Page 29 of Soaring and Saucy

“I’m sorry,” he began and saw her flinch. “I’m sorry that you are sick,” he quickly amended, “I’m not sorry in the slightest that we are having a child together. A little shocked, but not sorry in the slightest.”

That seemed to placate her as she nodded simply, before helping herself to the bottle of soda and then smiling weakly.

“Are you hungry or something?”

“That’s for you.”

“Sour Cream and Onion?”

“Is there any other flavor worth having?” he taunted, looking at her as eyes met his before looking away. It was too late. He saw the glimmer of humor, camaraderie, and affection lingering in those depths giving him a bit of hope that maybe things weren’t too far gone. “Can I assume that since you are here, I can grab a ride with you?”

“I figured you intended on staying at my place.”

“I’d like that, but I don’t want to push my luck.”

“The couch is comfy,” she quipped and gave him a sideways look as she washed her hands and face once more, drying them… and waiting. Lance couldn’t help himself – he smiled.

“I bet that couch feels just like my rack on a ship.”

“Probably.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

“You don’t mind? You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be? I get to spend the weekend with you, talking about all the things we should have and shopping for our child. Maybe you can tell me what the appointments have been like and what I’ve missed so far.”

“You don’t have to do any of this,” she said bluntly to him before reaching for the door handle. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Stephanie?” he began quietly, picking up his backpack and looking her in the eyes. “I’ll admit that this wasn’t quite what I planned, and I’m nervous that I’m going to do something wrong… but I’m here.” He wasn’t sure what else he should say at that moment.

I’m here because it feels like the right thing to do. I’m here because I’m the biggest loser if I bail on you. I’m here because I really do care, even if I know I’m not in love with you. That’s my kid, and I don’t want him showing up later on, completely pissed off that he’s got a deadbeat dad! – All of those thoughts were swirling in his head, including the biggest one: I’m here because I’m scared too, and I don’t want you to do this alone without me.

She held his gaze silently, not saying a word and nodded.

It was a very quiet walk to the car – and the ride to her apartment was even more so.

Walking into Stephanie’s apartment was strangely comforting. There were little things around the place that just seemed like her in a very weird way. He barely knew her, was trying to make things better, and she was a stranger… but a stranger that ‘fit.’

There was an order to her home that reminded him of how picky he was when it came to the storage space in his rack. Everything had a place, a purpose, and if it didn’t – then it was junk. He didn’t want to bother with keeping up with the little things that didn’t matter, but she did – in a very decluttered way. No coasters, no vases, or figurines on display. There was a rack of tiny printing press stamps that looked to be antique, but it was held within a wooden frame – and it said ‘Wood’ in the center.

Cute, he smirked. It would say Cavanaugh before he left.

“Just put your bag down anywhere,” she said simply, waving her hand as she disappeared into the kitchen. “Do you want something to eat? I hope you aren’t expecting a pot roast dinner or something. I mean, you showed up here with zero notice and…”

“Stephanie, I just want to hang out this weekend and do a lot of talking. I’m not expecting diddly-squat, except that.”

“Oh,” she uttered and then played it off. “Good. I’m glad we are on the same page.”

It took everything in him to keep from laughing. His sweet girl had zero ‘game’ to her face, and her expression was telling. She was trying to be tough, talk a good game, and act a little saucy with him, but the player was about to meet the master.

“Yup. Same page, same book, same everything,” he said glibly. “And because we’re so much alike, why don’t you relax? I’ll just make myself right at home and whip up a little something for the ol’ wifey…”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this. Go brush your teeth, do your girly things, and let your man handle a late supper,” he urged, fighting back a gloating smile. If he was going to snoop and get the dirt on her, she couldn’t be hovering underfoot.

“About that wife thing?” she began, and he interrupted – deliberately.

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