The Matchmaker's Plan

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“Do not say it’s impossible,” she cut him off quickly, forcefully. “You know exactly how, and when, it happened.”

“But—”

“Yes,” she interrupted again. “I’m sure. Yes, I’m positive you’re the father. And yes, I’m going to have the baby.”

He clasped his hands together, pressed them hard against the desk to hide their trembling. A thousand denials jockeyed for position in his thoughts. This couldn’t be true, couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not with her. She sat facing him, looking calm if not serene, steady if not comfortable, the proof of her statements written in the shadows beneath her eyes, the terrible tension in her stillness. The weight of a dark acceptance settled into his shoulders, forced his head down until his forehead rested on his clenched fists. One night. One careless, stupid night out of a lifetime of careful, considerate choices. One foolish bet with fate in thirty-four years of dutiful caution. One night of flirting with an attraction he’d known should not be acknowledged much less encouraged. He was responsible and yet he blamed Peyton, wanted to stamp her with fault, label her a seductress and sidestep the consequences. To hell with the truth.

One night…and he was caught like the rat he’d always somehow suspected he was.

“I know this is a shock,” she said…and there might even have been the taint of compassion in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

He raised his head, gave her a stony stare. “Sorry for the shock? Or sorry we were so stupid?”

“Does it matter?”

No, but he needed something to justify his rising anger. “How long have you known?”

“Six weeks. I’ve been certain for four.”

“And you’re just now telling me?”

She didn’t even blink. “I had to make some decisions.”

“Decisions I could have no part in making, even though they’ll affect my life as much as yours?”

Her lips parted. He could all but see the excuses ready to spill out of her. But then she stopped, toyed with the fringe of her scarf. “Look, maybe I should go, give you some time to come to grips with this. We can talk later. After the holiday, maybe.”

“We’ll talk now.” The anger washed through him in a self-righteous, contemptuous wave. He hated this, hated her, hated himself for being in a situation he was too old and too responsible to be in. And yet, here he was, as good an example of poor judgment and bad behavior as any hormonal teenager. But so much worse…because he knew better and had not a single excuse. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve decided, Peyton.”

“You won’t like it.”

“I think that’s pretty much a given.”

She shifted slightly in the chair, tugged the fringe of her scarf through her fingers until her knuckles showed white with the strain. But when she met his gaze, when she spoke, there wasn’t even a hint of uncertainty. “We can do this one of two ways, Matt. We can agree that this conversation never took place. I’ll walk out that door, move away and out of your life. This child will be mine. You’ll bear no responsibility and have no claim. Not now, or at any time in the future. I’ll say I wanted a baby and went to a fertility clinic and that I have no idea who the father is.” Her eyes blazed with the conviction that was rock solid in her voice, scaring him a little with her intensity. “I’ll go to my grave with the secret, Matt, but you must agree to do the same.”