Dianne Drake - Her Secret Miracle

Unfortunately, the opportunity to go beyond that night had never happened. Still, in the very few—as in could be counted on one hand—dates he’d had with other women since then, nothing had ever seemed right. To himself, he’d nitpicked every woman to pieces before their date, then always cut the evening short because she hadn’t what he’d wanted. And for sure, he’d never dated any of those hopefuls twice. Because of his job, he always told himself. Yes, because of his job.

But somewhere in all that mess, thoughts of Michi pushed everything away. Even now, when he should be concentrating on Bucky’s proposal, his mind was wandering back to Sapporo, to that one perfect night.

Which meant it was time to go get that coffee, refocus, and figure out his next step in the Texas land acquisition deal. So, Eric put on his suit coat—he really hated wearing suits every day, but that was the dress code, so he observed it—took a quick look in the mirror in his private bathroom, straightened his tie, then traced, with his left index finger, all the new lines and creases that were beginning to show. So many changes to his body in the past couple of years. What did it matter?

There had been a time when he’d appreciated the sideways glances of the nurses who hadn’t known he knew they were watching. And that obvious flirtation from Michi in Japan...something that had twisted and turned him in ways he hadn’t expected then, and even now. So maybe the looks weren’t going down too badly, but what he saw staring back at him from the mirror was a man who was...resigned to something that didn’t make him happy. Didn’t satisfy him either. Didn’t give him the good, hard feeling of being tired but satisfied that made him sleep well at night. As long as he spent his days behind this desk, doing mediocre work at best, it would always be that way.

“But we keep promising to fix things, don’t we?” he always said to his mirror, ever hopeful that saying it out loud to an inanimate object that wouldn’t criticize him might actually inspire him to go out and find some of that old mojo again. And did he ever need that inspiration. Where and how, though? He didn’t have a clue. But at least all hope hadn’t died. That was something to hang onto. Although sometimes hanging only by a thread.

Once Eric decided he was “Hart-ready,” as his dad had called it, he headed for his office door. And his thoughts—on the woman he’d seen outside. The fairy-tale would have them bump into each other in the coffee shop, then spend hours talking, laughing, getting to know each other. They would make plans for dinner that night—someplace slow and dim, where they could talk quietly and tell secrets. Then they’d go back to his place...and that was where it stopped.

Those days were behind him even though he was only thirty-six, and now he was all about the corporate life where everything ran on fear and promises, and most of those promises were empty, like his social life.

“Sure you don’t want something?” he asked Natalie again, as he headed out the door. The fact that she didn’t even take her eyes off her computer screen didn’t surprise him. Now, as she did so often, she was looking through her gallery of pictures of the only man she’d ever loved. Lost in his world. Reliving the life she’d never had. Sad. But sometimes the choices people made weren’t easily shed. For Natalie, that was his father. For him...trying to please a man who would never be pleased. And now it was too late.

Would that be him someday? Sitting at a computer, looking through reminders of a life he had never had, and an undertaking in which he’d failed so miserably. He sincerely hoped not.

IT WAS A cozy little café. Pastries, teas, coffee, flowers, and all sorts of gifty things that were cute, but not practical. And the café was full to overflowing with people. Loud, but nice. Michi had managed to snag the last table available, the one in the corner, the one with the worst view in the shop. But that didn’t matter. She wasn’t in the mood for being social or enjoying views. All she wanted was a tea, and some time by herself to think.

She was worried, naturally. Riku would be in great hands with Dr. Kapoor. She was sure of that. But right now, that wasn’t her biggest concern. It was Eric, and what to do about that whole situation. He had a right to know he had a son. He also had a right to know his son had a heart defect. But hadn’t she tried to contact him early on her pregnancy? Then later, after Riku was born, hadn’t she tried again?

Well, that was the way she pacified herself when she got in the mood. Telling herself she’d tried. That she’d been so overwhelmed that her thinking hadn’t been sharp. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not. Today it wasn’t even coming close because her motivations were not even clear to herself anymore. Except for one. But that had nothing to do with Eric, and it was something she surely didn’t want him to know: being accused of being an unfit mother.

So, there was that weight she always carried, as well as not telling Eric the truth from the start. And, of course, her default excuse...yeah, right, she’d tried. What of it?

Yet he was right across the street now. Easy, convenient. All she had to do was walk over there—and then what? Would she produce papers proving Riku was Eric’s? Wait, she didn’t have papers. Hadn’t even put Eric’s name on the birth certificate. So, would he simply believe her? Hello, Eric. I had your baby two years ago. Probably not. Then there was always the question of whether he’d want to be an involved father. She knew he’d be a good father, just from the little she knew of him. But would he want that?

There were so many questions with answers awaiting her. Answers she feared. So, for now, she’d sip her tea and hope for an angel or something to drop down from the sky and give her the solution she needed because she sure wasn’t in any state to figure it out on her own.

“Would you care for a refill on your tea?” a young man asked, startling Michi out of her thoughts. “Another tea bag, more hot water?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “That would be lovely,” she said, gazing beyond the server to the table where four women sat chattering away as they ate their pastries. “With a little more lemon,” she added. “And maybe one of those scones I saw earlier when I was at the counter.”

“Happy to oblige, ma’am,” the young man said, then scooted through the tangle of people who weren’t lucky enough to have a place to sit but who obviously weren’t ready to go back outside and face the rest of the day.

Michi leaned back in her chair, trying to relax, but she was too wound up for that, so she simply sipped her tea, ate her scone when the server brought it, and stared out the window at Eric’s building, like that was going to give her some kind of resolution. Intermittently, she flipped through her phone to various photos of Riku and only then did that feeling of despair go away. One perfect little face with such a calming effect. Who would have ever guessed that she could have fallen in love so deeply. But she had, and she would literally give her life for that little boy.

“I hope you like blueberry, because I’ve bagged up one to take with you. You look like you’re in a blueberry kind of mood,” the server said, handing over a bag. “On the house.”

“Thank you,” she said, as she repositioned herself in the seat. “So, tell me—what, exactly, identifies a blueberry mood?”

“Someone who’s worrying or being contemplative. You’ve been in here quite a while and it’s obvious something’s on your mind. Something heavy, judging from all the frowning.”

Was she so transparent that the young man with the scones could identify her mood? He was right—it was definitely blueberry. “Maybe if I come back, I’ll be in a strawberry mood. Would that be better?”