Jake got up. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t like you walking home alone at night. See you later, Luce.”
“You two have fun,” Lucy called after them. Her tone suggested she knew exactly what had been on Jake’s mind all night. Hell, all day. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t shake it.
On the way out he saw the producer who’d approached him. She appeared deep in conversation with the owner of the bar, but as he passed, she glanced over and mouthed the words call me.
He’d tried to explain that he was producing his music himself, under an independent label, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was approached regularly by so-called producers. He’d gone that route before. Never again would he sign away his creative rights. This was his music. He would record it the way he saw fit. Though he made a decent living as a studio musician, and he enjoyed the work, writing music was his true passion.
The night air was still heavy with moisture as they stepped out the door, but the temperature had lowered to a semitolerable level. A warm breeze carried the rich scent of coffee from the shop two doors down, and cars, spitting exhaust and overflowing with rowdy teenagers, lined the narrow city streets.
Jake draped one arm loosely across Marisa’s shoulder as they walked down the street together. They’d walked this way countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight he was hyperaware of her presence beside him. The softness of her hair brushing against his arm, the scent of her perfume tantalizing his nose, the occasional bump of her hip against his thigh as they walked.
Marisa, however didn’t seem to notice a thing. She stared off, oblivious to his presence, her mind a million miles away.
“What did you think of the set?” he asked, curious to know if she’d felt anything special. Anything different.
“It was good,” she said noncommittally. “I like the new material.”
Disappointment took a choke hold on his heart. Okay, so she hadn’t felt it. She probably hadn’t even been looking at him, just staring blindly into space, thinking about the store inventory or shampooing her hair. Why would he let himself think—believe—it could have been anything else?
He’d promised he wouldn’t let what happened this afternoon compromise their friendship, and here he was flaking out. But he couldn’t seem to erase the idea from his mind. He’d run the situation over in his head a thousand times today and still one question nagged him.
Could he bring a child into the world, his own flesh and blood, then give it up?
Then it had dawned on him. He wouldn’t really be giving it up. As Marisa’s friend, he would always be a part of the kid’s life, but distanced enough to keep from doing any irreparable damage. It would be sort of like having a family, without really having one.
He could take the kid to the zoo, or teach him to play baseball. The little guy would never have to know the truth. At least, not until he was older. Even then he would probably be better off not knowing what kind of family he’d come from. What kid would want to learn he’d had an abusive, alcoholic grandfather and an uncle serving a life sentence in prison? It just wouldn’t be fair to burden a kid with that.
Hell, he could even start a college fund and, of course, if Marisa ever needed support financially, or just someone to baby-sit, he would be there for her. He could teach him about music—start him early learning the fundamentals. If someone had bothered to take the time with Jake, had recognized his musical potential, who knows where he would be today. Marisa’s kid would have the best of everything.
The more he’d thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Somehow the concept of her raising his child just felt right.
He’d tried to dismiss it. He’d tried to ignore the voice inside telling him it would be the right thing to do, that he owed it to Marisa for all she’d done for him. For being his best friend. His only family.
But he hadn’t been able to shut the voice out. The big question was, would Marisa go for it? Would she think he was good enough?
“I was wondering,” Marisa said, breaking the silence. “How would you feel about coming to the wedding with me. I could use the moral support.”
He understood completely. “Sure, I’ll go.”
When they reached her building, she stopped and pulled out her keys. “Thanks for walking me home. Do you want to come up for a bit?”
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, suddenly filled with nervous energy. This was his chance. He forced the words out. “Sure. I kinda wanted to talk to you about something, anyway.”
“Okay.” Marisa started up the stairs to her apartment above the shop. As they stopped in the hall outside her door, the door to the adjacent apartment opened a crack, snapping tightly against half-a-dozen security chains. A single eyeball peered out.
“It’s just us, Mr. Kloppman,” she called. “Marisa and Jake.”
“Hand please,” a muffled voice ordered, and a small metal cheese grater slid through the opening. Obediently Marisa held out her hand and the grater hovered briefly over her palm. “Next.”
Jake did the same. When Mr. Kloppman appeared confident they were who they claimed to be, he slid the chains free and opened the door.
“Can’t be too careful,” he said, his eyes shifting nervously up and down the short hallway. “I saw it on the news. They can change shape, look or sound like anyone.”
Behind her, Jake chuckled and Marisa elbowed him sharply in the gut. “Have you been watching X-Files again, Mr. Kloppman?”
He shook his head. “Heck no. This was on the late news last night. You keep your doors locked. It’s not safe.” He backed into his apartment, again checking the short stretch of the hallway. “Trust no one,” he said as the door snapped shut.
“That guy is certifiable,” Jake said, after they were safely inside her apartment with the door locked. “I’m afraid he’s going to snap one of these days and hurt someone.”
“He’s harmless. Besides, his daughter pays the rent on time every month and as long as he lives next door I never have to worry about an alarm system.” Clearing a week’s worth of newspapers off the couch, Marisa collapsed onto the overstuffed cushions, stretching out her legs. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
Jake sat across from her in the leather recliner and leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “It’s about what happened today at lunch.”
Marisa’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”
“It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve been thinking about. How about you?”
“Me, too.”
“Is it just me, or do you get the feeling that somehow the dynamics of our entire relationship have changed?”
She didn’t want things to change, but she couldn’t deny that something was different. Looking down at her hands, she nodded.
“In that case, I think Lucy is right,” he said. “I should be the father of your baby.”
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