Page 6 of Haunting the Mountain Man
“Like what?” I ask.
Her sass fizzles under my stare. For a heated second, I worry I’m being too bossy. Too authoritative. It highlights our generational divide, but I’ll be damned if my fiancée buys her own coffee.
“Be good and let me buy my girl a drink,” I say in a low voice meant for her ears only.
Her gasp is quiet in the loud café. She gives me the slightest nod and a softly spoken, “Yes…”
The word trails off, but I don’t think she was going to say my name. Another word was on the tip of her tongue. I’m dying to find out if it’s what I suspect. But a small coffee shop isn’t the place to ask. Not about that.
“How out of practice?” Sabrina asks once we have our drinks and a table by the window.
“Embarrassingly so,” I reply.
She pouts at my answer, her black lips sucking on her straw petulantly. Such a fucking brat. I love it.
“You don't say much,” she complains. “It'll be hard to get to know my husband if he keeps secrets.”
My heart pounds so loud I’m sure she’ll hear it, and I fight to keep my wits about me.
“It's not a secret. Just mildly embarrassing how long it's been since I've been in a serious relationship.”
Essentially never. I’m going to fuck this up so bad.
“Are you divorced?” A fair question.
“No.” A simple answer.
“Widower?”
“Never married.” The answer I should’ve given to the first question.
“Kids?” she asks. Her expression is hard to read. I’m not sure if it’s hope or dread shining in her eyes.
And this is when I realize I’m either in the middle of an interview or an interrogation and I’m not sure which.
“None.”
“That you know of,” she mutters.
“I had a vasectomy at eighteen.”
“You never wanted children?”
She’s shocked and panic begins to flood my brain. The surgery was a no brainer when I was younger. Now that I’m staring into the eyes of the only woman, I’ve ever wanted a future with, that decision might have finally come back to bite me in the ass.
“It's reversible,” I rush to reassure her. Kids might be a deal breaker for some people, but I’ll deny Sabrina nothing. If she wants kids, I’ll be a fifty-year-old dad with a newborn next Halloween.
“That's not what I asked.”
The harsh truth comes spilling out of my mouth like a faucet with a valve stuck open.
“My father was a deadbeat, and his father was no better. Never saw much point in continuing a cursed family line.”
“I don't want kids either,” Sabrina confesses. “I'd rather be the fun aunt who takes them on roller coasters and buys them loud toys that annoy their parents.”
“You got more questions, or did I pass your test?” I ask as she finishes her latte, making her sputter.
“It wasn’t a test! You didn’t answeranyof the basic questions on the dating app.”
