Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. He said he takes up all the space. And he hates to cuddle.”
Ari shook her head. “You can’t be with someone who hates to cuddle.”
“I’m not with him. We are just two random strangers whose DNA is now percolating in my belly.” I let my head flop back onto her shoulder.
She squeezed me again. “Everything is gonna be okay, Mabel.”
“Tell me I’ll still find the one, even with a baby.”
“You absolutely will. Somewhere out there is a guy who’s going to adore you and that little one. That’s how you’ll know he’s the one. But first, you need to tell Joe he’s gonna be a father.”
In the end, I sent him a message on Instagram. I saw no other way to get through to him without asking a family member for help. It took me another week to work up the nerve to do it, and I must have typed and deleted a hundred different sentences. What I finally sent him was this:
Hi, Joe. This is Mabel, from Cherry Tree Harbor. I have to come to Chicago next month, and I wondered if we could meet up? My timing is flexible. Let me know if you’re around!
I’d decided that the pregnancy wasn’t something I wanted to tell him about in a message, especially if he had an assistant handling his social media. If he turned down my idea about the in-person visit, I’d have to be a little more direct and ask him for his number, which I really didn’t want to do.
Luckily, I didn’t have to. It took him two days to answer me, but his reply was a relief.
Hey Mabel. Good to hear from you. Sorry I didn’t see your message sooner.
Training camp starts mid-September. Would Labor Day weekend be okay? I know it’s short notice, but I’m free that Saturday.
My heart started to race. That was this weekend. It was Monday—Saturday was just five days away. But I couldn’t put it off any longer.
Sure. How should I get in touch with you once I’m in town?
Just call me.
The next message included his phone number, and I added it to my contacts before shooting him a quick text.
Hi, it’s Mabel.
Cool, see you Saturday.
But he texted me the very next night.
So how have you been?
Good. You?
Good. Just getting ready for the season. Been skating more.
You must be excited.
Yeah. Should be a good year.
I’ll have to watch some games. What’s your number?
Haha it’s 19.
Thursday night he reached out again.
I meant to tell you, I asked my dad about that relative who was the bootlegger.
Oh really? What did you find out?
Some cool stuff. Turns out, it was the great-great-grandfather I was named after.
Giuseppe?
Yes. But he went by Joe too.
That’s very cool.
My dad said he and his wife ran whiskey from Canada into Detroit. They used to bring it over in boats in the middle of the night.
Stop it, really?
That’s what my dad’s noni told him.
That’s incredible!
It reminded me of you.
I stared at the screen while heat rushed my face. He hadn’t just forgotten about me—that was good, right? While I was trying to decide how to respond, he texted again.
See you in a couple days.
I liked his final message and set my phone aside.
Then I ran to the bathroom and threw up.
Late Saturday afternoon, I checked into my hotel and sent Joe a text that I’d arrived in the city. He asked if I wanted to come over to his place and we could decide from there what we wanted to do, and I said that was fine. He sent me the address and let me know he’d leave my name at the desk so I could come right up.
I ate a handful of crackers to settle my stomach, cleaned up a little, and jumped in an Uber.
Joe’s apartment was in a Gold Coast high-rise, and when I gave my name to the concierge, I was shown to the elevators. As I rode up to the sixteenth floor, I couldn’t help thinking about the elevator ride up to his hotel room at The Pier Inn. His mouth and hands all over me. His voice in my ear. My stomach was just as jumpy this time around, although for a much different reason.
The doors opened and I walked down the hallway to his door. Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer and knocked. When he pulled it open a moment later, I felt the air rush from my lungs. I’d forgotten how handsome he was.
“Mabel Jane Buckley.” He opened his arms and moved forward to give me a hug, clasping me tightly to his chest. He smelled fresh and clean and masculine, and he felt slightly damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. “It’s good to see you.”
Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to be swallowed by his embrace, taking comfort in the solid warmth of his chest. “Hi.”