The Deal With Triplets

by Rayner, Holly

Zoe offered up a grin that had the slightest hint of flirtation in it.

  “You would be bored to tears there. It’s the kind of small town where everything’s closed by nine at night, and you have to drive fifteen minutes just to get to the grocery store.”

  “Is that why you wanted to leave?” I asked.

  “Partly,” she said. “I knew since I was young that I was a city girl stuck in a small town. A small part of me will always be a small-town girl at heart, but I wanted more than that. I love walking on the busy streets on the way to work, or being able to order takeout at two in the morning when I’m up late working.”

  I nodded knowingly, even though my travels and my time spent in Chicago had taught me that city life in cities like Chicago and New York was far different from city life in Belgium.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” she said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

  “I really like what I’ve seen of city life here,” Zoe confessed. “It seems like there’s plenty to do, just without the congestion like we have in Chicago, and with beautiful, colorful storefronts.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I countered.

  “Sure.”

  “I love city life here, too.”

  She grinned. “I have to admit, I was skeptical about flying all this way for a doctor’s appointment, but it’s great to get the chance to see where you live and explore a new city.”

  I could tell that she was thinking the same thing that I’d been thinking since we’d set foot onto the pathway: it was absolutely worth the extra twenty-four-hour wait to have this time together.

  It almost felt as if we were back in Hawaii, not physically, but emotionally. There was no office to worry about, no work to tend to, nothing to focus on besides us and our baby. It was refreshing, because, as much as Zoe opened up and was fun to be around when we were outside of work, she was as serious as they came when we were at the office.

  As cheesy as it sounded, it felt as if I’d known her for years and that we’d spent more than just a few days in each other’s presence. We came from different backgrounds, but we seemed to have similar goals and ideals. Zoe was one of only a handful of people I’d met in my lifetime who worked and thought about work as much as I did. We both enjoyed our work, but we both wanted more. That was what was going to make this co-parenting thing work.

  We finished our loop just in time to see Arnault pulling up in the parking lot to take us to our next stop. Once I’d learned that Zoe was a self-proclaimed “museum nerd,” I knew I had to take her to the local art museum. Sure, it was a bit touristy, but I knew she’d enjoy it. Besides, despite spending most of my life living in or around Brussels, I’d only visited the museum once for a school trip. They had to have added at least a few new things over the past two decades.

  While Zoe spent the few hours we were at the museum intently browsing and analyzing the pieces on display, I had to admit that I spent a good deal of the time just looking at her.

  She was so intent, so focused. Her forehead crinkled when she was deep in thought, and her eyes grew wide when she was captivated by a painting. Sometimes, when she read the artist’s descriptions of their piece, she nodded, as if agreeing with what they were saying. It was incredibly charming.

  As we walked up and down hallways filled with paintings and sculptures, Zoe taking the time to examine each one, I thought back to the carefully chosen artwork that lined her condo walls back in Chicago and realized that I should have known she was someone who appreciated art. When I saw an opportunity to converse about a piece, I took it. I loved hearing her insights. I wasn’t used to having someone to talk to like this.

  By the time we reached the end of the first-floor exhibition, Zoe had a note of three different pieces she wanted to do further research on. She had all sorts of quirks I was learning about as we spent more time together, but I found them all incredibly endearing.

  “Were you secretly an artist in a past life or something?” I asked as we walked up the stairs to the second floor.

  “I wish,” Zoe said. “I took some art history courses in college as electives, but I can’t paint for crap. I can appreciate a good painting, though.”

  “Hey, at least you’re aware of your lack of artistic ability.”

  She giggled. “Very true.”

  Once we reached the second-floor exhibit, I silenced myself and let her get back into the groove.

  Of all the beautiful sights in my country, I could’ve stayed here all day watching Zoe. As we walked along, side by side, I wondered if it was normal to be thinking like this. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, each time we were together, it was like we were on another incredible first date. Zoe was supposed to be the co-parent of my future child, and nothing more… So why did I feel butterflies in my stomach each time she smiled that perfect smile at me?

  Chapter 17

  Zoe

  If I was being honest with myself, I’d never had even the slightest desire to go to Belgium before I’d met Lucas. Now that I was here, however, I never wanted to leave. Brussels had to be one of the most stunning and intriguing cities on earth. The architecture was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, and the natural beauty was overwhelming. Most of all, the more smitten I became with Brussels, the more smitten I became with Lucas.

  He was a completely different person inside and outside of the office. While I admired his focus on productivity and perfection at the company, I enjoyed Lucas the man, not Lucas the CEO. When we were together, I forgot about our cultural differences and our financial differences—and even the fact that we were having a child together.

  Dare I say, we were even acting a bit flirtatious with one another. I found myself opening up to him without feeling forced to do so, and he was reciprocating. It felt as though we’d finally found our rhythm. In my mind, the ultrasound getting pushed back a day was one of the best things that could have happened, because it was providing a more solid foundation for us to co-parent.

  Co-parent. That was what we were doing. Maybe that was all we were doing.

  As much as I wanted to pretend that we were some semblance of a couple and that this had been an afternoon-long date, that wasn’t our reality. This day had been incredible, but it had only served as a reminder that, once this baby was born, our time together would be few and far between.

  “How are you feeling?” Lucas asked as the car slowed. “Is this too much walking for you?”

  That hint of French accent got me every time. His concern for my comfort was definitely attractive, though I couldn’t help but wonder if his concern was for me as a potential romantic partner, or as the woman carrying his child. I tried to push any doubts aside. I didn’t want to ruin the rest of our limited time together by fretting over the future.

  “I’m great,” I said, mustering a smile. “Really. I’ve enjoyed all the fresh air, and the doctor said walking is good for the baby and me.”

  When his driver put the car in park, Lucas slid out of the backseat, and I followed suit. We emerged into a quaint, flower-filled square that looked like it belonged on the front cover of a travel calendar.

  “What is this place?” I asked, noticing as I spoke that my voice was barely above a whisper.

  “One of my favorite spots in Brussels,” Lucas replied. “You won’t find it on any tourist map, but I think it’s probably the most stunning area you’ll find in the entire country.”

  I twirled around to soak in our surroundings. “Well, I haven’t seen even a fraction of what your country has to offer, but I can’t imagine there’s anything more incredible than this.”

  I wasn’t even completely sure what “this” was. It seemed to be a sort of cross between a city square and an enchanted botanical garden. It was about the size of a community playground back in Chicago, but, instead of monkey bars and swings, it was filled with lush, green plants and flowers in all sorts of pinks and purples and yellows. I asked Lucas if there was a name for it, but he didn’t know. He
said only that he’d stumbled upon this place after dinner at the restaurant he was taking me to next.

  “I know it’s not much,” he started. “But I thought you might like it. I always find this area incredibly tranquil. It’s not run over with tourists.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m glad you brought me here,” I said. “It’s stunning. Everything in this city is stunning.”

  I was tempted to throw in a joke about his own good looks and him being another stunning thing to come out of Brussels, but I was already feeling anxious enough about the whole situation without wearing my heart on my sleeve.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Lucas pointed to a small, cobbled road, so narrow that it looked as though it was only for pedestrians. “Our dinner awaits right down that street.”

  I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the delectable smell of seafood met my nostrils. These days, I couldn’t always differentiate between nausea and hunger, but, right now, it was definitely hunger.

  “Whatever that is smells incredible,” I said to Lucas.

  “And it tastes even better!”

  He stopped in front of one of the sidewalk restaurants. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t notice he’d stopped until I was mid-step, and I found myself tripping over his foot.

  Lucky for me, Lucas was quick on his feet, and he grabbed me just before I hit the ground. I felt the heat on my cheeks and hoped I wasn’t blushing. How embarrassing. I was a grown woman, and this was the second time in the span of five or six hours that he’d had to keep me from falling flat on my face.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Are you always this clumsy?”

  “It varies from day to day.”

  I chuckled along with him, deciding it was better for my ego if I poked fun at myself instead of getting bent out of shape about looking dumb in front of Lucas.

  It wasn’t lost on me that I cared so much about what he thought of me because I cared so much about him. I wanted so badly to tell him how I felt, to tell him that I didn’t want this to end when our baby was born and that I loved spending time with him. Yet, I was paralyzed by the fear that he would reject me. I could picture him telling me that he wanted to keep to the arrangement, and it tore me up inside.

  It seemed like a better idea to keep my feelings buried deep down than to risk making things uncomfortable for the rest of our lives, given that we would be co-parenting regardless of what happened.

  After insisting four different times that I was all right, Lucas finally accepted my answer. He went up to the host’s stand and spoke to the man behind it, someone he appeared to know quite well.

  The host led us to the best table in the place, Lucas with his hand on the small of my back. He held the chair for me and scooched it in as I sat. Feeling him touching me and caring for me caused a flush to rise on my neck and cheeks. At least I could blame it on the pregnancy if he asked about it.

  “You come here often?” I asked.

  “Pretty much every chance I get,” he said. “Usually on the nights that my chef has off. The office actually is just a few kilometers from here, so I’ll have my assistant come and pick me up some moules-frites from time to time.”

  “What’s moules-frites?”

  The look on Lucas’s face turned from one of pure horror to one of delight.

  “You’ve never had moules-frites? You’re in for a treat. This place has the best moules-frites in all of Brussels.”

  “Is that so?”

  Lucas nodded. “Moules-frites is mussels with French fries. There are a few different ways to cook the mussels, but here, they cook them in a white wine sauce with butter and garlic and shallots.”

  “That sounds incredible. I love mussels!”

  You would’ve thought based on Lucas’s reaction to me saying I liked mussels that I’d told him he’d just won some coveted award. He was beaming. I took that as a sign that he was excited to let me into his world, to show me another part of his culture.

  I looked around the restaurant, which was half-empty, and reminded myself that we were in Europe, and this was early for dinnertime by European standards.

  I liked that the restaurant was clean and comfortable but a no-frills type of place. Instead of white linen tablecloths, they had more casual red-checkered ones, the ambiance closer to that of the sidewalk café we’d visited earlier to that of a fancy restaurant.

  I was relieved that our future child wouldn’t only be dining at five-star restaurants and going on fancy trips. He or she would also be eating at sidewalk cafés and visiting museums and historical sites. While I of course wanted my child to have the best possible life, I also wanted there to be normalcy and consistency. It would probably be overwhelming to go from a modest life in Chicago half the time to a life of top luxury in Belgium.

  As Lucas ordered our mussels and fries, I decided to put any thoughts about our baby out of my mind for the rest of the meal. Tomorrow would be all about the baby, and we could worry about the co-parenting arrangement then. For now, I just wanted to enjoy a nice meal and the company of the handsome man across the table from me.

  “Please make sure the mussels are well-cooked, Martin,” Lucas said, handing the waiter our menus.

  “Of course, Mr. Cadieux.”

  I could tell that was another tidbit Lucas had learned throughout his pregnancy research, and I was grateful that he’d remembered.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You don’t have to thank me for looking out for you and our little guy or girl. It’s my paternal duty.”

  With a laugh, I said, “Fine. Then I rescind my ‘thank you.’”

  The awkward quiet between us was back, but only for a moment. Lucas dove into a story about him and his friends having a moules-frites eating contest at this very restaurant, a hilarious tale that had me in tears from laughing so hard. It was almost comical to think that this was the same man who, just weeks earlier, I’d figured for this prim and proper businessman. Oddly, I found the story completely charming. I liked that Lucas had all these different sides to him.

  By the time our meals came out, Lucas was still chattering on about how his friend Claude, who’d won the contest by a longshot, deserved a wider audience. I couldn’t stop laughing as he pitched his idea to me for a Cadieux-sponsored moules-frites-eating contest.

  “Ready for your first bite of pure heaven?” Lucas asked.

  We each picked up a mussel and clinked them together as if we were making a toast. Lucas hadn’t been exaggerating how delicious this dish was. Though mussels and French fries had sounded like a weird combination, it worked perfectly. I followed Lucas’s lead and dipped my fries in the mussel stock, which elevated the taste even more than I’d thought possible.

  “This is delicious,” I said between bites. “Do you have your chef make this at home a lot?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Actually, not really. As lame as this may sound, it’s just not the same eating it at home alone.”

  “That’s not lame. I get it.”

  To my surprise, the waiter came back to ask if we’d like any more mussels. I wondered if that was standard in Belgium or just something unique for the restaurant. Either way, it was a charming gesture, and I would’ve gladly taken more if I hadn’t been stuffed beyond belief.

  “Thank you for this,” I said to Lucas after he settled the tab. “I’ve had a really great day.”

  “Me, too. It’s not often I have this much fun, especially on a weekday afternoon. I suppose your appointment getting rescheduled wasn’t the worst thing in the world.”

  I smiled. “Not at all.”

  * * *

  I was thankful that I’d packed cute pajamas, because Lucas suggested we get comfortable in our pajamas before reconvening in the media room to watch a movie.

  The media room was one of the most impressive features of Lucas’s house, and seemed like the perfect place to wind down after a long day of travel and sightseeing. It felt like a real movie theater, with a screen that took
up the entirety of the far wall and cushioned chairs with cup holders. Behind the concession stand was an old-fashioned popcorn machine and a soda fountain. Though I’d had a wonderful time exploring Brussels with Lucas, if we’d have spent all day simply lounging around this fabulous theater, that would have been just fine by me.

  The cushioned chairs were close enough that our shoulders just brushed up to one another, but not too close that it made us uncomfortable. Lucas had some sort of romantic comedy playing in the background, though we mostly just talked over the movie.

  “Can I interest you in some candy from the concession stand?” Lucas asked with a grin.

  “Please. I couldn’t eat another bite if my life depended on it.”

  He got up anyway and walked over to the stand. I had to admit that it looked amazing. It was nearly identical to the ones at the movie theaters, only the glass pane in front of the candy wasn’t there so that Lucas and his guests could help themselves. There were rows and rows of candies, followed by a small shelf with savory snacks like pretzels and peanuts. I supposed that, if I were him and had grown up surrounded by chocolate, I’d have a massive sweet tooth, too.

  “That’s a shame,” he teased. “Because I just got in this incredible peanut butter chocolate bar, which just so happens to be a new Cadieux product that isn’t yet available in stores.”

  Damn, he was good.

  “Maybe just a bite or two…” I said, my resistance crumbling.

  He came back over carrying two chocolate bars—one for himself, and one for me. I knew there was no use in arguing that I could just have a bite of his. He was stubborn, but in the best way.

  Maybe I was imagining things, but I would’ve sworn that Lucas moved the tiniest bit closer to me than he’d been before when he sat back down. We poked fun at the movie, at all the ridiculous tropes that we’d seen over and over again, though I’m fairly certain my lack of sleep had something to do with how unusually funny I found everything.

  A text message from Cal, Ellie’s husband, took me by surprise. Though Ellie and I were as close as sisters, it was rare for me to text Cal. I sat up in my seat and read his text twice to make sure I registered what it was saying.