Moira gazed down at what she was wearing: an oversized knitted sweater, blue cropped skinny jeans that would have been three sizes too big if it weren't for her baby bump, two-toned boots and a Joy Division-printed tote in which she put her phone, wallet and other items, in case she'd have to make a quick getaway (just kidding).

She wasn't nervous -per se- nor was she 100% comfortable with the idea of spending an intimate evening with someone she'd only interacted with thrice. But her feelings were neutral, and only because this was dinner with an acquainted and not a date-date.

Taking a deep breath, she rang Harraël's doorbell.

It took longer than needed for him to open the door. And as the seconds ticked by, Moira began fearing the worst. He wouldn't stand her up, would he?

Just then, the door swung open. Revealing not Harraël, but the rockstar-guy she'd seen in the exact same spot weeks prior. She raised an eyebrow as she eyed him.

"Hi Moira," he greeted her, passing by and leaving. "bye Moira."

Harraël appeared from behind him, shooting her a toothy grin and gestured for her to step inside.

"Welcome to my humble abode, m'lady."

She simply nodded and followed him inside his home. She'd been here before, six years ago when going house hunting, but she didn't tell Harraël that.

"How did you come to live here?" She asked. "It's been empty for as long as I can remember."

"Interesting story," he laughed. "My doctor knew I was looking for a new place and told me there was a penthouse for sale near my old flat. I went to check it out, loved it, and now here I am."

"Ahh okay." She nodded, wondering in what kind of non-platonic relationship he was with his doctor to be talking about such things. But then again, she'd been discussing de latest fashion with her own doctor just last week. Thank god Dr. Patel was specialized in everything baby: a doctor, an obstetrician, a gynaecologist and a midwife. She hadn't ever know it was possible, but it saved her a lot of time and energy. To share all the happy news, information and fun facts with someone she trusted and had known for quite a while, was a true blessing.

They made their way towards the sliding doors that lead to his roof terrace. Her brain hadn't processed that they were going outside -where it was raining- until a cold and wet gust of wind hit her in the face.

"Why are we going out there?" She stiffened, remembering she hadn't brought a coat along.

"I have a rooftop veranda with shelter and heat lamps."

"Of course you have." She quietly muttered to herself, not knowing that Harraël had heard her. He grinned in amusement.

They neared the veranda and Moira gasped at what she saw. The view of NYC in the evening was beautiful, though not something she wasn't used to by now. The veranda however, looked unbelievably stunning, and even a little romantic. There were lit candles everywhere, a nice white table cloth, orange peonies that complimented the soup -that had already been served- nicely. The steam was still coming off the hot bowls of soup, he must have planned this perfectly, Moira thought to herself.

Without further notice from Harraël, she sat down in one of the chairs. She would've waited for him to tell her to sit, like a properly raised person, but her feet were killing her and she couldn't be bothered with manners at that point.

Luckily, he didn't seem to mind as he took the seat opposite of her, "As a starter we've got pumpkin soup, my mother's recipe."

Their bowls were empty within no time. It was an amazingly creamy soup and seemed to just melt on your tongue. Soon after, the main course followed.

He'd prepared Penne with Radicchio, Spinach, and Bacon. It was absolutely, mouth-wateringly delicious and he'd even kept in mind that she couldn't eat certain ingredients. Her first bite was heavenly, she could barely stop herself from moaning in delight and made a mental note to ask him for the recipe later. She finished in a matter of minutes and instantly regretted not eating at a slower rate.

Moira felt impressed as well as guilty, because when she'd practically forced him to cook for her, she hadn't expected him to be such a great chef. She'd refused going out, mainly to prevent feeling like a zombie whale compared to him. And boy, had it been a good choice.

She was genuinely enjoying herself, talking and exchanging interests, asking each other questions. Surprisingly, they seemed to have a lot in common. They both liked the same music, the same food, the same movies, the mutual interests were endless, and as it turned out: they both loved kids.

No surprise on her part, though.

They were taking turns asking questions. Something only inexperienced teenagers would do, perhaps? But truthfully, it was one of the best way to get to know one another.

"Where were you born?"

"London, England," Harraël said, munching on a piece of bacon. "I lived there until my eighth and then moved to Los Angeles because my parents got a divorce. Hence the slight English accent."

Moira felt stupid for not even noticing the English accent until then. You couldn't blame her though, since she lived in New York, where there were equally as much foreigners as there were Americans. She didn't even notice the different accents and kinds of people anymore.

"Do you know the gender yet?" Harraël asked, out of the blue.

She had been successfully avoiding the whole 'baby subject', not that we was ashamed or not happy about the creature growing inside of her. But simply because Moira didn't want her pregnancy to define who she was. She didn't want Harraël to know her as 'the grumpy pregnant neighbour'. She was aware of his ever-growing curiosity towards her, after all the questions he'd previously asked.

"No, I want it to be a surprise."

"I'm pretty sure it's a boy."

She rolled her eyes and grinned playfully, "whatever helps you sleep at night."

They consumed their desert -carrot cake with frosting- without talking.

Eventually, Harraël was the first to break the silence.

"Where's the father?"

She froze instantly, her eyes widening, her heart stopped beating as her insides began churning. She felt sick. "Can we not talk about that?"

"But isn't it better to raise a baby with a father-figure in their life?" He ignored he plead.

She let the fork she was eating her carrot cake with clatter to the plate and locked eyes with him.

"I said drop it, Harry!"

Her gaze turned a dark, furious colour as she glared at him. Not even aware she'd been using a newfound nickname.

Harraël however, did notice, and he couldn't help but stare at her in awe.

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