All I Want

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 (#ulink_b7f28e74-5ff4-5055-b16f-5d56d822cfb5)

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.

* * *