Page 62 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
One-fifty. I knock.
Cecie opens the door. Hair in a messy bun. Yoga pants. Oversized sweater. No makeup except a bright lipstick that makes her eyes look huge.
She's beautiful. Exhausted. Guarded.
"Hi."
"Hi." I hold up my messenger bag. "I brought. Um. Toys? I wasn't sure what babies like, so I got blocks and a counting book and some. Wooden things shaped like animals?"
Her expression softens a fraction. "He's seven months. He'll try to eat all of it."
"Right. Good to know."
She steps aside. I enter.
Sparkle Beauty smells like vanilla and something floral. The space is small but organized, shelves of cosmetics, a mirror station, a play area in the corner where Orry sits surrounded by plush toys.
He looks up when I enter. Grins.That dimple.
"Duh!"
My heart stops. Restarts. Stutters.
"He's been doing that all week." Cecie's voice is careful. Watching my reaction. "Just. That sound. Probably doesn't mean anything."
It means everything.
"Can I?" I gesture toward Orry.
She nods.
I crouch down. Orry immediately reaches for my glasses. I let him take them. He holds them up to his face, squinting through the lenses, then giggles.
"Gentle." I take them back. Show him how they fold. He watches, fascinated, then claps.
Cecie is at the counter. Arms crossed. "So. Babysitting."
"If you're comfortable." I set my bag down. Pull out the blocks. "I thought. If you need an afternoon. To run errands or. Just breathe. I could watch him. Here or at my place. Wherever you prefer."
"Your place." She laughs. It sounds sharp. "The financial analyst's apartment. I'm sure it's baby-proofed."
"It could be." I stack three blocks. Orry immediately knocks them down. Squeals. "I'd make it safe. Outlet covers. Corner guards. Remove anything hazardous."
"You've researched this."
"I research everything."
She's quiet for a moment. Orry climbs into my lap. Pats my cheek.The same gesture from before.I freeze, terrified of moving wrong.
"He likes you." Cecie's voice goes soft. Sad. "I don't know if that makes this easier or harder."
"Cecie—"
"I read your letter." She looks at her hands. "The apology. The explanation. The. Everything."
My pulse hammers. "And?"
"And I'm still angry." She locks eyes with me. "You lied. You pretended to be someone else. And now you show up in my life looking like. Likethis." She gestures at me. "Glasses and spreadsheets and offering to do my taxes like that makes up for it."
