Page 6 of Quiet Beautiful Things

He waves. I smile and wave back. He smiles. I like his smile. Despite the hint of sadness I detected a moment ago, his face now shines with an undiluted grin displaying what I imagine are perfect rows of teeth.

He turns away abruptly as if someone called his name. A man who bears some resemblance to him claps him on the shoulder and takes the other seat.Not a date.

I smile again, this time to myself. Then I whirl around happily and jog to the park.

Chapter Four

Blake

“Did you hear yet?” Lucas asks as soon as I answer his call.

I stop jogging, something I’ve been doing a lot more of this week after seeingshelikes to do it, and I roll my eyes. He’s called me twice a day for a week. I’m beginning to regret even telling him. I swore him and the rest of my family to secrecy. But I needed to tell them. We’re all very close. Or we used to be, until Dallas lost his family and took off to a remote cabin upstate where he’s been for the past two years.

“No, dickwad, I haven’t heard. Don’t you think I’d call if I had?”

“Either that, or maybe you’d drown yourself in the creek.”

“I’m not going to kill myself if the kid is mine.”

“Do you know how fucked up that would be if you had a four-year-old kid? What kind of woman keeps that information from a guy?”

“I suppose one who was so slutty she doesn’t know who the father is.”

“Have you thought about what you’ll do if she’s yours?”

“I suppose I’ll write a big check every month and try to get to know her.”

“If the slut allows it.”

“You can bet your ass if I’m supporting the kid I’ll be in her life. Even if I have to go to court.”

“You know she’s just looking for a meal ticket. Slap the name Montana on the kid and she’ll be set for life. This Lucinda chick must know that.”

“I told you, I have no idea what’s going on. The private investigator said Lucinda wasn’t the one driving this.”

“Right.”

I see someone walking ahead, a spark of recognition twinging in my gut. “Gotta go finish my run.”

“Call me la—”

I hang up and jog ahead, plucking my AirPods out of my ears. “Hey!” I call out. It’s her. I know it’s her. That hair. That body. It’s the dream girl I’ve been thinking about for six days. I’ve been running the trail in the park and jogging by the apartments every day after work hoping to find her.

She’s far away so I pick up the pace. “Hey! Hello!”

I get close, but she doesn’t turn. She approaches her building, punches a code on the keypad, and walks inside. Ten seconds later I’m pounding on the outer door, looking like an idiot as I shout after her. “Hey!”

I see her through the glass, but she still doesn’t turn.Damn it.She must be wearing AirPods. Everyone wears them these days. Better luck next time.

At least now I know what building she lives in even if it does make me feel like a stalker.

My phone vibrates with an incoming email. I swallow barbed wire when I see who it’s from. Trish, the private investigator, told me the paternity results would be emailed to me.

This is it.

Oh God.

I tap the email to open it. There’s a lot of information I don’t understand. Until I get to the very bottom where it clearly reads:The alleged father is not excluded as the biological father of the tested child.

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