Me, in a little black dress.
My hair swept into a perfect chignon.
An exclusive restaurant filled with elegant diners.
China clinks. Crystal glasses gleam on linen tablecloths.
Seated opposite me is the ideal man. Tall, dark, handsome.
Custom suit. Gold cufflinks.
He’s charming and witty.
Wildly successful in business.
And he only has eyes for me.
It could have been the greatest first date of my life.
Except.
My belly is too big to let me pull up to the table properly.
The baby is kicking like crazy for me to eat something — NOW.
And a funny trickle of wetness is forming deep in the recesses of my panties.
And not the good kind.
Am I peeing myself?
“Havannah, are you okay?” Donovan McDonald pauses, his water goblet halfway to his lips. He’s a gentleman, so he’s not drinking wine since I can’t.
His eyes are on me, his thick brows knitted in concern. His gaze dips to the table’s edge, where I’m hunched, trying to hide my bump. I’m desperately trying to appear like a normal date from the chest up.
“Perfect!” I say, keeping my voice as chipper as possible. I shift on the chair, making sure my legs are hidden by the tablecloth. I spread my knees in hopes that I can air dry.
Pregnancy is a beast.
But I have a few days to go until I’m due, and I hear first babies are always late. I’ve vowed to be nothing but chic and put together on this date. He’ll see my elegance, my poise —
Uh oh.
Another squirt of wetness slips out.
How can this be? I peed right before I came. I’m not coughing, or laughing too hard, or sneezing.
I push my cloth napkin under the tablecloth and shove it up under my dress. Sorry, fancy restaurant. I’m stealing this. It’s an emergency.
To be honest, if I had known what was about to go down, I would have left right then.
But I didn’t.
And you’re not going to believe what happens next.
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