“Down in Fayetteville.”
He nodded and brought his beer to his lips. “Two or three days a week, nine to two, I think.”
“Hmm.” The idea was intriguing, to say the least, and two days per week wouldn’t be that much of a hassle if it were the right program for Toby. While he was in school, she could hang out at a coffee shop or in a library and get some work done. Go exploring.
“Would you like me to find out more? I think there’s some information on the company intranet site. There may be some space left for this coming term, but you’d have to hurry.”
“If it’s no inconvenience. I’m curious about it.”
“No inconvenience.” There was a bit of an edge to his words that made Meg look up. The kind expression from earlier had morphed into something less placid. Maybe even a bit aggrieved.
Maybe she deserved it. He was trying to help her in some small way, and she was committing the pet peeve Sharon was most vocal about—refusing help. “Don’t be that person!” Sharon always shrieked. She did that shriek every time Meg dropped Toby off at Sharon’s office so she could go to the gynecologist or complete any number of errands that needed discretion. She always apologized, profusely, when she dropped him off and then made sure she didn’t have to do it again for a long, long time.
“And I’ll be around if he has a problem. That’s the point of having the facility right on-site.”
Definite perk. “I’ll be around.” And those words were none she could ever expect Spike to utter. The man didn’t have the spirit of volunteerism anywhere in him, even when it came to his own son. If he perceived inconvenience on his part, he’d beg off. Sometimes Meg thought the only reason the man was present for his son’s birth was because he was hungover and knew there’d be someplace to lie down at the hospital.
“Maybe he could stay over Tuesday and Wednesday nights or something. Give you a break.”
“Oh.” She scoffed and pushed her plate back. “That’s right. I forgot for a minute that we have special considerations.”
Their considerations were so easy to forget, too. When they were together like this, having meals, talking, her brain made the logical leap in assumption that this was their normal.
It wasn’t.
And she was broken enough to admit at this point that she wanted it to be her normal…whatever that meant. She didn’t know how to make that happen and how much they’d have to go backward first in order to go forward. Did they need to start from scratch to make it work, or just go forward with expectations in check? How did those happy people in arranged marriages let down those walls—go from resignation to infatuation and the irreversible emotions beyond?
What she felt couldn’t be turned back, and it pained her to no end that she had no control whatsoever over yet another thing in her life. But at least this time, no one was going to call her “Poor Meg” over it.
“Yeah.” He set his fork on the plate edge and tipped the dessert menu off its little stand without breaking eye contact. “I think you need an ice-cream sundae, Megan. With sprinkles.”
She nodded, and whispered, “Okay, order it,” before edging off her bench and walking with a forced ease to the ladies’ room.
Wouldn’t do for them to see her cry and think it was over the ice cream.
Chapter 15
“You don’t think this is…deceptive?” Seth rubbed the glass that had earlier contained a vodka shot between his palms and eyed Stephen warily.
“No, no.” Stephen put his hands up and shook his head. “I know Meg. She’d be more annoyed that we bothered her with something we could work out on our own. Unnecessary stress and all that.”
“And you trust this guy?”
“Not as far as I can throw him.” He accepted the whiskey shot the bartender pushed across the counter and brought it to his lips, forehead furrowed in contemplation.
Seth had taken Curt’s advice and called Stephen regarding the paperwork he’d been served. It turned out to be bogus—a ploy orchestrated by Spike’s longtime manager.
They must have thought he was some kind of idiot. Had they really thought he’d go straight to the lab and have his cheek swabbed? Some photographer would catch him on the way out, and there’d be even more fodder for the gossip bloggers. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t Toby’s father. All people needed to write their own truths was a spark of doubt. One questionable photo, and Meg’s veracity would be questioned yet again no matter what the science said.
“Before they show up, let me tell you I did some poking around. Contacted a few of my old classmates who have clients in that industry, and there’ve been some rumblings the band’s income is drying up. They’re becoming stale. Old.”