Making His Baby(8)

By: Lulu Pratt

Chapter 6


Blake sends me a text almost the minute after he hung up the phone. And even after I get the text message, with the location of the restaurant and time to meet, I continue to stare down at my phone as if it is some sort of alien device. I just can’t believe that he has invited me out to dinner.

And it isn’t just the fact that he had done it, but the way that he did. He is so sure and confident in himself. It is like nothing I have ever experienced. I tried my best to deflect and act like I wasn’t impressed by his cockiness, but it was just that, an act. Really my heart was beating a million times a minute.


The restaurant is a fancy Italian spot that I have never been to before. It is the kind of place that I have never even dreamt of going. The items on the menu cost more than I make a week, and the drinks cost more than I make a night. Naturally, as I arrive and see the place, I’m a little nervous.

It’s earlier than Blake had indicated in the text, and that is by design. I like to arrive to dates early so that I can get my foundations down and settle myself in. Sometimes, I will even order a glass of wine, in case I need to loosen up.

I walk through the restaurant to the booked table, and as I do, I feel increasingly nervous, as if I don’t belong. In fact, I can sense the eyes of the other patrons on me, like they know I’m a faker.

Reaching my chair, I just about fall into it with relief. As I tuck myself into the table, I quickly order a glass of red. My plan is to loosen up myself, just enough so that when Blake does walk through the door, I can be myself and deflect the charm I know he is going to bring.

I am halfway through my glass when I spot him. The moment I do, I feel my knees go weak and I thank God that I am sitting down, another reason for arriving early. He spots me instantly and walks to me with a smirk on his face.

He looks as handsome as I remember. In a navy-blue suit, offset by an open white shirt, he’s more akin to a model than a mere mortal man. His hair is slicked back and impeccable, and his eyes seem to be undressing me or are those just my hopes being projected on him.

“You’re early,” he says as he slips into his chair.

“Maybe you’re late,” I quip back as I sip my drink.

He isn’t late. He is actually right on time. Perfectly so, as if he has been waiting outside for the clock to strike six.

“It’s possible, but unlikely,” he says, not in the least bit put off by my attitude. “And you started without me.”

“Oh this?” I ask, pushing my half empty glass across the table. “I got sick of waiting.”

“I’ll try to improve for next time.”

“Next time?” I ask, raising my eyebrow in an exaggerated fashion.

“Unless I’m getting ahead of myself. But I contacted my fortune-teller earlier, and she assured me that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing.”

“I think you should fire her,” I say, working hard to hide my smile. “She’s clearly a fraud.”

“So, Carrie, you’re saying that I’m not going to discover the cure for cancer tomorrow? How disappointing.”

He is unflappable. Everything that I say, he seems to have an answer for. But more than that, everything he says, I seem to have an answer for, too. I have never felt such a connection with a date as quickly as I do with him.

“How about you concentrate on the task at hand, Blake? That is keeping me entertained. You can worry about cancer tomorrow.”

“Deal,” he responds, smirking to himself as he does.

The banter doesn’t stop there. As the night progresses, our appetizers are replaced by our entrees, and those are replaced by dessert. Things between us only seem to escalate.

When we first had drinks, I thought that maybe Blake was just having a good night. But as we eat dinner, here and now, I can see that this is just his personality, calm, cool and oh so confident. And despite myself, I’m finding it harder and harder to resist him.

“So,” he begins as our desserts arrive. He wears the same attractive smirk that he has all night. It is clear that he knows what it does to those around him, especially women and he is obviously determined to use it on me. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“Tonight? Nothing. But tomorrow, I told you already. I have that early start.”

I look away from him as I speak. I can’t look into his eyes. If I do, I know I will become lost and will thus find it a heck of a lot harder to say no to him.

“Oh, perfect. So, you’re free after dinner, then?”

“Technically speaking.”

There is a piece of chocolate cake in front of me that I am trying hard to resist as well. But I realize that I can use it to my advantage. I scoop a portion onto my fork, making sure to all but suck it off the end. My lips press out as I do.

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