All I Want
If that was the thing that kept her going, so be it.
She glanced at her watch, trying to calm her nerves and her worries with the prospect of the business at hand. It didn’t surprise her that just as the second hand hit the twelve to make it one thirty exactly, Charlie walked through the front door.
He seemed like that kind of man. Prompt and responsible and dutiful. At least in business. Her father’s ethics and morals had lacked plenty, but he’d never been late to a meeting. Never shirked a business responsibility.
She hoped against hope that Charlie was a better man than her father.
He gave her a slight nod and walked to the booth, all seriousness.
He was handsome. The nice jeans, the preppy fashionable sneakers, the T-shirt he’d probably bought from some high-end department store—none of it detracted from the way his face was put together. Strong jaw, sharp nose.
He didn’t ooze charm like his brother had at the market, but there was something attractive about his self-assurance. The way he moved like he knew exactly where he belonged.
It disappeared the moment he sat down, and she found that endearing too. Because God knew she was working with a big old question mark. The least he could do was feel the same.
“Hi,” she offered.
“Hi. Are you eating?”
She glanced at the counter, where Mallory was chatting with some customers. “Maybe.”
He gave a slight nod.
And then there was nothing but silence.
Meg waited, searching her mind for some way of bringing up the pregnancy in a way that would be fruitful instead of “what the hell are we doing?” and “how did this happen?” Because her brain had done enough of that, and she was ready for the part where they moved forward.
“It’s a lot to take in. If you need more time—”
“What are your plans?” he asked, and she might have gotten offended by the demand in his voice if he hadn’t winced after he said it.
“My plans?” she repeated, because even with the wince she wasn’t quite sure what he was after.
“I mean, insofar as you’ve had more time to think about this than I have, what is your current plan of action?”
Plan of action. She wanted to be calm. She wished she were the type of woman who could hide the look of disgust that passed over her face, but it was a part of the reason she’d never fit in her parents’ world. She didn’t have a poker face. She didn’t have a coat of armor to put on over herself when the vultures were circling. Everything she was or thought was there, and she didn’t know how to hide it.
“So you haven’t thought that far ahead,” he said gently.
A gentleness that made her stomach turn. It reminded her of the teacher in school who assumed she was dumb. You just don’t understand. That’s all right.
No, she understood. She understood this better than him. She had a plan of action, but it was her own and her own way, and hell if she’d let a stranger wreak havoc on the sliver of confidence she’d built for herself.
“The plan of action, Charlie, is to spend the next eight months growing a life inside me. And then push it out my vag—”
He held up a hand, the expression that passed over his face so very much like her father she really thought she might puke.
“That’s not quite what I meant,” he continued in that frustratingly even tone. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant, and what I mean is that this is the plan. To have this baby. That is my action plan. That is the only plan of action. This isn’t some kind of business merger we’re going to bang out the details to in a few calm and prepared meetings.”
Charlie didn’t say anything to that. He sat opposite her in the booth, his expression blank and a little hard.
She didn’t know him. She didn’t know him at all. She’d created a child with him, but she didn’t know him, and that hurt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE’D COME TO Moonrise prepared with a million little speeches, a million little plans, but as he stared at Meg across the old, chipped table, all he could think was, this woman was a stranger.
She was carrying his child and he didn’t know or understand a thing about her. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. That wasn’t how you were supposed to start a family.
It wasn’t part of the plan.
“What can I get you two?”
He glanced up at Mallory, who’d been a waitress at Moonrise for at least the past ten years. She met his gaze, then looked at Meg, and though she was obviously filing away the information of the two of them together, she didn’t say anything.
“You know, I think I’ll have a piece of cherry pie.”
“We’ve got the house stuff, or Cara’s Local Pies for a buck more.”
Meg smiled, the kind of smile that could almost make him forget she’d looked at him like he’d suggested harvesting her organs. Horror, disgust, complete with physical recoil.
All because he’d asked about a plan. It wasn’t as though he’d judge her if she didn’t have one. This was quite the wrench. He’d only asked in case she did.
And because if she didn’t have a plan—which she didn’t seem to, not a real one—he had one. And it would solve everything.
“Charlie, you want anything?”
He refocused on Mallory and managed a smile of his own. What would be good for a pregnant woman to eat? Probably protein. And some vegetables. He felt like maybe she was ordering pie to somehow poke fun at his mention of having a plan, and he simply wouldn’t allow that.
Something in his gut felt a little off at that point, but he wasn’t planning on listening to his gut when so many important things were at stake. He had to listen to his brain. “I’ll have a grilled chicken sandwich. Whatever steamed vegetable you’ve got on the side. And a large glass of water.” He’d try to get her to eat some before she dug into the pie.
“Oookay,” Mallory mumbled, marking it down on her pad before she walked away.
When he returned his gaze to Meg, she was scowling. It was an odd expression on her. He’d seen her sad and nervous. He’d seen her smiling and flirtatious. Irritated and possibly a little angry didn’t suit her. It didn’t seem to naturally fit her.
He needed to continue to be reasonable. Reason always won. If he laid out his plan, explained it, she’d have to realize it was a good one. If she had a few caveats to add, he’d be happy to listen.
There was a lot of compromise that lay ahead, and he was willing to bend when necessary. Okay, maybe not always happily, but he wasn’t going to be unreasonable.
“So, listen,” she said. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. I think plans of action are a little premature.”
“A plan is never premature.”
This time she rolled her eyes and he had to bite back the irritation. Because this was irritating, but he was going to accept it, handle it, deal with it like a responsible adult. Like a father.
That was the point. Not that they hadn’t planned this, but that it was here and they were going to deal with it. As parents.
“I realize we don’t know each other very well,” he continued. “And yes, this is a surprise, but there’s really only one solution I can think of that makes any sense.”
She leaned back in the booth, crossed her arms over her chest. For a second all he could think was he’d created a child with this woman and he didn’t even remember what she looked like naked.
But for a fleeting second he thought he could remember the feel of her skin under his palm, the sigh of her breath against his neck and something uncomfortably like belonging.
But that was some figment of his imagination—or the alcohol’s imagination.
“Okay, so what is this only solution?”
He knew she was determined not to like it, and that made him hesitate. Maybe he should be broaching this subject somewhere else. Somewhere more private. After more discussion about what her plans were.
But she’d made it clear she had no plans for the future; everything she’d talked about was centered on just getting to the point where the baby was born, and there was so much more to worry about. So what was he supposed to do? He knew this was the right plan. The right course of action. He couldn’t keep it to himself.
“We should get married.”
It had to be his imagination that the entire diner went silent, that all eyes were on him. Really, it was just Meg’s two eyes. Big and blue and amused. She actually laughed.
“Is something funny?”
She choked, coughing a few times. “Oh my God, you’re serious. You’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. It makes financial sense, and it’ll offer everyone a sense of security.”
She laughed again, so hard she had to wipe her eyes. Charlie found none of it amusing, but he’d as soon let her get it all out before he tried to speak again. Maybe he could attribute this whole response to hormones. To the shock of the situation.
“I’m sorry you’re irritated,” she said after taking a deep breath. “And I know this looks like the fifties, but we live firmly in the twenty-first century. I don’t know you, Charlie. I only know your name because Dan said it...after we had sex and woke up not remembering said sex.” She grew more and more serious and angry with every word. “I’ve got all the financial sense I need, and I can handle my own damn security. What we’re talking about here is how much you want to be involved in this child’s life—not mine. I’ve had my fill of self-important businessmen who think they can plan everything into the ground.”
It was a wonder that it hurt, because why should something said by someone who was essentially a stranger bother him? But it did. It cut, the same way Dell’s dismissals of his offers for help years ago had cut.
When all you wanted to do was help, and people couldn’t even take that seriously, or got offended by it, how could it not hurt?
But why should she see how sincere he was? She didn’t know him. He didn’t know her. It was an old familiar feeling all in all, and one he knew just how to deal with. Give them what they wanted.
He stood. “Maybe we should meet to discuss this at a time when you’re more willing to be reasonable.”
She laughed bitterly. “You would be an asshole, wouldn’t you?”
If that was what she wanted to think of him, did it really matter what the truth was? He shrugged and fished one of his old business cards out of his wallet. He took the pen out of his pocket and crossed out everything except his name and his cell number.
Setting it on the table with a twenty, he slid it toward her. “You can contact me when you’re ready. But if it takes too long, I will contact you. Because I do want to be a part of my child’s life. You’ll hear from me one way or another.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, “And eat the sandwich and vegetables when they come.”
And because there was nothing else to say, he turned and walked right out of Moonrise, to his car, and got the hell away from New Benton and all the ways it’d never understand him.
* * *
THE FEELING SHE’D been wrong dogged Meg all afternoon.
It shouldn’t. Charlie had been so ridiculous, so familiar. She’d wanted to reach across the table and bash him over the head. With what, she didn’t know, but reasonable “action plans” always made her want to rip her hair out.
And he had been a jerk, so she shouldn’t feel one second of regret over calling him on it.
But it was something in his expression after she’d said it, a kind of weary acceptance, one she recognized from her family simply refusing to see her. Eventually, you just accepted they weren’t going to.
Everything about that last minute with Charlie burrowed under her skin and she couldn’t itch it away or ignore it. Something was off, and she had a terrible feeling the fault rested with her even though he was the one insane enough to propose marriage.
A proposal. Ha! It was a stupid suggestion and she hadn’t been wrong to scoff at it. But she didn’t feel right about the way she’d treated him.
What had happened to doing what was best for her child? Being a responsible, mature adult? There hadn’t been a lot of that going on at that table. She’d reverted into old familiar patterns that weren’t particularly fair when it came to Charlie.
He was involved in making half this kid’s DNA and it seemed as though he was interested in being a part of the kid’s life. She had to find a way for that to work, marriage to a stranger aside.
So he was traditional. Either that or he didn’t have a high opinion of marriage and thought easy peasy, we’ll get married. She didn’t know, because she hadn’t listened enough to find out.
She’d been too busy freaking out, because what man in his right mind proposed marriage to a stranger?
“And you can keep going on and on in this idiotic mental circle or you can call the man and find out yourself.” She stared down at the herbs she’d been processing and took a deep breath.
Part of growing up—part of getting clean—had been realizing she needed to own up to her mistakes. Accept them, and then learn how to move on from them. But that was all her, and the thing about being pregnant, even if she was the one dealing with all the growing and laboring and whatnot, was that she hadn’t gotten here alone.
She had to deal with the father of the baby, had to be bigger than her knee-jerk reactions. She had to be the reasonable one if he wouldn’t. He may have been calm and sure, but he was not reasonable if he was proposing marriage.
So she couldn’t get nasty about it. She had to show him he was wrong. This would be the first step in learning how to be parents to the same child even though they obviously all but lived on different planets.
She grabbed her phone out of her back pocket, and his card that she’d crumpled into the front pocket of her jeans. She dialed the number before she could talk herself out of it, hoping the scent of lavender would keep her strong.
When he answered, his voice was skeptical and wary and she couldn’t even work up any irritation for it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Charlie. It’s Meg.” Mother of your child, some way, somehow. “I think this afternoon kind of spiraled away from us.”
“That’s a way of putting it, yes.”
Oh, that measured, reasoned way he spoke was so grating. But she would rise above it. She would. “So, I was wondering if we could try again. It’s pretty important, after all.”
“Yes, it is.”
She bit her tongue for a few humming seconds, literally held it between her teeth just to the point of wincing pain so she wouldn’t say something snippy.
“Are you free this evening?” he asked.
She blew out a breath. “Yes, are you too far to come out here? It might be easier to do in private, and I can’t really leave the goats alone that long without more notice.”
“The goats. Right. Um, no, that’s fine. I can come out to your place.”
“Okay. So...”
“I’ll bring some dinner. That is, if you’d like?”
She narrowed her eyes, allowing herself the snippy expression, since he couldn’t see it. But like the chicken sandwich order and telling her to eat it, she wondered. “Why are you offering to bring me dinner?”
“Why do I feel like the truth might actually get me into trouble here?”
She softened a little. He didn’t really embody the snooty aura he gave off—at least not all the time. She needed to remember he was also the man who’d danced with one of her goats. Even if the memory was fuzzy, and it was 100 percent the fault of alcohol, there had to be some semblance of a human being beneath the surface that reminded her all too much of the world she’d left behind.
But that surface was also a part of him, and she had to be careful about how much she let it influence her, how much she bent to it. So she forced her tone to be kind, even though she was refusing him. “I can feed myself, but I appreciate the offer.” She swallowed. “Do you remember how to get here?”
There was an odd silence, one that made her nerves jump at the idea of him being back here. Sober. Just the two of them. Doing the opposite of what they’d been doing last time they were here.
No goat dancing. No drinking. And 100 percent no sex.
“Yes, I remember.”
There was something about his voice, something she didn’t particularly notice when she was actually in his presence and he looked like he’d just gotten off a golf cart with her dad. A kind of steadiness, a surety. It was confidence, but not used as a weapon. Her parents’ surety in their decisions and their lives and their place in the world was usually wielded like brass knuckles. No, that was too undignified. One of those ancient but giant swords that could cut you in two with one well-practiced down-the-nose look.
Charlie’s confidence was different. Besides, he really hadn’t looked like Mr. Put-Together today, had he? He’d grown a beard that looked less like he was trying to fit in with the urban hipsters and more like he just couldn’t be bothered to shave. He’d looked... She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was oddly familiar, the expression, the different way he’d carried himself, and yet she couldn’t label it.
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