25. Jaymie
Jaymie
It was just lunch. That’s what I told myself when I texted her. That’s what I typed, too. But I knew this was the beginning of forever. My girl was right within my reach and all I had to do was lock her down.
Want to grab lunch? as friends. Don’t make it weird.
I made it weird by saying don't make it weird
Bec ause if I left it open-ended, if I didn’t add that part, it would feel like something else.
And maybe I wasn’t ready to admit it was something else. Not yet, I wanted to show her.
She texted back five minutes later.
Mallory
Sure did.
Let me put on real pants.
I smiled, shoved my phone in my back pocket, and grabbed my keys. There was a little gastro pub just around the corner from our building. Close enough that we could walk. Nice enough that it felt like a break from the chaos. Neutral territory.
Still, by the time I saw her walk off the elevator in our building lobby—messy ponytail, soft sweater clinging to her curves, cheeks flushed from the wind—I felt something knock loose in my chest. She didn’t look pregnant from far away either.
Not at first glance. But as she got closer, I saw the way she carried her belly now.
With a kind of gentle awareness. Like she was always protecting something without even thinking about it.
“Hey,” I said, pulling the door open for her.
“Hi.” Her smile was soft but sure, like she hadn’t been surprised I asked. “Thanks for lunch.”
“ Friends gotta eat,” I said, keeping my voice easy. Teasing.
“Is that your new motto?”
“Only when it works.” We walked to the pub in comforatable silence, enjoying the crisp fresh air. Once inside, the hostess led us to a booth near the back, and I waited until Mallory slid in before taking the seat across from her. The table was small. Our knees brushed once and neither of us moved.
The place smelled like rosemary and steak fries, and some kind of seasonal cider I’d never admit (to the guys) I wanted to try. We flipped through menus in quiet for a minute before she looked up.
“I’ve never been here,” she said.
“Good fries. Decent burgers. Really weird aioli choices.”
Her mouth quirked. “Weird how?”
“Like, who needs beet-horseradish sauce? What culinary god demanded that pairing?”
“You might be more passionate about aioli than any man alive.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She snorted and set her menu down. “I already like this place.”
We ordered, her: roasted chicken sandwich, extra pickles; me: burger, medium rare, no beet sauce—and when the server walked away, the silence stretched a little.
It wasn’t awkward. Just... full.
I l eaned back. “You’re really showing now.”
Her hand moved instinctively to her belly. “I know. I’ve officially crossed from maybe-she-ate-too-much to baby-on-board.”
I grinned. “You look good.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted. “You’re not allowed to flirt. You said ‘just friends.’”
I lifted my hands in mock innocence. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t compliment. Big difference.”
“Uh-huh.”
She took a sip of water, then met my gaze again.
“Only a few months left now,” she said. “I’m almost in the third trimester. Which sounds fake. Like, how?”
“Time’s flying,” I said. “Feels like yesterday I was convincing you to eat crackers on my couch.”
“Feels like yesterday I wanted to throw those crackers at you.”
“Still kind of your love language, though.”
She laughed again, and something about the sound made my throat tighten.
“You nervous?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
She didn’t rush to answer. Just twisted her straw wrapper into a tight spiral.
“Some days,” she said. “Mostly I just... want to meet them. Know who they are. It’s hard doing all this without a face to imagine.”
“Still don’t know the sex?”
She shook her head. “Decided to wait. Figure I won’t get many real surprises in this life—might as well let this be one.”
“I like that,” I said. “Very you. A little chaotic, but kind of beautiful.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Chaotic?”
“You’re the only person I know who keeps granola bars in every coat pocket but never eats them.”
“Emergency prep is not chaos.”
“It is when all of them are expired.”
She shoved her straw wrapper at me. “You’re the worst.”
I grinned, but it faded slower this time. I let the question rise again.
“You thinking about names?”
Her face softened. She looked down for a second before answering.
“Yeah. I have a few I like. Nothing locked in, though. I don’t know... I keep thinking I’ll just know when I see them. Does that sound stupid?”
“No,” I said immediately. “Sounds exactly right.”
She smiled. A real one.
“What about you?” she asked. “Ever thought about what you’d name a kid?”
“Not really,” I said. “But now that you mention it, probably something solid. Like Nora. Or Theo. Something they won’t hate on the first day of kindergarten.”
“ Classic,” she nodded. “Respectable. Definitely not Braylix.”
“Oh God, please no.”
The food came then, and we dug in. Talked about nothing for a while. Team drama. Logan’s new obsession with protein waffles. Dakota’s recent crusade to ban low-rise jeans. I made her laugh so hard she snorted iced tea through her nose, and I pretended not to be secretly charmed out of my mind.
But beneath it all, there was this pull.
A thread of something unspoken. Something we weren’t calling by name. And I didn’t know how long I could pretend I didn’t feel it—this quiet hum in my chest every time her eyes found mine and held on for just a second too long.
When the bill came, I reached for it automatically.
“Jaymie—”
“I invited you.”
“You said as friends.”
“Friends can buy lunch.”
She gave me a look. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” I said, standing to slide out of the booth.
She followed, wrapping her scarf around her neck as we headed for the door.
Outside, the air was cooler than it had been when we left our building, but the wind had died down. We fell into step w ithout thinking about it, walking back toward the apartment like we’d done it a hundred times.
“Thanks for lunch,” she said quietly.
“Anytime.”
She looked over, eyes squinting slightly in the afternoon sun. “You know this feels like a date, right?”
I shrugged, smiling. “Only if you wanted it to.”
She laughed, but there was color in her cheeks now. “Good thing you said just friends. Otherwise I’d be very confused.”
“Me? Confusing? Never.”
She bumped my arm with her elbow. “Liar.”
And maybe I was. Because this? Whatever it was between us?