Sage moved past two recliners and my soft leather couch. He gasped.
“What?”What, babywas what I wished to say. I wanted to add that to my vocabulary but not yet.
He ran to the couch and nearly fell forward into it, reaching out to grab something. Up came the pink unicorn, its eyes sparkling.
Oh yeah. I’d actually forgotten I’d put that toy there just for him.
“It’s so cute! It’s yours?”
“No. It’s yours. I was going to wait until after dinner to give it to you. But you can have it now.”
“He’s really for me?”
“Yeah. Do you like it? I mean him?” He’d already gendered the stuffy. “Is it okay, the color, the size?”
“He’s perfect!” He hugged the toy to his chest.
Check again. More daddy instincts paying off. My stomach was doing flipflops.
He held the unicorn tightly as he followed me to the kitchen.
The water was furiously boiling, steam rising up the flue. I threw in the pasta and watched the clock. It had to be just right.
“I can’t wait to eat.” He walked around the kitchen looking at everything.
“Are you going to name him?”
He held up the toy. “Ponce.”
“Ponce?”
“Ponce de Leon, the explorer looking for the Fountain of Youth.”
“Which is a myth.” I regretted saying it the moment the words left my mouth. My penchant for rational knowledge was known for ruining the mood at parties.
He shrugged, appearing not too worried. “Who knows?”
“It’s a good strong name. Cute, too.” Like you.
The table was all set. Sage set Ponce by his plate and helped me bring out our food.
At the last moment, I went to my cupboard and brought out a small saucer. As I set the salad bowl down, I placed the saucer under Ponce’s head.
Sage snickered. “That’s funny ‘cause I was just thinking he might be hungry, too.”
This was my third time trying on the daddy role. It seemed to come naturally. I enjoyed it every time. How had I missed this part of the kink scene? Maybe I’d been too young. Maybe it was something I’d had to grow into. I never would have known if I hadn’t said yes to Charles last Friday.
As if reading my mind, Sage asked, “Do you believe in fate?”
I sat on the other side of the table facing him. “Not always in the way people mean it. I like to think I make my own fate.”
“Me, too. But do you believe it about how we met?”
“Hmm. Things happen by chance, of course. It’s a good memory for me.” I began serving up the spaghetti and handed him his plate.
He took his plate, then put his hands under the table. He brought up a card. My business card. “Is it why you gave me this card?”
I was surprised he’d brought it. “I hoped you might’ve felt even a fraction of what I felt.”
