own piece of bread, trying not to think about the story Adam had shared in the car. The one about Mia desperate and alone on the side of the road asking Adam for another chance.

The waiter appeared again with a disgruntled look on his face, and Jenna felt a fresh wave of urgency to protect Mia. For crying out loud, all the woman wanted was a nice dinner in her final weeks of pregnancy. She didn’t need snotty waiters or absent husbands or—

Or a best friend sleeping with her ex.

Jenna bit her lip as the waiter shot Mia a look of disdain and set two champagne flutes on the table, then began to uncork the bottle.

“Thank you, but we only need one glass,” Jenna said, picking hers up by the stem.

“Ah, you were joking about the mother-to-be sipping champagne?”

“No, she loves the stuff,” Jenna said, squeezing Mia’s knee under the table and earning herself another smile from her friend. “She just prefers to drink it straight from the bottle.”

“Uh—pardon?”

“It gets to the baby faster that way,” Mia said, resting a hand on her belly. “You do anything you can to jumpstart the labor.”

“Not here, though.” Jenna offered a reassuring smile to the perplexed-looking waiter. “You know what they say—most laboring mothers poop on the delivery table. We want to avoid that in your fine dining establishment, if at all possible.”

“Er, yes. Yes, of course. Would you excuse me?”

“Of course.” Jenna turned back to Mia as the waiter hustled away. “Think he’s going to get us a free appetizer?”

“I think he’s going to get a police officer. You know, sometimes I’m amazed to realize you’re the same person who can lead a board meeting of a dozen C-suite executives without cracking a smile.”

“He deserved it. He was being a dick.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Jenna picked up her glass of champagne, which the waiter had thoughtfully poured before fleeing. “So back to your conversation with Adam.” She took a sip of her drink, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious with her subject change. “It sounded like a pretty heated conversation.”

“Yeah, I guess it was.” Mia sighed. “I think I was just surprised to see him there. Being there with you and Gertie is kinda my safe place, and it was jarring to have him invading the space. It’s one thing to have him in my workplace, but in my best friend’s house—”

“I’m sorry,” Jenna said, swallowing back the guilt with a bit of champagne. “I didn’t realize you were struggling so much working with him.”

“It’s not a huge deal. It’s just—seeing him again brings up a lot of stuff, you know?”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Memories about how bad things got between us. Between his emotional abandonment and my angry disappointment, we never gave that marriage a fighting chance.” Mia shook her head and reached for the mineral water, giving the cap a sharp twist. “I don’t know. Is it bad to say I’ll be glad when he’s gone? When this whole Belmont thing is over and he goes back to Chicago.”

Jenna swallowed, suddenly aware of how warm it was in the dining area. “You don’t think you could get used to having him around?”

Mia quirked an eyebrow at her. “You mean if he signed on for a long-term contract or something? I don’t think that’s a possibility. Adam always loved Chicago. Wouldn’t even think of leaving, not even when I talked about wanting to move to Oregon or when his sister tried to get him to check out job prospects in Seattle.”

“I see,” she said, hoping like hell Mia couldn’t see the way her face was flaming. Thank God for candlelight.

And thank God for the waiter, who returned to their table looking a bit like a man marching down death row. He glanced at his watch, as though he had someplace more important to be.

“Have you had time to look at the menu?”

“We haven’t,” Mia said, taking a sip of her mineral water. “Maybe you could tell us about some of your specials?”

“Very well. This evening we have a filet of sea bass prepared with a creamy vanilla coriander sauce—”

“Mmm, no creamy sauces,” Jenna said, shaking her head. “Ever since we saw that childbirth video about mucus plugs, we’ve been shying away from those.”

“The cream sauces, not the mucus plugs,” Mia offered. “Mine’s still fully intact.”

“For now,” Jenna agreed, looking back at the waiter to see his face had turned an interesting shade of green. “What else do you have?”

“Er, there’s a twelve-ounce filet mignon in a rich balsamic glaze served with smashed garlic potatoes and herb-roasted root vegetables.”

“No knives,” Jenna said, reaching over to touch Mia’s hand. “Knowing what we know about episiotomies, well—you can imagine the visual.”

“Right. How about I give you another minute or two to study the menu?”

“Good idea,” Jenna said, and watched him scurry away.

“That was fun.”

“He’s totally going to spit in our food.”

Mia giggled, then shoved her menu aside. “Would you hate me if I wanted to scrap the fancy dinner and go to Rigatelli’s for pizza instead?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I know you love Gerlake, but right now it’s giving me the creeps.”

“I don’t blame you a bit. We can go anyplace you want.”

“I can have him box up the apricots to take home to Mark. He won’t mind a little waiter spit as long as it comes with bacon. Besides, I’m craving sausage and pepperoni.”

“Never get between a pregnant woman and whatever she’s craving.” Jenna fished into her purse and pulled out enough cash to cover the drinks and appetizers, waving Mia off when she tried to plunk down her credit card.

“If I pay, you still have to put out,” Jenna said, prompting another smile from Mia.

They swung by Mia’s house en route to Rigatelli’s, stopping to put the apricots in the fridge and confirm that Mark hadn’t made it home yet. By the time they reached the pizza joint and placed their order, it was almost eight.

“Thanks, Jenna,” Mia said, taking a sip of root beer as she wriggled her shoes off under the table, her bare toes bumping Jenna’s shins companionably. “God, I can’t tell you how relieved I’ll be when I can finally have a glass of wine again. Or a beer. There’s something about IPA and pepperoni, you know?”

“I know. That’s why I’m having root beer in a show of solidarity.”

“That would be sweet if you didn’t also have a glass of red wine.”

“Hey, they’ve got a really good house Sangiovese. I couldn’t resist. Want another breadstick?”

“Yes, please. Think we should call Gertie and see if she wants to join us? I feel like having people around me right now. Kinda like an impromptu party.”

“The fact that you consider my elderly aunt a party either says something about your idea of fun or hers.”

“Probably both,” Mia said, pulling out her phone and setting it on the table. She glanced at the screen and smiled. “Mark sent me a text message with xoxo typed about three million times.”

“That’s sweet. He seems like he’s trying.”

“I know, he is.” Mia sighed. “I should try harder, too.”

“Text him a cleavage shot.”

Mia giggled. “Good idea.” She glanced around, then picked up the phone and aimed the camera down the front of her V-neck top. “Gotta make good use of these pregnancy boobs while I can.”

“Carpe diem,” Jenna said, biting into a breadstick. “Or carpe pectoris? Seize the boobs.”

“Amen,” Mia said, and fired off a text message. “I’ll send one to Gertie, too. A message, not a boob shot.”

“Glad you clarified.”

“I’ll see what she’s up to. If she’s free, we can send a cab to go get her.”

Jenna took another bite of breadstick and chewed, losing herself in the cheesy goodness of yeasty dough and garlic. She was so absorbed in the flavors that she almost didn’t hear the familiar voice calling her name.

“Jenna? We have to stop meeting like this.”

She turned to see Sean approaching their table with a surprised smile on his face. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows, showing off forearms Jenna had to admit were pretty impressive, though the ever-present smartphone was gripped in his right hand.

“Sean,” Jenna said, swallowing her bite of breadstick. “I didn’t realize you spent so much time here.”

“I don’t. Haven’t been back since the last time you and I ate here.”

“You’ve met Mia Dawson, right?”

“Sure, yeah—at that barbecue about six months after you and I—uh, separated.”

Mia nodded. “Good memory.”

“Good to see you again, Mia. Wow, you’re looking—vibrant.”

Mia laughed and sipped her root beer. “It’s okay, Sean. You can say ‘pregnant.’ Or ‘huge.’ If the shoe fits, I might as well wear it.”

“Or kick it off under the table in a crowded restaurant,” Jenna added.

Sean rested a hand on the edge of the table. “Sorry, I just know it’s a bad idea to ever assume a woman is expecting unless she’s shared the news.”

“That’s sweet,” Mia said. “But when it’s obvious she’s on the brink of giving birth at the dinner table, I’d say you’re safe to go ahead and make the assumption.”

“Well, congratulations.” Sean gestured toward the front counter. “I hope you two got your order in already. They just told me I’m looking at a two-hour wait. I should know better than to come here on a holiday weekend to fight the dinner crowd.”

“Here, have a breadstick,” Mia said, thrusting one at him. “We ordered way too many.” She looked at Jenna with an unspoken question, both about the breadstick and the empty chair at their table.

“Please, help yourself,” Jenna said, nudging the whole basket at him and nodding at Mia. Her ex-fiancé wasn’t what Jenna considered a party, but Mia had said she wanted people around her. If nothing else, Sean was nice to look at, and Mia seemed like she could use the visual distraction.

Mia smiled, reading Jenna’s nonverbal affirmation. “Sean, do you want to join us for pizza? Assuming Jenna’s okay with it. We were hungry when we placed the order, so we may or may not have ordered enough for a small developing nation. I feel like having company right now, so you’ll do nicely.”

Jenna nodded in agreement, so Sean pulled out the empty chair. “In that case, I accept.” He looked at Jenna. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely. The more, the merrier.”

She watched as Sean eased into the chair and set his phone on the table. He poked at the screen a few times in case the world had ended in the two minutes since he last checked it. He frowned, poked at the screen a few more times, smiled, then poked some more.

Jenna looked at Mia and rolled her eyes, but Mia just smiled and shrugged.

“So, Jenna,” Sean said, turning his attention back to the real live humans at the table. “You still seeing that guy?”

Mia cocked her head and gave Jenna an apprising look. “What guy?”

“The guy she hustled out of here to meet up with last time we were here. Said she owed him an apology for something.”

Beneath the table, Jenna gave Mia’s shin a light tap. At least, she thought it was Mia.

Sean frowned. “Why’d you just kick me?”

“I didn’t—I—you want some ranch dip?”

“No thank you,” Sean said, looking down at the breadsticks. “I’ll stick with the marinara. So you’re not seeing anyone right now?”

Seeming to sense Jenna’s need for rescue, Mia jumped in. “Oh, that guy. Yeah, he’s hot.” Mia bit into her breadstick. “How about you, Sean? You seeing anyone?”

“Nope, no one special. Gotta admit, it’s crossed my mind a time or two that Jenna and I could get back together.”