“Determination is the most important tool in the quest for satisfaction.” Yasmin tried to smile, but her lips only trembled a moment before going limp once more. She cleared her throat, willing her flagging confidence back to life. Determination couldn’t go it alone. She had to get Confidence in the ring to help out. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Feeney, Noah and I clearly have some things to talk about.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Feeney said, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “I’ll catch up with you later, dear. After I’ve had a chance to check out those reptiles you’re so concerned about.”
As Mrs. Feeney bustled away—no doubt in a hurry to tell the rest of the Sunshine Society all about the sperm donor drama happening on the other side of the restaurant—Noah’s brows drifted higher on his forehead. “Reptiles?”
“Don’t ask.” Yasmin sighed, lifting a hand to rub at her temple.
“I would like to ask,” Noah said. “It sounds like between the reptiles and poultry you’re living a pretty exciting life. But it seems we have some other things to discuss first.”
Yasmin pressed her lips together, fighting an unexpected wave of emotion. “Yeah. I guess we do. What are the chances, huh?”
“Well, how many people are there in Lonesome Point?” he asked, shoving his big, sexy hands into the pockets of his gray pants. He was dressed like a city slicker today, in tailored pants and a black button up that emphasized the lean, muscled lines of his to-die-for body. “I’m pretty good at running probability equations in my head. I could get us a decent estimate.”
Her breath rushed out in a nervous laugh. “Right. Because you’re a genius. I know this about you. God, this is…awkward.”
“It is.” He stepped closer, adding beneath his breath, “And I don’t think it’s going to get much better. I’m pretty sure by the time we get back to our table, everyone in this diner is going to know what we’re here to talk about.”
Yasmin winced as she nodded. “Of course they will. Mrs. Feeney isn’t known for her subtlety and her voice carries.” She sighed. “I’m sure most of the people here in front already heard her opinions on sperm donors.”
“I’m sure,” he agreed. “Here’s what I think we should do. Table the meeting for now. We’ve already got a date tonight. Might as well talk things over then, when we’ll have a chance to be alone.”
Yasmin blinked up at him. “Really? You-you still want to have dinner tonight?”
“I do. I’ll bring a picnic, and we can stake out a spot far from the madding crowd. Barbecue sandwiches and beer okay? Or would you prefer something different?”
“Barbecue and beer are great,” she said, forehead tightening. “But Noah, really, we don’t have to have dinner. I understand if you—”
“We’re having dinner,” he said, shutting her down with a firmness that sent prickles across her skin. And then he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it lightly in his, and the prickles became tingles of awareness. “See you at six. Outside the thrift shop. I’ll be the guy with the picnic basket and blanket.”
“Okay,” Yasmin said, not trusting herself to say anything else, not when her blood was starting to rush and the urge to step closer to Noah’s warm, strong body was pulsing through her veins. She was definitely attracted to this man, no doubt about it, which probably meant she should run after him, cancel their date, and head back to the sperm bank to start combing through the list of potential donors all over again.
Instead, she watched Noah O’Sullivan stride down the sidewalk outside the windows, walking like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it, and wondered what the heck was going to happen tonight.
Was he going to let her down easy? Or were they going to end up on that blanket he said he was bringing, making out under the stars?
Both options were upsetting for different reasons, but one thing was for certain—her simple plan had just gotten even more complicated.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Noah
Noah spent halfthe day telling himself that the fact that Yasmin was the woman who wanted to have his baby didn’t change his decision in any way. The logic was still the same, as were the consequences of contributing genetic material to a child who wouldn’t be a part of his life.
He spent the other half of the day trying not to be turned on by the thought of getting Yasmin in the family way in a more…traditional manner. Of her clever mouth moving beneath his and her hands on his skin and her strong, curvy legs wrapped around his waist while he showed her how much more fun it was to try to conceive with the real thing instead of a turkey baster.
It was probably sick and definitely twisted, but his cock didn’t care. It was up for the challenge of getting Yasmin knocked up. So up for it that he was forced to have a moment with himself in the shower before he drove down the hill to the BBQ hut. He stroked himself to completion hoping it would help him regain his focus, but when he left the house an hour later, he was as confused—and turned on by the thought of seeing Yasmin—as he’d been all day.
So while he was waiting for his order at the BBQ place, he called his mother, figuring there was no better way to kill a hard-on than a lecture from Paula O’Sullivan about the dangers of making impulsive decisions.
His mother answered on the first ring and as usual quickly cut right to the heart of the matter. “So you asked this girl out after knowing her for only a few minutes. She must be a knockout.”
Noah lifted his eyes skyward. “She is, Mom. But that’s not the reason I asked her out. There was just this…connection. At least for me. It was wild; I felt like I had to run after her before she got away. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
Paula murmured thoughtfully. “Well, you know the story your dad used to tell about how we met. I thought we were friends for years before we decided to date, but he swore he knew the minute he laid eyes on me that I was the girl he was going to marry. He used to say it just hit him. Like a pie to the face.”
“Sweet and messy,” Noah said, finishing the story with a sad smile.
He missed his dad every day, but he hadn’t longed for his father’s advice this much since the days when he was fighting his battle with cancer and wondering how Hank had managed to stay so centered during his own fight. Hank had handled every stage of his illness with strength and grace—even saying goodbye. His father had been a warm, loving, compassionate, love and faith-driven man. He had also been a mathematician who trafficked in logic and formulas.