Page 25 of His Gift
Shawn sighed and leaned dejectedly against the side of his car. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, rubbing his face with both hands. “He didn’t tell me he was pregnant. I guess it happened during his last heat, but I thought he always hired Bangers & Mash for his heats. They don’t make mistakes like this.”
“Part of me wants to say ‘mistakes happen’,” I said, leaning against the car beside him and crossing my arms, “but what I really want to say is that babies are not a mistake, dumbass.”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” Shawn said, sounding even more depressed. “I meant that Walt doesn’t make mistakes. He’s always been rigidly careful about everything, because he knows that if he slips up just a little….”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
“You don’t know that he made a mistake,” I pointed out. “I mean, he kind of made it sound like it was a surprise heat and an accident, but maybe he actually wanted a baby. Maybe he’s felt so alone that something in him wanted someone to love and who will love him, so he let the surprise heat do what heats usually do. And yeah, I know that’s not the best way to deal with your emotional baggage, but it happens.”
“Maybe,” Shawn said, looking sideways at me. “I know my brother, though, and I don’t think getting pregnant was on his bingo card.”
“Okay, maybe he just wanted to have a freaky heat instead of a routine Bangers & Mash heat and things got out of hand. Because that never happens,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could manage, giving him a look. What we’d just done the night before fell into the category of not really planned either.
“You’re right, you’re right,” Shawn said, pushing away from the car. “I can drive you home now, if you’d like.”
I really didn’t want to walk away from Shawn right then. I didn’t really want to walk away from him ever, but in the back of my mind, I already knew it would never work between us. He was a super-rich philanthropist and I was a dirt-poor retail worker who had actually considered selling himself to the mob, things had gotten so bad.
Even so, I blurted out, “Wanna get lunch first? We’re actually close to my stomping ground, and there’s a great little diner around the corner that does brunch all day.”
“A diner?” Shawn asked, sounding both intrigued and wary.
“Yeah. Come on. I’ll give you directions how to get there.”
We got in the car, and Shawn silently drove around the corner to Mallomar Diner, my favorite place to eat when I felt sorry for myself.
“Hey, Enzo. Who’s your cute friend?” Evelyn, the alpha who owned the diner along with her wife greeted us as we walked in.
“This is Shawn,” I said with a big smile. “And if it’s not too much to ask, can we have the booth in the corner?”
“Sure, hun. Anything for Enzo,” she said to Shawn as she grabbed a couple laminated menus and walked us to the far corner of the diner.
“I’ve never eaten at a diner before,” Shawn said, looking around as we walked.
Evelyn stopped and turned back to stare at Shawn like he had two heads. “Where did you find him?” she asked me.
“At a kink club,” I answered without hesitation.
Evelyn burst into laughter and walked on. Shawn went beet red.
“Here you go,” Evelyn continued to laugh as we reached the booth. “One corner booth for you and your kink daddy. I’ll get you two some coffee to start out with.”
She kept laughing as she walked away.
“Don’t worry,” I said, glancing at the menu, even though I already knew what I wanted. “She doesn’t actually think we met at a kink club. It’s kind of a running joke we have.”
“Um, but we sort of did meet at a kink club thing,” Shawn muttered, barely audible and still bright red as he picked up his menu.
“Which is why it’s even funnier,” I said with a beaming smile.
Evelyn came back with coffee, and the two of us ordered. The diner was busy, but the staff still had our food out to us in a matter of minutes. Shawn seemed impressed by that as we dove into our pancakes. I didn’t realize how hungry all the gymnastics of the night before had made me until I was shoveling carby goodness into my mouth like food was about to be banned.
“I have some ideas about this Christmas Eve supper of yours,” I said once I was full of pancakes, eggs, and bacon. The only thing that could have made me more content was if I was filled with sausage as well, specifically Shawn’s sausage.
Shawn had eaten slower than me, but his pancakes were nearly gone, too. He glanced across the table at me as he finished chewing, eyebrows raised, grabbed his coffee to wash his last bite down, then asked, “What sort of ideas?”
“Things that us dirt-poor people actually find useful to get us through not only the Christmas holidays but the entire year,” I said.
Shawn looked even more surprised. He had to take another drink of coffee before saying, “You’re poor?”
