Page 33 of Taking A Chance

We make it to Bluff’s, the best place in the whole city to eat breakfast or brunch. The place is busy as hell but we get a table pretty quick. The staff here is nothing if not friendly and efficient. We all immediately order water and coffee, and three of us order mimosas while Harper pouts.

“They’re my favorite,” she whines. “Let’s be rational here. Is having a kid, like even really worth this kind of sacrifice?” She motions to her belly while asking this, drawing a laugh from our whole table.

“Tell you what, babe. As soon as he’s here, you can go on a week-long bender while I take care of him. Deal?” Jensen offers, rubbing gentle circles over her back.

Harper smacks his arm with her menu and I turn my attention to Declan, who’s sitting next to me. Despite opening the door to him this morning, I didn’t notice much about him until now. His fresh black T-shirt hugs his arms and chest all too well. His hair is pulled back in a low knot. He rests his elbows along the table’s edge while one hand holds the menu at an angle and the other rubs his face like before. His stubble is still there, clearly having skipped shaving for several mornings.

For the first time, I notice a ring on his pinky—a thin, white gold band with tiny diamonds set into it.

“It belonged to my mother,” he says, as if he can read my thoughts. “Her first wedding band, actually. It’s the only finger it would fit.”

“Why do you wear it?” I ask.

“A couple of years back, they celebrated forty years together and treated themselves to new rings. She held onto it and gave it to me when I was dating someone,” he says, shifting in his seat.

“Wow, forty years,” I say. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, crazy. Talk about big shoes to fill,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I continue the conversation as I browse the menu and take a sip of our delivered drinks.

“I mean when your parents are that great of an example, it’s intimidating,” he says, sipping at his black coffee.

“Really? I just look across the table and think that,” I say, laughing. Declan’s eyes cross over to Harper and Jensen as he holds her hand in his and brushes kisses across her knuckles.

“Maybe it’s just a pregnancy thing?” Declan offers. The thought had crossed my mind, actually. Maybe they’re being this extra due to the life change occurring.Does pregnancy make couples more affectionate? Interesting.

“So what happened?” I ask, unashamed of my curiosity.

“With?” he asks.

“The woman you were dating,” I clarify.

“Oh,” he says. “Nothing really, she was great. But it just didn’t feel right.”

I nod, taking in this new information as the waitress takes our orders and I use the opportunity to get a conversation going with the love birds before they can start sucking face again. We talk about the baby, their plans for moving from my brother’s loft in Raleigh to a house outside the city. I suppose that’s what happens when families start growing; you need more space and priorities change.

Jensen asks Declan about his next exhibit and I catch Harper’s stare across the table. She nods her head in the direction of the bathrooms and we excuse ourselves, leaving the men behind.

Once we’re in the safety of the restroom, she attacks. “Okay, girl. Spill it.”

“Spill what?” I ask, examining my face in the mirror. The puffiness beneath my eyes has gone down a bit.

“You know what. Don’t play like you don’t know what I’m asking about,” she says, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection.

After turning the knob of the sink, I push the button on the soap dispenser and begin absentmindedly washing my hands. “There’s nothing to dish.”

“So, this guy you’ve claimed to hate is going to meals with us, bringing you flowers, and—I can’t emphasize this one enough—he’s painting you half-naked. But there’s nothing to say about it?” Harper crosses her arms over her chest, giving me the look. You know, theI smell bullshitlook.

“Honestly, I have no idea, okay? Obviously, for the longest time, nothing. I loathed him. And he mostly annoyed the shit out of me for that fact. Now, I don’t fucking know. I think we’re becoming friends. Maybe?” I pull a paper towel from the dispenser and dry my hands, one finger at a time, drawing out the process.

“Sweetie, I don’t think friends bring friends flowers,” she says. “Let me start over. This isn’t the right question to yield a response I can use.”

I turn, facing her, and brace myself.

“I know you’ve loathed him for a while, I get that. But how do you feel now?” She stares at me, straight into my eyes, like she’s looking into my soul. She’s serious and like a dog with a bone, she’s not letting this go.

“I don’t know, I—” I stutter, the words not finding me. “I don’t loathe him anymore. I don’t think. He’s…different than I thought.”

---