All I Want (A Farmers' Market Story) (8 page)

His eyes met hers and he actually smiled. “I’m surprised you didn’t say goat.”

“Ooh!”

His smile died, but not in a way that made her feel bad. It was the kind of look you gave a friend when she was being crazy, and it made her think they
could
be friends. They could do this thing. They just had to, like he said, get to know each other.

“No, we are not calling— No goats.”

“But they’re
wonderful
creatures,” she said, testing how far his bounds of humor went. “Or Capra. And we can call me Capra Carrier and—”

“No,” he said firmly, but there was a note of baffled humor in that no-nonsense response and she had to hold on to the possibility there was more of that humor under the rational, focused exterior.

“Okay, what about something more literal?” she asked, realizing she was now holding on to his hands. It wasn’t just comfort anymore, or at least not him giving it. They were holding on to each other.

Maybe they could learn to do that too.

“Fetus?”

She snorted. “Not
that
literal. Like Seed or Bean or something. Oh, that’s kind of vomit-inducing cutesy, but it’s better than Fetus.”

“Seedling.”

She blinked at him, because he said it in a way that made it seem...real. Big. A baby. Like even with a cutesy name, it was a life. She swallowed, afraid the tears would return.

This was so up and down and all over the place, but if she could bottle that tone of voice, the way he looked a little taken aback, a little afraid and a little determined, she could believe they’d find a place to navigate this together.

“Yes, it’s the Seedling. I like that.”

He cleared his throat, and his gaze dropped from hers down to their hands. He was still holding them.

“All right,” he said in a raspy voice, before he slowly withdrew his hands from hers.

He got to his feet and turned away from her, walking carefully back to the couch. She watched him, fascinated at the way he held himself together. There was a sense that maybe deep down, deep, deep, deep,
deep
down, he was as shaky and uncertain as her, but he took those careful measured steps, slowly lowered himself onto the couch, met her gaze again—this time from across the room—and there wasn’t a flicker of uncertainty in his.

But she hadn’t imagined it. It had been there.

“We should get to know each other. Like I said. So, let’s start. Where did you go to school?”

She wanted to talk about what he was feeling, and what maybe scared him about the Seedling. She wanted to talk about how he imagined himself as a father and what he thought having a baby would be like.

And he was asking her about
school
.

Which was an easy enough question, so maybe starting there made all the sense in the world.

CHAPTER TEN

I
N
THE
END
, Charlie conned her into eating. It was simple enough to do. He just kept asking question after question about her childhood and her life until she’d offered him something to drink—nonalcoholic, of course. With the offer for a drink came the offer for a snack, and now they sat at her tiny circle of a kitchen table eating cheese and crackers while she talked about her parents not allowing her to have pets when she was growing up.

She popped a bite of cracker into her mouth, then narrowed her eyes at him. “You keep steering the conversation back to me.”

“You’re fascinating.”

“Oh, don’t flirt like that.”

“I...” Flustered, he straightened in his chair. “Just
how
was I flirting?”

“Like the preppy frat boys who think all they have to say is you’re
fascinating
and
beautiful
and your top will just fall off.”

He blinked, trying very hard not to let his gaze drift down to her top. Supposedly he’d seen her topless at some point, but he couldn’t remember it. He’d tried. A lot. But that was
not
the topic at hand. “You actually think that was flirting—and not just flirting, but the best that I can do?”

She cocked her head, a playful curve to her lips. That had been what lured him into staying as much as his desire to make sure she was taking care of herself—and as much as wanting to get certain information out of her.

She was nothing like the women he’d dated, let alone slept with. She had a quirky sense of humor, a deep bitterness about her childhood that still didn’t make sense to him and a sloppy kind of laissez-faire approach to everything from housework to fashion—the only exception being her business.

So, there was the element of being different. Of being not what he would have picked, but there was this odd thread to their conversations he couldn’t analyze. It wasn’t jealousy or envy, because he didn’t want her life. But it was similar to that feeling he got when he watched his brother happily play husband and father and successful farmer.

Something like...admiration?

The word made him uncomfortable, so he focused on Meg. On Meg Carmichael with the goats and tattoos who was carrying his baby. That was why he was here. To understand her, so he could convince her to marry him. Because he was certain if they got married, even if this wasn’t exactly how he’d planned it, he could still get the rest of those things he’d planned on.

Maybe it wouldn’t be some great movieworthy love, but it could be a solid, comfortable partnership that raised their son or daughter well.

Which meant he had to like her. Of course, if they were going to raise a child together, they should like each other. No matter how different they were.

“I think that was perhaps subconscious flirting, but flirting nonetheless. I imagine a guy like you never had to try too hard to flirt.”

“You have a lot of opinions about the type of guy you think I am,” he returned. In this instance, he didn’t care so much about her assumptions. Her thoughts on his flirting abilities didn’t carry much weight; it wasn’t something he was insecure about.

Why be insecure when his
actual
flirting always went over quite well?

“I do. And I haven’t been wrong, have I?”

With an attempt to appear breezy, casual, he leaned forward onto his elbow on the table. “You were wrong at the bar. Silver spoon, private school, et cetera. Here I am, a farm boy with humble beginnings.” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, one brief miscalculation. The rest is on point.
Including
the piss-poor flirting, though I’ll give you points for the smile. You’re not half bad at that.”

“I assume you’re now flirting with me? I would expect a little more originality from you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “
Should
we even be flirting in the first place?”

He certainly didn’t mind. At least not much. They’d have to be careful about it. In his experience, relationships tended to end in a fiery ball of “screw you, Charlie” when he wouldn’t stop checking his email at dinner or the like.

He couldn’t exactly build the kind of false expectations that might have her walking away like that. So he had to be careful.

But a little flirting couldn’t hurt.
A little nakedness couldn’t hurt.
Actually that could. He had to keep his brain off that path. Especially when they were here. Alone. With nothing stopping them from...

Yeah, he couldn’t let his brain wander down the path that would give him
actual
memories. Not now.

But if he couldn’t entertain a little harmless flirting with the woman he’d accidentally impregnated, then who could he flirt with right now?

He stretched his arm across the table, lightly touched his index finger to the back of her hand. Because people who thought
words
were flirting didn’t get the concept. So he drew the tip of his finger down the length of hers, and he met her gaze, letting his smile spread slowly, knowingly—ignoring the odd dip his stomach did, or the way something about touching her the way he’d touched other women didn’t feel the same at all.

The fair skin of her cheeks turned a telling shade of pink, even as she narrowed her eyes and looked at him skeptically. “I take it
that’s
your idea of flirting?”

“I am more than adept at flirting. I wasn’t doing it
before
. I was being honest. I’m interested in you. I
do
find you fascinating.” And he did. That was the nice thing about his end goal. He
was
fascinated by her, so he didn’t have to lie to find out what he wanted to find out. “But real flirting is a lot more than a compliment.”

“Hmm,” she said, pretending to consider, but he didn’t miss the way she pulled her hand off the table and dropped it into her lap.

They might not be anything alike, but there’d been a basic attraction that had started this. That had led them here. If he let himself dwell on that, he’d lose sight of the point of what he was doing. Sex would not distract him from maneuvering her into a plan.

He had to act as fast as he could to get them where he wanted them to be, and then... Maybe then they could contemplate attraction.

Maybe it would even work out that well. They could build a reasonable, rational partnership with the child’s interest firmly in their minds, and then attraction...if it remained.

Maybe it could
end
in a real relationship, even a real marriage, but Charlie knew it had to start somewhere...sensible first. To make sure the foundation was solid, and would last.

“So, what about your tattoos?” He still didn’t know what covered her shoulder aside from, he assumed, the rest of the sun that peeked out from the end of her T-shirt sleeve.

She pressed her lips together and studied him before responding. “What
about
my tattoos?”

There was an edge to her voice when she didn’t want him to press, and he’d probably be smart to back off. To leave this as progress and call it a night. But something about the way their simple touch still echoed like vibrations in his fingers made him overrule
smart
.

“When did you get them? Why? It doesn’t jibe with the image you’ve painted so far of your upbringing.”

“You owe me about ten things about
you
before I talk any more about me.”

Charlie leaned back in his chair. He didn’t mind sharing about himself. It was just there wasn’t much to tell. It didn’t help his cause to say he studied hard, worked hard and now had nothing to show for either.

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to share that. “So, what do you want to know?”

“What do you do for fun?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Fun. Fun? What did he do for fun?

She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. “You can’t say anything that involves work. What have you been doing the past month without a job?”

He frowned. It wasn’t an insinuation, but it scraped along his irritability like one. Still, he tried to keep his tone even. “Actually I kept working for a few weeks to ensure that the transition was smooth.”

Her eyes widened and she gaped at him. “You kept working there? Even after they fired you?”

“I wasn’t
fired
. I was laid off. It wasn’t personal.”

“You’re unemployed. I’d consider that personal.”

“I’ll get another job,” he returned through gritted teeth.

She cocked her head. “When? Doing what?”

“When I find one that suits my talents, experience and pay grade. One that will allow me to stay in St. Louis, so I can be near my family
and
...” He gestured at her stomach.
The Seedling.
They’d agreed to call it that, but he was having a hard time verbalizing it now.

It was so real. So heavy. He’d much rather view it as a situation he needed to conquer. Maneuver Meg into marrying him so their child could have the same things he’d had growing up.

Stability. Support. The chance to become bigger than he was. They wouldn’t be able to provide that while apart. At least, he wouldn’t. He was too selfish to give up his share of this child’s life. His child’s life. A child who would have the best he could offer.

He realized he’d been silent too long, that she wasn’t saying anything either. But when he looked at her, she had that soft, considering look on her face, and he wished he could wipe it off. He didn’t want her consideration. He didn’t want her softness.

He
was not the one who needed sympathy here. He wasn’t the screwed-up one, or the one who needed to be embarrassed by his past. Meg with her childhood bitterness, this business that probably had a five-year shelf life at best...
he
should feel sorry for her.

So, why did he feel like the fool? “I should probably go,” he muttered. He was losing sight of things. Getting too overwhelmed by feelings and unimportant things. He needed to go, regroup and—

“Don’t go,” she said gently. Gently enough he wanted to growl. But then she hit him where it hurt.

She smiled, that easy, content smile that somehow warmed him even when he wanted to be completely irritated with her.

“Tell me about your family,” she said, less gentle, more demanding.

He couldn’t quite say no to that.

* * *

F
OR
A
SECOND
she thought he was going to leave anyway. For a second she had wanted him to. But it was the way he said
family—near my family
, it had finally given her a glimpse. A teeny, tiny one, but a glimpse nonetheless, that he might be more than the position he’d been
laid off
from, and had still worked at after.

“Well, my parents still live in the farmhouse I grew up in, but they sold half the farm to Dell, my brother, and the other half to a neighbor. My dad works part-time at a mechanic shop, and Mom works in the cafeteria at the middle school.”

“You said your dad didn’t like the farm, right? That’s why they sold it off?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Yes. I thought maybe they’d move, but Dad isn’t much for change. Since Dell and his wife live on the property, it keeps them close to the grandkid.”

“Girl or boy?”

“Girl. Lainey. She just turned two.”

Meg wondered if he had any idea the way his face changed. The way his muscles, which had been so tense and ready to bolt, relaxed as he spoke his niece’s name.

“She can’t say Charlie, so I’m Uncle Chawie.” He took a breath, focused that gaze on hers, the kind that made her heart flutter because it was so
intense
.

She had to remind herself that this wasn’t about
her
. He was looking at her like that because she was now connected to his life, but it had nothing to do with who she was or actual, real feelings or anything.

It was simply a mistake that had created a miracle, and now they both had to live with it.

He leaned forward, and she didn’t trust the way part of her wanted to lean with him. Lean into each other and pretend it was as simple as that, but she had enough self-preservation to lean back, to know better.

“You know, if we got married, we would be in it—wholly—together. I know it wouldn’t be true love or anything, but isn’t the good of our child bigger than that?”

She swallowed; she knew he had a sliver of a point. But she also knew she couldn’t give her entire self up for this child, and allowing him this would be doing just that. She deserved to survive this intact, as much as her child deserved the best she could offer it.

“I think a lot of people raise children separately and they’re just fine. In fact, better off sometimes.” Would her parents be as vicious to her if they’d separated? Because sometimes she couldn’t help feeling like some weird pawn in their relationship game. Or maybe their disappointment in her was the one thing they could agree on.

“Do you really think a child is better off always trying to navigate two separate lives?”

She closed her eyes, swamped with exhaustion. She didn’t want to have this conversation, this argument. She just wanted to sleep and have things be simple.

But they weren’t. “I think it depends. And I think, in this situation...”
Two separate lives.
It sounded exhausting. For her, for the Seedling, for everything.

But she couldn’t
marry
him.

“I think it’s important to give our child the truth. Honesty. Navigating two lives will be a challenge, yes, but can you imagine if she grew up to think she was at fault for the way we treated each other? We can’t pretend away the fact that we don’t love each other.”

“We could
try
to love each other. Eventually, once we have the important things sorted out.”

In all the volleys he’d thrown her way, that one stuck the hardest. Because those who’d tried had only failed. The only love she’d ever known had been Grandma’s. Effortless, constant, unconditional.