Chapter 226
Simon nodded. He followed Howard to the door, then stopped on the porch to have another long look at Billie. She was sitting on one of the barstools, a half-eaten burger in front of her. She kicked her legs against the wooden rail that wrapped the deck, hands under her chin as she stared out at the ocean.
In profile, with somewhat shorter hair, she could have been him at age seven. The blood test was unnecessary, except in legal matters. That was his daughter. An unexpected pain gripped his chest, squeezing. “Good night, princess,” he called, waving to her. They would have plenty of time to get to know each other. Later.
Simon got in his car and drove back to the beach. 15
Scooter gave it about ten more minutes before Andy was going to come back into the bedroom to chide him that they were going to be late and that he looked fine, and what the hell was he worried about anyway?
With Roni on video chat to provide her expert opinion, he’d managed, after peeling off and tugging on at least five of his nicest pairs of jeans—no slacks, that’d be trying too hard—to select a nice, low-key, and not too tight pair of jeans. Somewhere in the last few years he’d gotten used to changing in front of Roni, which was good, since it meant this was going a lot faster than it would have otherwise.
“So,” he held up one set of tops, a V-necked pewter stretch-cotton T with a black sport jacket and he had matching gray suede shoes, “or this one?” White button down, a gingham ascot, and the battered blue sport jacket. “Which one makes me look less gay?”
“Honey,” Roni said, leaning closer to her laptop, “you’re going to walk in there with your husband. I think that accessory marks you as gay, no matter what you’re wearing.”
“Roni,” Scooter said, pleading, “you know what I mean.”
Roni put her hands on her hips, which made her look a little ridiculous given that she was six months pregnant, and even with her fashionable maternity wear, she still looked like a melon. Not that Scooter was going to tell her that. He liked having his eardrums unsplit. “I know exactly what you mean and it’s why I think you should just move up here where people are less stupid. I think the sun bakes your brains right out.”
“I don’t disagree with that,” Scooter said.
“What, exactly, do you want to say with your outfit?”
“Responsible parent,” Scooter responded promptly. It was Billie’s second grade “graduation,” after all, and while it probably wasn’t actually a huge deal—the kids didn’t have to go to class, and Billie would appreciate that, and there were all sorts of awards and ceremonies and it would be sappy and emotional and probably a little bit tedious—Billie would remember.
She hadn’t really been in town long enough for the locals to have twigged to who she was and who her guardians were; this would be the debut of their little family as a unit in public, with just the town. It was important to establish, right off the bat, that they had authority over the child, and that she was in good hands.
Issues of Billie’s parentage still waiting on the DNA results—how the hell long did a paternity test take anyway?—but it was looking very likely that Scooter and Andy might need the town’s support before too long.
Roni absently rested her hands over her burgeoning stomach. “Wear the gray. Much as I love drawing attention to that jaw of yours with a neck piece, it screams gay. In Virginia, at least. In New York, it screams hipster. In neither case does that say parent.”
“Thank you, Roni,” Scooter said, pulling the tee over his head. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Roni grinned at him. “If you really meant that, you’d let me do that damn underwear shoot.”
“Letting you take nearly naked pictures of me does not say responsible parent either,” Scooter pointed out. She was never going to get over his refusal to model for her. Maybe he’d throw her a bone. “Tell you what—pick a style you want to profile this year and I’ll do one shoot. One, Roni. And my pants stay on—”
“Are you letting Roni talk you out of your clothes again?” Andy asked, leaning through the doorway. “Aren’t you ready yet? We’re going to be late.”
“He’s perfect,” Roni yelled from the other end of the video call. “He just wants to look less gay. Hi, Andy! Bye, Andy!” She reached over and tapped on her computer, the picture snapping back to the blue background.