by Quinn, Taryn
Throat’s too tight to drink, thanks.
You’ll let me know if you need something?
What I need is Murphy. I’m scared shitless that everything I’ve ever wanted lives inside the man sitting across from me, and I don’t know how I got so lucky. And if he ever regrets getting on this train with me, I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover.
You know, typical light morning after fare. Except not even close.
Ivy finally left and I stared at my plate of food without the first clue how to pick up my fork and eat. My stomach was growling, but it didn’t seem to matter.
I was so churned up by what Murphy had said, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to chew.
“Veronica.”
Wordlessly, I looked up at him.
“If you don’t want to go forward, we can stop right here. We’re still friends. We’ll always be friends.”
Oh, God, my throat was so thick, I could barely swallow.
“I don’t want you to cry. Dammit, that’s the last thing I would ever want.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine, never mind. If you don’t want the rest, for you, I’ll do it. We can try to make a—”
I reared up and leaned across the table, fisting a handful of his T-shirt to pull him closer. His eyes widened about ten seconds before my boobs dragged through the eggs he’d soaked in ketchup and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I so didn’t give a shit. I hauled him closer and kissed him hard enough to probably break his nose to go along with the foot his sweet Sage had injured at the prom.
Difference was? I didn’t stop kissing him, even as my left nipple grew hard from the coldness of the ketchup and the warm, firm lips responding to mine.
Sweet, shy Murphy was kissing me back, right in the middle of the diner. Reaching up to fist his hands in my hair as his tongue swept over mine and drove me absolutely batshit crazy.
We broke apart, breathing hard, laughing a little, and our gazes dropped to the explosion of red across my chest.
Fitting, since my heart might as well have projectile leaped right from my body.
“Is that a yes?” His voice was low and deep.
“So much a yes.”
“First one yes? Or second one yes?”
“There was a second one?” I rubbed my finger over the smear of lipstick on his chin. “Sorry, you’re wearing me.”
His eyes lit in a carnal way that spoke to every one of the same dirty thoughts living inside me. “Leave it there.”
I glanced down at my shirt and groaned. “Yeah, my impulsive moves never work out well.”
“Says who? I think it worked out fine.” With a wry smile, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at all the interested faces at the other tables around us. “Pretty sure they’d agree.”
“Whoa. I didn’t even notice they were watching.” I smiled sheepishly and dropped back down into my seat. And picked off a blob or two of scrambled eggs.
At least he hadn’t gone for over easy like I had.
I glanced farther down my shirt. More eggs down there. Those were mine. Lovely. It didn’t matter who’d gotten what, I was a buffet of all of it.
“I didn’t notice either until they started to clap.”
Giggling, I bowed my head to avoid the curious glances—so much for keeping us kind of on the down low, copious hand-holding aside—and focused on dabbing my shirt with the napkin. “I so missed that.”
“Yeah, we were pretty occupied. I’ll take you home to change.”
“Nah, I followed you here in my car, remember?”
“Maybe I just want to extend our date.”
Giving up my shirt as hopeless, I tossed aside the napkin and grinned. “Is that what we’re calling this now?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But I’d like to take you on a real one.”
Yep, that kicked my fluttering heart back into gear. “What does that consist of?”
“Well, depends what you’re up for.” He picked up his fork and dug into his eggs, making me laugh. “What?”
“I probably dropped fifty dog hairs in your food.” I pushed my own plate away. As hungry as I was, wearing half my meal killed some of the desire for it.
But I didn’t regret kissing Murphy in front of the world. My only regret was we’d taken so long to get to this place. Not that it didn’t feel damn worth it right now. Maybe all the steps had been necessary to reach where we were.
For it to matter this much.
“Still delicious.” He frowned at my plate. “You don’t want yours?”
“Not to worry, Ivy Beck to the rescue.” Our waitress hurried to the table and tugged our plates away, leaving Murphy holding his fork in mid-air. She presented new breakfasts for both of us, going so far as to set down a new coffeepot and take the perfectly fine old one away. “Don’t say I don’t believe in romance,” she added with a wink before heading into the back with what she’d cleared away.
But only an astute sort like me could see the heaviness in her eyes despite her cheerful demeanor. Not to mention she’d been at the support group meeting, indicating her dating life had probably not been awesome thus far.
“We’ll leave her an extra big tip.” I dug into my piping hot eggs. Delicious.
And it turned out romance made a girl hungry.
Murphy shrugged and reached for the ketchup bottle, saturating his eggs one more time. “The old ones were great.”
“Latte hair and all,” I teased.
He shrugged again, forking up eggs at a speed that impressed and fascinated me. Big guy like him had a huge appetite in more ways than one apparently.
I pressed my thighs together at the sudden ache between them.
Settle down, down there. Not the time or place. You already practically mounted him for all to see.
“You know, I wonder if August is aware his little sister is looking for a baby.”
I tucked into my eggs for another minute or so until the worst of my hunger was slaked, then tilted my head. “The guy who owns the furniture place?”
“Yeah. Aug’s a good guy. Just imagining how I’d feel if my baby sister Maddy was on the lookout for a baby daddy. Of course she’s only seventeen, so that’s unlikely, but still.”
“Perhaps he should feel like it’s none of his business?” I suggested sweetly, refilling my coffee mug and taking a sip.
The coffee burned my tongue, which probably served me right for putting that wounded expression on Murphy’s face.
“I didn’t mean there was anything wrong with it.”
“No.” I sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t. It’s just a sensitive subject. Especially when I can’t help feeling like some people equate baby daddy with sugar daddy, and that’s so off base, it’s silly.”
“Yeah, considering you wanted takeout on that score, it definitely doesn’t make sense.”
I smiled despite the lingering flare of annoyance. Saying that methods of procreation were a touchy topic for me didn’t begin to cover it.
Then again, it was probably good Murphy wasn’t one hundred percent perfect in everything he did and said, though he was damn close. I didn’t want to fall in love with him.
I didn’t, right? That wasn’t part of the plan.
For him or me.
“Takeout is the last resort for a lot of us, trust me. If the option for a healthy, loving relationship presented itself, most of us would happily go for it. But it’s hard out there for a pimp, man.”
Murphy’s lips twisted. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”
“Most of us still want the fairy tale, Murphy.” I looked down at my plate. “What you offered me a few minutes ago was more than I ever expected. Considering my past, it just wasn’t something I thought was a possibility, and I didn’t want to regret not trying to have a child when I have so much love to give. Sure, it might happen for me later. But what if it doesn’t?”
“What if,” he echoed, setting down his fork to take my hand again across the table. That firm grip centered me faster than any amount of pretty words
ever could. “As for that date I want to take you on, I’d like for us to have a fancy dinner. Maybe do some dancing, though I suck at it. Then I want to take you home and make love to you.” He didn’t blush. Didn’t look away. “I want very much to give you those things.”
My lips trembled into a smile. Maybe I preferred his touch to pretty words, but he had a way with those as well. “I want them too. When?”
“Saturday night?”
I squeezed his hand and took a shaky breath. “You have yourself a date.”
Fourteen
Vee
Cabin Fortress: I can’t get you off my mind.
Vee: Ditto. What are you wearing tonight?
Cabin Fortress: Um…pants and a shirt?
Vee: Can you be more descriptive, pls? I’m planning my outfit.
Cabin Fortress: I haven’t thought about it yet. I guess a nice vest, shirt, and pants. We’re going to a nice place.
Vee: Okay, that leaves out my belly shirt & mini skirt.
Cabin Fortress: Belly shirt? I don’t know what that is, but I think I love it.
Vee: Oh, you would. It exposes my midriff almost up to my tits.
Cabin Fortress: …
Vee: You okay, Fortress?
Cabin Fortress: Just considering a longer shirt for the evening. Maybe a roomy sweater.
Vee: Not too roomy. I want easy access. Maybe you could skip the boxers, just for me?
Cabin Fortress: Jesus, I can’t work now.
Vee: *giggle* Save up your energy for later. And yeah, skip the boxers.
“Do I look okay?”
“Veronica Dixon, if you do not skedaddle on out of my coffee shop with your questions and adorable nerves, I’m probably going to get jealous of your new love or something. And I do not do that shit.”
I grinned at Macy as she kneaded bread dough. That wasn’t her usual department, but her numero uno baker had the night off and my boss claimed she enjoyed expending her aggressions on the bread. From how she was working that sourdough, I could believe it.
“We’re just going on a date. Doesn’t mean new love.”
“Right. That’s why you’ve been flittering around here all week like a lightning bug on speed.”
“I’m well rested.”
“That is a goddamn lie, because I could go deep sea diving in the bags under your eyes.”
“Hey.” I tugged out my compact from my tiny purse and frowned as I touched the slight puffiness beneath my eyes. “Don’t give me a complex.”
“You look amazing. I’m just jealous. Just saying you’re so not well rested, because you’re spending all your spare time trying to create a whole flock of little Mastersons.”
“Nah, we’re just practicing at this point. He’s been fully wrapped every time.”
Macy arched a brow. “So, tell me again how this isn’t new love blossoming? His whole purpose was to fertilize your stamen.”
I shook my head. Macy knew coffee like nobody’s business, but her knowledge of flowers needed work. “My pistil is doing just fine, thank you, and we aren’t on any timetable.”
“You’re glowing. And it’s not because you’re knocked up.”
“No. I’m just happy.” I let out a sigh and leaned against the counter where Macy was needlessly punishing her sourdough starter. “You’re going to ruin that bread.”
“It’ll be delicious. You think he’s gonna propose tonight?”
I choked on air. “Excuse me? Don’t you think it’s a little soon for that?”
Macy flipped over her dough and pummeled merrily away. “He’s a traditional dude. If he’s still wrapped, the minute the raincoat hits the floor, he’ll probably hit his knees.”
“It’s been like…no time.”
“Yet you’re going to try for a baby.”
“Not yet.”
“But soon?”
I bit my lip. “What does one have to do with the other? Besides, who’s to say he even views me that way?”
Macy snorted. “Girl, if he’s cool with dropping some fertilizer on your garden, he’s thinking long-term.” She shifted and gave me a serious look. “Part of serving coffee every day is learning what people want. He might be quiet, but I would bet a tasty slice of sourdough he’s looking for home, hearth, and a sweet wife to make him those sticky buns he likes so much.”
“Petit fours,” I immediately corrected, though he enjoyed sticky buns too. I knew a lot about his wants when it came to food and drink.
Now I was learning what he liked outside of the café too. Outside of the bedroom even, despite the many hours we’d spent there already.
He’d been chomping at the bit for our “real” date, but I’d put it off a bit longer than originally planned because I liked the anticipation. Besides, every day with Murphy felt like a date.
A dream.
It hadn’t taken long for us to fall into a routine. He took me to work. He picked me up from work. When he could, he’d visit for lunch and we’d grab the most sequestered table to laugh over our days and tease each other as much as possible.
And after work, we’d eat dinner and fall into bed—and on the chaise and on the counter and wherever else struck our fancy—until neither of us could speak. Cuddling together in the afterglow led to a few precious hours sleeping tangled together. He was a furnace and I’d awakened a few times from hot flashes, but he didn’t bitch that I was a cover hog and had a tendency to whack him in the face when I turned over.
Everything was perfect. Even the non-perfect things like Latte watching us have sex, his tiny head tilted, or jumping around yipping when we were making too much noise, was perfect.
All this perfection was scary as fuck for a girl like me.
Because Macy was right. Murphy was a traditional guy. He called his mother every week, for God’s sake. I saw it noted in his datebook like an appointment he would never break. And my mother didn’t even send back Christmas cards some years.
Did we really make sense beyond the thrill of a new sexual relationship? Especially when what I wanted was probably so different from what he was looking for?
Assuming we hadn’t come together in such an unorthodox way, that is.
I pressed a hand to my dancing belly. I truly didn’t know. I didn’t know much except he made me feel so good.
So happy.
And Macy was still talking, and I had not been listening to her while I was off in my Murphy-related reverie. That was happening more and more lately.
Clearly, I was dealing with the onset of some kind of mental flu.
Like lovesickness squared.
“Can you believe she still hasn’t popped? I swear, I half wonder if they got the knocked up date wrong, or else she’s giving birth to an elephant and not a human child. They want to induce her soon, but she’s being stubborn as two cats about her baby taking her own time and to leave her the hell alone.” Macy pounded the starter with the finesse of a boxer preparing for a prize fight. Poor defeated bread. “Honestly, the woman deserves a medal for sainthood. If my ankles looked like hers, I’d probably excavate the kid myself with Vaseline and strong rope.”
Horrified, I stared at the side of Macy’s head. She was so lovely, and even more beautiful when she took the time to fuss with her hair and makeup—which was rare—but she had a streak inside her I could not comprehend. “We’re talking about Rylee, right?”
“No, we’re talking about the Virgin Mary. Do you know any other preggos about to pop?” She rolled her eyes and flipped her dough. “Oh, sorry, I forgot we live beside Sperm River.”
I laughed. “You’re too much.”
“Have you seen her? The poor woman.” Macy shook her head. “If Gage came near me with his baseball bat again, I’d probably lock him in his tool shed.”
We were still giggling about all manner of metaphors for dicks and male captivity when a loud cry sounded from the front of the café—and it wasn’t a displeased customer.
Macy and I exchanged a look as she wiped her fl
our-laden hands on a towel. “Baby,” she muttered.
I grinned. “Yay. Let’s go see which one.”
“You’re a sadist.” But she was already pushing me out of the main part of the kitchen into the café.
Rylee and Kelsey Kramer were holding court near the doors, proffering a small male child swaddled in a bright yellow blanket and matching hat. Rylee was not smiling. In fact, she was rubbing the side of her massive belly and rocking from side to side.
No one appeared to notice. The café patrons’ attention was focused squarely on one Sean Kramer, barely a few months old and already winning ladies’ hearts en masse.
“Can you handle this?” Macy asked out of the side of her mouth. “I want to get Ry to sit down. She looks peaked.”
I glanced at my purse. “Murphy will be here soon to pick—”
“If you make nice for me with Kelsey and the kid, I’ll give you two extra hours off to fuck your man.”
We had an unusual relationship, but it worked for us. “Deal. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She was already moving toward Rylee. “We have that awesome bread proofing for the morning anyway.”
I winced. Yeah, I’d be starting over tomorrow. That bread was toast—and not the edible kind.
But hey, hanging out with Kelsey and the baby wasn’t any hardship. Especially since little Sean was so pink and adorable and kept sucking on his lips while I bounced him up and down. Kelsey was full of newborn stories, and she wasn’t shy about telling me the realities of being a new mom.
I was both fascinated and terrified.
Maybe Murphy and I didn’t need to rush to board the baby train. I wanted a child, but I was also enjoying the practice. Besides, once we reached our objective—assuming we did—then what?
Did the practice end? Or would Murphy prove himself to be the guy I already believed he was?
Not just good father material. Good lover material. Good man material.