Page 90 of Geordie

We sit at the kitchen table while he tells me about his day between stuffing his face. It’s not until he's groaning with the effort to eat one more bite that he finishes his meal. I come around to reach for his plate. “I think you've had enough,” touched that he likes the one thing I'm good at.

“That was pure dead brilliant cooking.” Catching my wrist, he tugs a little until I'm sitting on his lap.

“Geordie,” I say, laughing.

“You flit around like a wee butterfly lass, or you're preoccupied with your tasks. I want to tell you something.” His teasing is just below the serious surface. “I've been happy, not just because of the child, but because you're here. I didn't realize I was lonely until you came to stay with me.”

I place a hand on his face, patting the neat beard. “I feel the same way. I've been less lonely staying here with you bellowing around the place.”

“I don't bellow. I'm a large personality,” taking my hand from his face. “If we're happy, why don't you, me, and the child–”

My stomach flutters, fearing where this is going. My pregnancy has me too emotional to deal with his declarations. “I have a surprise for you,” slipping off his lap before it becomes more serious. I see the disappointment on his face, but I'm still holding onto his hand. “We can talk later, but now I have something for you.”

His eyes go wide in mock surprise, like a five-year-old glancing around the room. “Where is it? A man shouldn't be made to wait for more happiness to come.”

I grab the picnic basket I packed. “I've made Scottish Tablet and we're having it on the roof.”

His lips quirk up on the side. “That's a braw idea, but I think it's too cold a walk to the alcove. Why not stay here cozy in the warmth of the apartment? I'll massage your back and we can continue our conversation.”

I push the basket at his stomach. “Nice try. I'll wear an extra sweater. We're going on the roof and you're going to have fun.”

He chuckles, taking the basket from me.

Geordie has me swaddled in thick Highland wool. I'm waddling like a prize turkey and having difficulty seeing beyond the scarf wound around my head, covering my nose, and the wool cap squished onto my head. It's forced me to hang onto his arm to make sure I don't fall and roll.

Stepping off the elevator onto the path through the garden, he's speaking, but I can't hear him. I nod and it appears to satisfy him. It's a moonless night, but the fog or pollution of the city prevents us from stargazing tonight. I know it's brisk out here, but I can't feel the cold. He stops at the alcove we favor, but I pull him toward the lights of the community room. “Where are you going?” I hear from my wool prison.

“Over here,” I say, pulling a reluctant 6'4" man with me. We stumble through the door as sixteen pairs of eyes watch me as I unwind my scarf. I signal at the three-piece band and they playDrops of Brandy. “Surprise!” I yell as men in kilts and women in long tartan skirts form a group to dance the Gay Gordon.

Geordie's lips part slightly, watching the dancers promenade. I tug on his sleeve. “Layla suggested I learn Scottish country dancing as part of my duties to help you host the winemaker's dinner. This is the group I joined. I invited them here for a party. The night of the winemaker's dinner you didn't get to dance. We can watch the dancing or join in.” He still doesn't respond. “Layla said you were an accomplished dancer.”

“Why did you do this?” he says, with no happiness for the surprise.

“I wanted to thank you.”

He turns, heading for the door. I follow. “Geordie,” I yell, jogging to catch up with him. “Geordie, stop. What's wrong?”

He whirls on me. “Why do you do this, Lily? You do these incredibly thoughtful gestures; it gives me false hope that you care for me. I want none of it. Enjoy your dancing.”

I'm unsettled by the hurt in his eyes. “I care about you.” The admission is a small whisper.

“As a sperm donor, as a caregiver, not as a man.”

I throw out my hand toward the music. “How can you say that? I planned this for you. You make it sound like I'm using you.”

“Aren't you? You know how I feel about you. Although you never let me fully express my feelings. You promised to talk, but you never do.” He moves irritated fingers through the bristle of his short hair. “You don't have to do this. I'll not abandon you and the child.”

My heart pounds at the thought of him gone. I swirl a hand over my belly as if to assure my child that daddy isn’t leaving us. “I know you wouldn't abandon us; I never thought that.”

He takes a step away from me as if he's done, then turns, striding away. The music and laugher punctuate the night air, reminding me there's a party without a guest of honor.

“You're a wonderful man, Geordie, how could I not care about you?” I call after him. “I'm fucking scared, alright? Is that what you want to know?”

Geordie stops but doesn't turn around. I close the gap, standing as close as I dare. I want him to hold me, never leave me, but I can't tell him that. “Stephen is a wonderful man too, but he hurt me badly.”

“I'm not Stephen,” he grinds out. “I'm not that prick billionaire.”

“I know. That's why you're standing here instead of him. You need to understand that when we met, I'd just broken up with Stephen. I thought with time, he and I would work it out and get back together. It's an old pattern of ours.” My hand slips into his reluctant palm and he turns a cautious face toward me. “I truly wanted to help you through your injury. It wasn't just to make up for how I acted when you were delivering our wine shipment.”

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