“No. Sorry, just—I’m glad you’d come to me for help. I like that.”
Do not blush. “I want to figure out how to get a business loan. How to make a savings plan and how to really get the ball rolling on my camp. I don’t care if it’ll take me ten years or even more—I just want to start the process now. Tell me what I need to do.”
His smile is warm and slow and thoughtful, creasing lines next to his eyes and eyebrows rising up his forehead. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he nods. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do some math.”
I check in with him at the first hour mark, ensuring that he doesn’t have actual clients or responsibilities he should be tending to instead. Then, when his phone rings for the second time as I fetch us snacks from the kitchen, I make sure he doesn’t have to answer it. Both times, he dismisses me politely, focusing intently on the spreadsheet he’s crafting.
Three and a half hours later, I have a file labelled WinniFRED McNulty on his desktop, a new monthly budget, a pile of sticky notes with things I need to do before contacting banks, and two different timelines for loan applications—depending on how aggressively I’m willing to save.
It’s a start.
It’s a very good start.
“This is exciting, Win.” Bo shuts his laptop, making his monitor turn off as well.
“I seriously cannot thank you enough,” I say. “This feels like the first time anyone’s taken this idea seriously.”
“Don’t thank me. You deserve better than that. Not only is this a phenomenal idea, but it’s also an excellent business plan—whoever decides to invest will be better off for it.”
“So, in your professional opinion, does it feel… doable?” I ask, my hesitant optimism obvious.
“Yes, absolutely. But don’t you mean Camp Can-doable?” Bo laughs from the back of his throat, standing from his chair and stretching. He seems to always wear a knitted sweater and dark jeans or trousers when he’s working. He’s always dressed sharply, even though I’ve never seen him pick up a video call. I have the urge to press my face against each of the sweaters that he seems to have stock in and test them for their softness.
“Really?” I sigh out, huffing out a weak laugh as I follow him toward the kitchen.
“Hey, I have a god-given right to make dad jokes now,” he says, his head in the fridge.
“Why do I have the feeling you always have?”
He shuts the fridge, his lips pushed out to the side as he looks at me, an idea sparked behind his curious, hazel eyes. “Do you have lunch plans today? With Sarah?”
“Nope,” I pop the p. “Why?”
“There’s nothing in here I want. Want to grab lunch with me?”
“Ooh, can we get burgers? I’ve been really craving ketchup.”
“Just the ketchup?” Bo asks over his shoulder, walking down the hall toward his bedroom.
“Yes. In a cup, preferably,” I answer as he comes back into view holding a small box of cards.
“Bringing these, since we skipped last night.” He stops still. “Did you say in a cup?”
“Hey!” I say defensively, clasping two protective hands over my tummy. “They’ll hear you! Don’t mock them.”
Bo bends at the waist, a lopsided grin in full effect. “Kid, tell your mom you want ice cream or pineapple juice, or hell, pickles. Ketchup is a weird choice.” He stands straight and brushes past me, heading toward the front of the house. I follow, playing up my offence, my mouth open and a hand clasped over my chest.
“How rude!” I exclaim, tugging on my winter boots. Bo holds up my jacket for me, and I slip my arms inside. “The first time you talk to them, and you decide to food-shame them?”
“It’s not the first time,” Bo says, grabbing his keys from the wall and throwing open the front door.
It’s not until I buckle myself into his passenger seat that he’s near enough for me to respond. “What do you mean? When else have you talked to them?”
“When you fell asleep watching Lord of the Rings. I had to tell all my fun facts and trivia to someone. Plus, once the movie ended, I needed to explain to them why they might feel a little… jostled.”
I stare at him absently.
“How do you think you got to your bed?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.
“I assumed I just half sleepwalked.”
“No, you were out cold,” Bo says, turning the car on.
“You carried me to bed?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, putting his arm behind my headrest to look over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway. “Sorry, is that weird? I did try to wake you.”
“No.” I swallow, admiring the sharp line of his jaw as he keeps his eyes locked on the street behind us. “That’s fine.”
A few minutes pass as we drive in silence, other than the radio commercials. We both sing along to one jingle in sequence, starting and stopping at the same time without acknowledging each other.
“We’ve passed like every burger chain,” I point out ten minutes into our drive.
“Please. You think I’d take the mother of my child to a McDonald’s for a celebratory lunch?” He tuts. “C’mon, have more faith in me than that.”
“Celebratory?” I ask. “What are we celebrating?”
“Your new plan. The kid you’re growing. You, in general.”
I blush immediately.
Bo notices, then glances away, his jaw working as his eyes narrow on the road ahead.
At the exact moment I ask, “Should we talk about last night?” Bo says, “I’m sorry for last night.”
“It’s all good,” I say with full confidence. “Tensions are going to run a little high, given the circumstances. I think we’re doing a great job and should probably expect there to be some… awkwardness. We’ll keep focusing on getting to know one another as friends.”
“Still, I should have never said—”
“I think I’d feel better if we just pretended you… didn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding, his hands tightening around the wheel. “Is it cool if I just apologise one more time?” He winces, turning toward me briefly with a sweet shyness in his eyes.
“One last time,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he says compulsively, as if he’s been holding it back for far longer than a few seconds. “From now on, we will pretend the baby was an immaculate conception, and you’ll be my sexless pal Fred, if that’s what you want.”
I hear a high pitch ringing in my ear. The sound of my libido screaming for mercy, if I’m not mistaken. “That’s probably for the best.” Bo changes gears between us, and the back of his knuckles brush the side of my thigh accidentally. Still, I can’t help but grind my teeth as I look out the window.
“Want to bust out a question before we get to the restaurant?” he asks, reaching into the inside lining of his jacket and pulling the deck of cards out of the inner pocket. He holds them out to me, his eyes flicking between the road ahead and my face.
“Sure,” I say, taking the cards.