Chapter 11 #3
"Free booth space. Already arranged. You're welcome."
I blink. "Why?"
"Because you're a local success story. Single mom. Small business owner. The people love you."
"The people barely know me."
"They will. After this." He taps the poster board. "Family Weekend is prime visibility. Tourists. Locals. Media coverage if we're lucky. It's a goldmine."
"For you maybe."
"For everyone." He looks at Gunther. "You're in too. Obviously."
Gunther's eyes widen. "Me?"
"Yes you. Proud papa. Financial genius. Pillar of the community. We'll set up a joint booth. Sparkle Beauty and Fishborn Financial. Show the town what modern family values look like."
"Colum—" I start.
"Think of the optics. Single mom and civilized orc co-parent. Successfully navigating parenthood with grace and maturity. It's inspirational."
"It's exploitative," I snap.
"It's strategic." He softens. Slightly. "Look. People are going to talk. You know they are. This way you control the narrative. You show up. Together. Happy. Functional. And suddenly the gossip has nowhere to go."
"Or it gets worse."
"Not if you own it first."
Gunther shifts. Orry still sleeping. "What exactly would we have to do?"
"Show up. Smile. Let people meet Orry. Answer a few questions. Maybe do a mini-demo. Cecie does a makeover. You crunch some numbers. Adorable baby watches from a playpen. It's gold."
"It's a circus," I mutter.
"It's a community event. And you're part of the community."
"We just figured out co-parenting yesterday. You want us to debut as a family in front of the entire town?"
"Yes."
"That's insane."
"That's confidence." Colum leans against the counter. Expression shifting. "I get it. You're scared. New territory. High stakes. But Cecie. Gunther. You're doing this anyway. Might as well do it on your terms."
Silence.
I look at Gunther. He looks at me.
Orry snuffles. Shifts. Sleeps on.
"We'd have to coordinate," I say slowly. "Make sure we're on the same page. No mixed messages."
"I can do that," Gunther says.
"And boundaries. Clear boundaries. We're co-parents. Not. Not a couple. Not yet."
"Agreed."
"We don't owe anyone details."
"Absolutely not."
"And if it gets weird. If people push too hard. We leave."
"Deal."
Colum claps. "Wonderful. I'll put you down. Prime corner spot. Lots of foot traffic. Bring your A-game."
"Colum—"
"Trust me. This is good for you." He heads for the door. Pauses. "Also. For what it's worth. I think you two are going to be great. You're already halfway there."
He leaves.
The door clicks shut.
I peer at the poster board. Poplar Springs Family Weekend in cheerful block letters. Cartoon families holding balloons.
"He just voluntold us," I say.
"Yep."
"We don't have to do it."
"We don't."
"But he's right. People will talk."
"They will."
"And this way we control it."
"Seems like."
I turn. Look at Gunther. At Orry asleep in his arms. At this fragile new thing we're building.
"Are you okay with this?" I ask.
"Are you?"
"I asked first."
"Cecie."
"Gunther."
He exhales. "I'm terrified. But. But I think he's right. We're doing this anyway. Might as well rip the band-aid off."
"Okay," I say. "We'll do it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I grab my coffee. Cold now. "But if anyone asks invasive questions about our sex life I'm blaming you."
"Why me?"
"Because you're the one who wore fake tattoos."
"That's not—"
"Own it, Ridgeway."
He laughs. Actual laugh. The sound fills my tiny apartment. Orry stirs. Blinks awake. Sees us both and grins. Dimple on full display. My family.The thought slips in before I can stop it. Dangerous. Premature. Absolutely terrifying.
The door clicks shut behind Colum. The apartment feels too small suddenly. The air charged. Gunther's still holding Orry, who's now awake and blinking up at us with that sleepy, confused expression babies get when they wake up too fast.
I need to move. To do something with this energy crackling under my skin.
"Want some coffee?" I ask, already standing. Already heading for the kitchen. "I made a fresh pot before you got here."
"Sure," Gunther says. "Thanks."
I pour two mugs. Black for him. Oat milk for me. My hands shake just enough to make the liquid slosh. I grip the counter. Breathe.
This is fine. Everything's fine. We're adults. We can handle this.
Orry makes a grabby motion toward Gunther's glasses. Gunther laughs, that soft sound he reserves just for our son, and shifts Orry to his other hip.
"Careful, buddy," he murmurs. "These are my work eyes."
Orry gurgles. Drops the glasses. They dangle from one ear, crooked. Gunther doesn't even notice. Too busy making faces at Orry. Too busy being good with him. Natural. Like he's done this a thousand times instead of a handful.
I hand Gunther his coffee. Our fingers brush. A spark. A memory.
His hands on me that first night. Rough and sure and nothing like the careful way he holds Orry now.
I pull away. Too fast. Coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug. Burns my fingers.
"Shit."
"Here." Gunther sets Orry in his playpen. Grabs a dish towel. Hands it to me. "You okay?"
"Fine." I wipe my hand. "Just clumsy."
"Happens to the best of us."
Not to him. Not to Gunther with his spreadsheets and his pocket protectors and his color-coded life. He doesn't spill things. Doesn't trip. Doesn't lose control.
Except that one night. When he was Ridge and I was Sis and we were both someone else.
I toss the towel aside. Grab my coffee. Take a sip. Too hot. Scalds my tongue.
Gunther watches me. Concerned. Confused. Like he's trying to solve an equation with half the numbers missing.
"You're upset," he says.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I'm processing."
"About Family Weekend?"
"About everything."
He nods. Slow. Careful. "We don't have to do it. The event. If you don't want to."
"I know."
"But?"
"But nothing." I set my mug down. Too hard. Coffee sloshes again. "It's a good idea. Strategically. Like Colum said. We control the narrative. We show up. We're fine. We're great. And suddenly everyone's too busy being impressed to gossip."
"Okay."
"But."
"But?"
I exhale. Sharp. "But it's also. It's also terrifying. Because what if we're not fine? What if we're. What if we're a disaster? What if we show up and it's obvious we don't know what we're doing and everyone sees?"
He steps closer. Not touching. But close enough I can feel the heat of him. "We're not a disaster."
"We barely know each other."
"We know enough."
"Gunther—"
"We know Orry." His voice drops. Quiet. Certain. "And that's the important part."
I stare at him. This man who walked into my life wearing a bad disguise and walked back in wearing honesty and a spreadsheet and a heart too big for his chest.
"You're really okay with this," I say.
"I'm really okay with this."
"Even the public part? The. The town knowing? The questions? The—"
"The judgment?" He smiles. Tiny. Sad. "I'm used to it."
"Because you're an orc?"
"Because I'm different. Because people always have opinions about things they don't understand."
I think about that. About the way people look at him sometimes. The way they look at me. Single mom. Small business owner. Woman who had a baby with a man she barely knew.
We're a walking scandal. A living, breathing invitation to speculation.
And yet.
And yet.
Gunther's still here. Still standing in my kitchen with his crooked glasses and his careful hands and his heart on his sleeve.
Orry babbles. Happy. Unaware. Playing with a set of stacking rings.
Gunther watches him. Something soft in his expression. Something real.
"I want this," he says quietly. "I want to be his dad. I want to. To be with you. To figure this out. Together."
The words land in my body. Heavy. True.
"I want that too," I whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He smiles. Slow. Growing. Like sunrise.
Orry chooses that moment to throw his stacking rings across the room. They clatter against the wall. He grins. Proud of his destruction.
Gunther laughs. Actual laugh. The sound fills my tiny apartment. Fills me.
"Guess we should clean that up," I say.
"Guess so."
We do. Side by side. Not touching. But close. So close.
Later, after Orry's asleep, after the dishes are done and the coffee's gone cold and the apartment's quiet except for the hum of the fridge, Gunther and I are in the hallway outside Orry's room.
The air between us is charged. Electric. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
I should say goodnight. I should step back. I should do the smart thing, the careful thing, the safe thing.
Instead I step forward.
Close the distance between us.
Press my body against his.
His breath catches. His hands come up. Hesitant. Like he thinks I'll disappear if he touches me.
I won't.
I'm right here.
I tilt my face up. Look at him. Really look. At the man who walked into my life wearing a bad disguise and walked back in wearing honesty and a spreadsheet and a heart too big for his chest.
"Cecie," he whispers.
"Shut up," I say.
And then I kiss him.
His lips are soft. Warm. Familiar and not. He tastes like coffee and Gunther and the ghost of Ridge and everything in between.
He kisses me back. Careful at first. Like he's memorizing the shape of me. The feel. The taste.
I deepen the kiss. Open my mouth against his. Let him in.
His hands come up. Slide into my hair. Tilt my head just so. His glasses are in the way. I reach up. Take them off. Set them carefully on the hallway table.
He blinks at me. Unfocused without his glasses. Vulnerable.
Mine.
The thought slips in before I can stop it. Dangerous. Premature. Absolutely terrifying.
I kiss him again.
His hands slide down my back. Pull me closer. His body is hard against mine. All muscle and heat and man.
I press against him. Feel him respond. Feel him harden.
He groans into my mouth. A sound that goes straight to my core.
I pull back. Just enough to look at him. To see his face flushed and his eyes dark and his lips wet from my mouth.
"Bedroom," I say.
He nods. Doesn't speak. Can't. Too busy looking at me like I'm the answer to a question he's been asking for a long time.
I take his hand. Lead him down the hall. To my room. My bed.
The door clicks shut behind us.
The air is thick. Heavy. Like we're underwater.
I turn to face him.
He looks at me. Really looks. Like he's putting me to memory. Like he's afraid I'll disappear if he blinks.
I won't.
I'm right here.
I grab for the hem of his shirt. Pull it over his head. Toss it aside.
His chest is broad. Muscled. A light dusting of hair. A faint green tint to his skin that I remember from that first night. From Ridge.
I touch him. Slide my hands over his chest. His stomach. His hips.
He shudders under my touch. A sound catches in his throat.
I look up at him. Meet his eyes.
"Your turn," he says. Voice rough.
I nod. Lift my arms.
He pulls my shirt off. Slow. Careful. Like he's unwrapping something precious.
His hands come up. Slide over my skin. My shoulders. My arms. My waist.
I shiver under his touch. A sound catches in my throat.
He steps out of them. Kicks them aside. Stands before me in just his boxers. His body is hard and muscled and male.
I clamor for the waistband of his boxers. Push them down.
His cock springs free. Hard and thick and ready.
I look at him. Meet his eyes.
We stare at each other. The air between us is charged. Electric. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
I pull him to me. Wrap my hand around his cock. Feel him pulse under my touch.
He groans. A sound that slices right to my core.
I stroke him. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder.
His hips jerk. His breath comes faster. His hands fist in my hair.
"Cecie," he says. Voice rough. "Cecie, I—"
I know what he needs. What he's asking for.
I let go of his cock. Step back. Lie back on the bed.
Spread my legs.
He moves between my legs. Kisses me. Slow at first. Then deeper. Harder.
I moan, garnering a reaction from his core.
He kisses me until I'm shaking. Until I'm begging. Until I'm his.
Then he moves up my body. Kisses my stomach. My breasts. My neck.
I lift my legs around him. Pull him closer. Feel him hard and ready against me.
He moves. Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. I meet him thrust for thrust. Move with him. With him. The bed creaks. The room fills with the sound of us. Our breaths. Our moans. Our skin. He moves faster. Harder. Deeper.
I come. The growls lifting out of my very soul, my body shaking with violent shudders.
We collapse. Breathing hard. Sweaty. Sated. He rolls to the side. Pulls me against him. Wraps his arms around me. I let him. Let myself be held. Let myself be his. We lie like that. Breathing. Being.
The air between us is calm. Quiet. Like the moment after a storm breaks.
The morning light finds us tangled in each other. In the quiet of my bedroom, with Orry still asleep down the hall and the world still turning outside, we lie together in the aftermath of something that feels like a beginning.