Page 74 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
"I'm sure." He smiles and nods, his confidence overwhelming me.
"Gunther." I face him. Serious. "This. arrangement. It's temporary. Until we figure things out."
"I know."
"And I'm not. Ready. For anything beyond co-parenting."
"I understand."
"Good." I open the driver's door. Pause. "But. Thank you. For today. You were. Helpful."
His smile could power the whole plaza. "Anytime."
I drive home. Orry falls asleep before we hit the first stoplight. Gunther stays on my mind. His careful hands. His terrible salad. The way he looked at Orry like he hung the moon.
This is dangerous. Letting him in. Trusting him.
That night,after Orry's in bed and the dishes are done and I'm too wired to sleep, I find myself in the nursery.
There's a box on the top shelf of the closet. Stuff from when I was pregnant. Ultrasound photos. A hospital bracelet. A journal I barely wrote in.
I pull it down. Sit on the floor. Flip through pages. There. Halfway through. A list of names.
Boys: Orry, Jasper, Felix, Theo, Ridge...Ridge is scribbled out. Hard. Angry pen strokes. I remember writing it. Three a.m., seven months pregnant, crying because I was alone and scared and soangryat the man who left me with nothing but glitter and a dimpled smile.
I'd written Ridge. Then crossed it out. Chose Orry instead. Something that was just mine.
The journal's still open when I hear a knock. I freeze. It's late. Who?—
My phone vibrates . Text from Gunther.
Sorry. I know it's late. I left my notebook in the office. Can I grab it tomorrow or...
I text back.I'm still up. Come by if you want.
Three minutes later he's at my door. Apologetic. Rumpled.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."
"It's fine. Come in."
He follows me upstairs. I point to the office. "It's probably on the desk."
He finds it. Tucks it into his bag. Notices the open nursery door.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just. Going through old stuff."
He hesitates. "Can I?"
I shrug. "Sure."
He steps into the nursery. Looks around. The crib. The changing table. The shelf of books. His gaze lands on the journal. On the floor. Open. I should close it. Hide it. But I don't. Hecrouches. Reads the list. His finger touches the scribbled-out name.
"Ridge."
I go still.
