Page 107 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
The woman hands her a card. Moves on.
Cecie stares at the card like it might bite.
"You okay?" I ask.
"People keep being. Nice."
"Is that surprising?"
"Yes." She tucks the card in her apron. "I thought. I don't know. Judgment. Gossip. The usual small-town stuff."
"There's been some of that."
"But mostly just. Warmth."
"You're easy to be warm toward."
She looks at me. Really looks. "You too."
Orry fusses. Hungry. Cecie lifts him from the playpen, settles him on her hip. I hand her the prepared bottle from the cooler.
We've got this rhythm now. Unspoken coordination. She shifts, I adjust. I hold, she prepares. Simple logistics that feel like choreography.
"We're doing okay," she says quietly.
"Yeah," I say. "We are."
The afternoon winds down. Colum's hauled a local band onto the stage. Families sprawl on picnic blankets. Kids chase each other through the fountain spray.
Cecie and I sit on the edge of our booth's platform, Orry drowsing between us.
"Your tie's crooked," she says.
"Your bandana's slipping."
She adjusts it. I straighten my tie. We're both disasters. Covered in glitter, exhausted, riding the adrenaline crash.
"Thank you," Cecie says.
"For what?"
"Showing up. Being. Present. I know this wasn't easy."
"You showed up too."
"I didn't have a choice. You did."
"Cecie." I turn. Meet her eyes. "I want to be here."
"I know. But still. Thank you."
Orry stirs. Reaches for my glasses. I let him. He holds them up to his face, squinting. Cecie laughs.
"He's got your nerd gene."
"Could've had worse."
"Could've had my disaster gene."
