Page 17 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
"Charming as always, Lyd."
She doesn't push, but he starts bringing me ginger tea. Leaves it on the corner of her table without comment, like she's feeding a stray cat. I'd be annoyed if I wasn't so grateful.
By week twelve, I tell her .
Not because I want to. Because she asks directly, point-blank, during a slow Tuesday afternoon when no one's around to overhear.
"You're pregnant."
It's not a question.
I stop arranging lip glosses and look at her . "How'd you know?"
"You've been drinking ginger tea for six weeks, you won't go near the coffee shop, and you cried last Thursday when someone bought your last lavender scrub. You never cry over inventory."
"It was limited edition."
"Cecie."
I sigh. "Yeah. I'm pregnant."
"And the father?"
"Not in the picture."
Lydia's expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes sharpens. "Does he know?"
"Can't tell someone who doesn't exist."
"Everyone exists. You have a name, a number?—"
"I have a fake name and nothing else. It was one night. He's gone. End of story."
Lydia watches me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Alright. What do you need?"
The question catches me off-guard. Notwhat are you going to doorare you sure about thisor any of the other things I've been bracing for.
Just: what do you need?
I blink back something that might be tears and blame hormones. "Nothing. I'm good."
"Liar."
"I'mhandling it."
"I don't doubt that for a second. But handling it and having help aren't mutually exclusive." She taps the table, decisive. "You need better hours. Can't be on your feet ten hours a day much longer. And you'll need a real storefront before the baby comes. Pop-up's not going to work with an infant."
"I can't afford?—"
"There's a space opening up. Suite 103. Ground floor at Poplar Springs Plaza. Good foot traffic. I know the landlord."
"Lydia—"
"Consider it an investment. You're good for business. People come for the glitter, stay for the financial advice." She grins. "Symbiotic relationship."
I want to argue. Want to tell her I can do this myself, that I've always done everything myself. But a permanent space at Poplar Springs Plaza sparks my interest.
My feet ache, my back hurts, and the idea of a real space with a bathroom and a door I can close sounds like heaven.
