Page 93 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
"You brought me three coffees."
He blinks. Looks down. "I panicked."
I laugh. "I made two pots!"
Despite everything. Despite the knot in my stomach and the sleepless night and What Comes Next pressing on my lungs. I laugh.
"Come in."
He steps inside. Sets the coffees on my kitchen counter with the precision of someone defusing ordnance. Shrugs off hisjacket. Underneath he's wearing a button-up with tiny whales printed on it. Pocket protector firmly in place.
Ridge would never.
The thought flickers before I can stop it. Ridge with his leather and henna and performative gruffness. The costume Gunther wore because he thought he needed to be someone else to be interesting.
I grab the oat milk coffee. Take a sip. Perfect temperature. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
Orry spots Gunther. Squeals. Lifts both arms in the universal toddler demand forup, now, immediately.
Gunther melts.
That's the only word for it. His whole face goes soft. He crosses to the playpen. Scoops Orry up with the careful competence he's developed over weeks of practice.
"Hey, buddy." His voice drops into that gentle register he uses only with Orry. "Did you sleep good? Yeah? Your hair looks like a porcupine."
Orry pats Gunther's cheek. Right over the dimple. Like he's checking it's still there.
My chest does something painful.This is real. This is happening. This man is my son's father.
"We should probably. Talk," I say.
"Right. Yes. Talking." Gunther settles on the couch. Orry in his lap. "I made a document."
"Of course you did."
"It's not weird. It's. Organized." He pulls a tablet from the messenger bag. Swipes. Turns it toward me. "See? Sections. Categories. Color-coded by priority."
I lean in. The screen shows a spreadsheet titledCo-Parenting Framework v3.2.
Version three point two.
"How many drafts did you do?" I ask.
"Seven. But the first four were. Not good. Too formal. Then I overcorrected and got too casual. Version five assumed we'd alternate weeks which seemed extreme for a seven-month-old. Six was close but the font was wrong?—"
"Gunther."
"Right. Sorry." He taps a section. "Basic structure. We split time. I'm flexible on the specifics but I was thinking. Maybe I take mornings? Before work? I could do breakfast and playtime while you open the shop. Then you take afternoons and evenings since that's your routine already. I'd cover weekends. Alternate. Or we could do a rotation if you want more predictability?—"
"Breathe."
He stops. Inhales. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just. Slow down."
"I'm nervous."
