Page 113 of Dr. Bad Boy

I consider a baby monitor, and some impossibly small sleepers covered in parading zoo animals, and put them in the cart, but nothing I see is quite enough of a statement. Nothing, that is, until we get to the toy aisle, and right in the middle of it is the world’s largest teddy bear.

This thing is fucking insane.

It’s also perfect.

“That,” I say, shaking my finger at the easily ten-foot-tall bear.

“No,” says Tate.

“Yes,” I repeat, nodding my head.

“How the fuck are we going to get that back to your place?”

It turns out that a ten-foot-tall teddy bear fits perfectly in the bed of Tate’s pick-up truck. Sure, the head is completely blocking his rear-view window, and the feet are hanging out the end like a drunk frat boy on a porch at the end of an epic party, but we’ve got it in and strapped down, and now I’m following him back to my place.

It takes both of us to carry him over the drifts of snow and in through the front door.

After Tate leaves, shaking his head at my insanity, I grab a beer and head upstairs to the no-longer-empty nursery.

Bob the Bear is lolling in the corner. The entire corner.

“So,” I say to the giant-assed teddy bear. “How about we ask a girl to move in with us, hmm?”

43

Violet

Before I leavefor work the next morning, I confirm my storm is still on, then call my parents. They say all the right things about not risking my safety by travelling in bad weather, but the subtext screams guilt-trip. And I don’t care. I’m going to see Max tonight and that’s the only thing I’m willing to focus on.

My whole morning is tied up with a deposition that runs long and by the time we break for lunch, it’s after one and I’m starving. I slip into my office and grab my coat and purse before heading out to grab something to bring back and eat at my desk.

As I wait my turn in line at my favourite deli, I pull out my phone to check messages. There’s just one.

M: Can you come for dinner at 6:30?

Damn. I frown at my phone. I’ve got a late appointment with a client and I want to go home and change before I head over. I quickly type in my response as the line moves ahead a little.

V: I’m slammed at work. Can we push to 7:30?

M: Absolutely. I can be flexible.

V: See you then.

M: Can’t wait.

I stare at his latest message for a moment.Can’t wait. I can’t either, and I’m tempted to respond with that, but it’s my turn to order. Besides, I think I need to hold back a little. See what this evening brings.

It’s well after six by the time my late client shuffles out the door, but I’d taken moments here and there throughout the afternoon to get organised, so I’m ready to leave only a couple minutes later.

Matthew is just leaving his apartment as I get to my door. “Violet! I haven’t seen you in ages. Are you heading home for Christmas?"

I shake my head. "Storm's coming in. I don't want to risk being stranded there." It's not untrue, after all.

"Oh. Well, can’t talk now, I’m late for a date with Gareth, but you’re welcome to join us at my place for Misfits Christmas.”

I almost decline outright, then realise I may actually be a misfit for Christmas. “I don’t know for sure yet. When do you need to know by?”

“Saturday will do, but really, you could show up unannounced and it will be fine—there will be more than enough to go around. Seriously, it’s Christmas dinner, when are there not more leftovers than the fridge can accommodate?”

---