Page 109 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
The question iswhen.
Cecie and I have fallen into something steady. Comfortable. She closes Sparkle Beauty at six. I finish client calls by seven.We meet at my place or hers, trade off cooking, let Orry destroy whatever room he's in.
It's domestic. Unglamorous.
Perfect.
But proposing feels like threading a needle in an earthquake. Too public and she'll bolt. Too private and it won't feel real. Cecie needs witnesses. Proof. She's been burned by invisibility before.
Colum, naturally, has opinions.
"Fountain," he says over coffee. "Sunset. String quartet."
"No." My head shakes admately.
"Rooftop dinner. Champagne. I know a guy with doves." Colum doesn't give up.
"Absolutely not." Brow furrows as I look at my boss.
"You're no fun."
"I'm proposing to Cecie, not staging a Broadway show."
He sighs. Stirs his cappuccino with unnecessary drama. "Fine. But make it memorable. She deserves memorable."
He's right. Cecie deserves everything. I just need to figure out whateverythinglooks like. The answer comes in late November, entirely by accident.
Cecie's teaching Orry to stack blocks. He's nine months old now, obsessed with order. He lines them up by color, knocks them down, starts over. My influence, Cecie claims. I don't argue.
"Watch," she says.
Orry places a red block. Then blue. Then yellow. He pauses. Studies the row. Adds green.
"He's doing a pattern," I say.
"He's doingyourpattern. This is the spreadsheet gene in action."
"There's no spreadsheet gene."
"There absolutely is." She kisses the top of Orry's head. "My beautiful nerdy boy."
Orry beams. Dimple flashing. He holds up a purple block. "Dada?"
"Yeah, bud. Purple goes next."
He places it carefully. Claps.
Cecie watches him with this look. Soft. Unguarded. The kind of expression she used to hide behind sarcasm.
She's let me in. All the way in. And I want to stay.
"Cecie."
"Mm?"
"Come outside with me."
"It's freezing."
