Page 25 of Playing A Risk
He huffs. “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you.”
“Why do you say that?”
He takes the chopped tomato from me, assembles our salad, and gets more toppings and the dressing out of the refrigerator.
He dips his chin. “I promise to answer your question later, but first, I want to know where your head is with the wholehaving kids issue. Before last night, I was under the impression you didn’t want them anymore.”
I sigh and slowly spin off the stool. I meander into the living space with my arms wrapped around my waist.
“My chances of having a healthy pregnancy aren’t as good as they could be. That alone scares the living shit out of me, so I can’t imagine carrying a baby to term. I think I’d be so stressed out I would hurt it somehow.” I turn and face him.
“That doesn’t sound like you don’t want them. It sounds more like you’re scared to get pregnant.” He tips his head to the side and gestures to the opening of the other room. “Dinner’s in the formal dining room. Let’s finish our talk in there.”
I follow him into a room off to the side of the kitchen and next to his wine cellar.
Is what he said true?
Am I scared of getting pregnant?
A long rectangle table is set for two. One place setting is at the head of the table, and the other is next to it, so I sit in that seat.
“Hunter, this is a beautiful setup. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble. It’s just me and I’m happy with pizza.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve been dating you for months and I’ve never seen you eat pizza.” He laughs a little and sits. “Besides, who doesn’t like lobster risotto?”
My throat constricts. Does he realize he referenced that we’re dating? I let it slide and don’t correct him. I can’t blame him for feeling that way when I’m sitting in his apartment and he’s taking care of me like he is.
Even I find it hard to see the situation differently because I’m enjoying this gentle side of him. It makes me love him a little more in a different way than I have before. I shake the thought loose.
“Lobster risotto is quite the dish to serve me, Mr. Efron. There’s not much higher you can go from here.”
“Wanna bet? I have the best chefs in my back pocket. All I have to do is make a call and the very next day, my exact order will be delivered to my front door.”
“I guess you can do that with the kind of money you have.” I place my napkin on my lap and wait for Hunter to start eating.
“Sauvignon blanc goes well with this meal. I have one chilling, so I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room.
I take the time to serve up our plates. When he comes back and pours us a glass of wine, we settle into a nice dinner.
“What do you think about what I said earlier?” He swirls his wine in his glass.
“About what?”
“About being scared to get pregnant.”
“Oh, that.” I take a drink to formulate what I want to say. “I guess you could be right. It’s something I should bring up in therapy.”
“Who would’ve thought you and I would be sitting at dinner discussing our therapy?” His smile shines my way.
My own appears, welcoming Hunter’s light attitude. “You weren’t talking about yours. I was talking about mine.”
“Good point, but in my mind, I was thinking about how I should speak to my therapist about having kids.”
“Yeah? Why is that?”
