Sixteen #2
The hostess leads us to a corner table by the window, not far from the kitchen.
I can smell basil and burnt sugar, hear the hiss and crash of pans, and it’s comforting.
The table has one of those red and white checkered tablecloths on and the walls are covered in fake grape vines.
Coming in here is like being transported to a small village in Tuscany, and I love it.
Alexander waits for me to sit before taking his own seat, and the gesture is so old-fashioned and unobtrusive that I have to remind myself to be annoyed. I fail. I find it utterly charming.
He says, “You look amazing,” and for a second I forget that this isn’t a job interview.
I say, “It’s Liv’s fault. She bought the dress.”
He smiles again. “Remind me to thank her.”
The waiter appears before either of us can invent more conversation. Alexander orders a shiraz.
I order sparkling water. The waiter nods without blinking, which I'm choosing to interpret as professionalism rather than "Ah yes, another pregnant woman on a first date. How delightfully complicated."
When he leaves, silence settles between us. Not awkward. Just… new. Alexander smiles over the candle.
"So."
"So."
He chuckles.
"I had a better opening planned."
"What happened to it?"
"You walked in."
I laugh.
"That's a terrible line."
"I know."
"And yet…"
"And yet it worked."
I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself. He leans back in his chair.
"So... how are you?"
I make a face.
"That's your first real question?"
"I panicked."
"I can tell."
He laughs.
"I'll try again."
He thinks for a second.
"How's Leo?"
That's easier. Mostly.
"He's..." I sigh. "Okay. Better than I expected."
"And you?" I snort.
"Subtle."
"Worth a shot." I trace my finger around the rim of my glass.
"Honestly?" He nods.
"I think I'm still running on adrenaline. I keep waiting for someone to tell me this has all been an elaborate practical joke."
"Bit committed for a joke."
"I know." I smile faintly.
"But it'd be nice if someone eventually jumped out yelling, 'Surprise! Ethan was never an idiot!'"
Alexander considers that. "I don't think anyone could commit to a joke for that long."
I laugh. A proper one this time. "No. I suppose not."
The menus arrive, giving me something to hide behind for a minute and let the blush that sprung to my cheeks fade a little.
We order pasta. Mine with enough parmesan to concern a cardiologist. His without looking at the menu long enough to suggest he's eaten here before.
When the waiter disappears again, conversation finds its rhythm.
We argue over whether coriander tastes like soap. (It does not.)
He insists pineapple belongs on pizza. (It doesn't.)
I tell him about the time Leo convinced me that dinosaurs would have preferred chicken nuggets if they'd survived extinction.
Alexander, without missing a beat, says he'd like to see the peer-reviewed research before committing to that position.
By the time the food arrives, I'm laughing more than talking.
It's... nice. Dangerously nice. Somewhere between the garlic bread and my second sparkling water, I realise I've stopped monitoring myself. I'm not thinking about whether I'm smiling too much. Or talking too much. Or mentioning Ethan too often.
I'm just… here. Alexander wipes his hands on his napkin before looking at me.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Depends." He smiles at that.
"Have you been trying to talk yourself out of tonight all day?"
I stare at him. Suddenly concerned that I somehow added him to the group chat.
"…Maybe."
"I thought so."
"What gave it away?"
"You've apologised six times."
"I have not."
"You apologised when you sat down.” I blink at that.
"I…" He smiles again, but there's something gentler underneath it now.
"And every time I mention something about the baby…" he says carefully, "…you look like you're waiting for me to change my mind."
I don't answer. Because he's right. He doesn't rush to fill the silence. He simply says,
"I would've asked you out anyway you know." The restaurant suddenly feels very quiet.
"I just…" I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to separate the two anymore."
"I know."
"And I don't want you to feel…"
"…Trapped?" I nod. He shakes his head.
"I'm forty-two, Harper." There's the faintest smile. "If I didn't want to be here…" He gestures between us. "…I wouldn't be." It's such a simple statement. No grand declaration. No sweeping promise. Just… certainty. I let out a breath I don't realise I've been holding.
"I don't really know what to do with that."
"You don't have to do anything." He picks up his fork again. "I just didn't want you spending the whole evening wondering if this was obligation." He twirls pasta onto his fork like he hasn't just completely dismantled the biggest fear I've been carrying around for a week.
"So," he says. "Now that we've got that out of the way..." He points his fork at me. "Explain why you think coriander belongs anywhere near food."
I laugh. And just like that… The weight on my chest eases. And I just let myself relax into it. Not because I am brave, or because I have figured anything out, but because I want to see what happens when I stop managing everything to death.
Somewhere between dessert and the waiter quietly giving up on us ever leaving the conversation drifts to my writing.
"So," Alexander says, folding his hands around his coffee. "Do your readers know they're basically funding your caffeine addiction?" I smile.
"I've worked very hard to convince them coffee is a legitimate business expense."
"I assumed it was."
"It is."
"You looked offended I questioned it."
"I was." He laughs hard at that.
"I've never actually asked you…" he says. "Do you enjoy writing, or has it become work?"
It's such an unexpectedly good question that I don't answer straight away.
"I still love it," I admit eventually. "Some days it's the only place I feel like I know what I'm doing." He nods.
"I wondered."
"You wondered?"
"You write people very well."
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
"You've read my books?"
"I may have…"
He scratches the back of his neck.
"…accidentally bought one after I stalked your Instagram." I laugh at that.
"Accidentally?"
"I was conducting research."
"For…?" He meets my eyes.
"The woman I couldn't stop thinking about."
God. Nobody should be allowed to say things like that with a completely straight face.
When we finally make our way outside, the air is cool enough that I wish I'd brought a jacket.
He walks me to my front door. Neither of us seems in any hurry to say goodnight. For a second we just… stand there.
He shifts his weight, like he's trying to decide whether tonight ends with a handshake, a hug or an awkward wave. I decide for both of us. I step closer. His eyes search mine for the briefest moment. Giving me every opportunity to change my mind. I don't. His hand settles lightly against my jaw.
He kisses me slowly. Like there is nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. My stomach erupts in a barrage of butterflies that I was convinced only existed in fiction. When we finally pull apart, neither of us speaks straight away. I smile cheekily at him.
"I think that definitely earned you a second date." His mouth curves into a smile.
"I was hoping you'd say that." I unlock the front door and step inside.
Then, feeling unexpectedly brave, I glance back over my shoulder.
"You'd better make the next one spectacular then, Counsellor."
He laughs at that. "I'll try not to disappoint."
He gives me an exaggerated half bow that is somehow both ridiculous and completely endearing.
"Sleep well, my lady."
I shake my head.
"You're laying it on a bit thick now."
"I know."
"I'll speak to you tomorrow." Tomorrow. Such a small word. A week ago, I wasn't sure anyone would ever say it to me like that again.
"Tomorrow," I echo softly.
I close the door and lean back against it, pressing the cool wood against my shoulders. Then... I grin. Like some hopeless teenager who'd just been kissed outside her parents' house. God.
I'm twenty-nine years old. Pregnant. Halfway through a divorce.
And apparently still capable of acting like a complete idiot over one very handsome lawyer.
I kick off my heels halfway down the hallway, abandoning them where Future Harper will inevitably trip over them tomorrow morning.
I wander into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water and lean against the counter. My phone buzzes almost immediately.
Luca: YOU ALIVE??!!!
Luca: ????????
Luca: REPORT IMMEDIATELY.
Liv: ?
A photo appears from Elsie.
Leo is sprawled sideways across her couch, still wearing one dinosaur sock and clutching Milo's stuffed giraffe like they've known each other forever. Milo is asleep against him, drooling onto Leo's shoulder.
My heart melts on contact. For the first time all evening, I stop thinking about myself.
I type back.
Harper: He's okay?
Elsie replies almost instantly.
Elsie: ??
Elsie: He had pancakes, watched two dinosaur documentaries, told Noah seventeen facts about mosasaurs and refused to go to bed or to admit he was tired.
I laugh.
Luca: HARPER. STOP BEING DISTRACTED. DID YOU KISS THE LAWYER?
I look down at my phone. Touch my lips without thinking. Smile. Then type.
Harper: Maybe…
The chat explodes.
Luca: SHE KISSED THE LAWYER.
Liv: YES!!!!
Elsie: ????
I shake my head, laughing as my phone lights up with another dozen messages.
Without really thinking about it, my hand drifts to the small curve of my stomach.
It's still too early to see anything. Too early to feel anything. But somehow… It doesn't feel quite so frightening anymore. Maybe… Just maybe… Not every unexpected ending is a bad one.