are you talking about?”
Steve sighed and floated over to me. Wrapping his semi-transparent arms around me, he rested his head on my shoulder. “I know how much you always wanted a baby,” he whispered. “I wanted to make sure Gideon could give you everything you wanted, since I couldn’t.”
I was speechless and wanted to cry. I had wanted children for a long time, but that was my past, not my future. I was forty. While I was fully aware women were having kids into their fifties these days, having a baby with someone who resided in Hell part time wasn’t exactly ideal.
And what the heck would I give birth to? An Angel/Demon/human who could talk to the dead, create enchanted flower gardens and demolish cars? The terrible twos would be horrifying.
“Oh, Steve.” I sighed and leaned my head against his. “I’m responsible for my dreams. Not you. And not Gideon. As sweet and alarming as your research is, I’m no longer in the market for a baby. I have dogs.”
Steve chuckled and floated to a new position. We were face to face. “Daisy, never say never to anything that results from two people loving each other completely. Of course, we are talking about sperm that’s older than time, but miracles can happen. Look at you.”
“Yep, look at me. I had a mother who killed herself over a dead man and a father who wants nothing to do with me,” I replied. “Not an outstanding example.”
Steve was quiet. There was nothing to say.
The fact that my mother fell in love with one of the ghosts she was counseling and followed him into the darkness by committing suicide was simply a sad truth of my history. I’d only been five when it happened—thirty-five years ago. I barely remembered her.
And my surprise daddy?
There was a fine reason I hated surprises. John Travolta was not a welcome addition. Thank God I was forty and not fourteen. While it still hurt, as a teenager, the knowledge would have been devastating.
“Anyhoo,” I said, pasting on a smile and changing the subject. “I should probably eat breakfast, but all of a sudden I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat your dang breakfast, Daisy girl,” Gram announced, zipping into the kitchen with Jimmy Joe Johnson on her heels. “You quit eatin’, you’re gonna get so skinny you won’t be able to see your shadow.”
“No need to worry about that,” I told her with a laugh, happy to have a distraction from the conversation Steve and I were having. It had gotten too dark. “Would cookies be okay?”
Normally, a banana and oatmeal were my standard go-to breakfast items. However, my stomach was in knots. The day ahead left me feeling on edge.
Gram fluttered around the kitchen searching for something that might appeal to me. Not that she could actually prepare it, but old habits die hard.
“They’re peanut butter cookies,” Steve volunteered, always ready to defend me and my bad choices. “Peanut butter has protein.”
“Fine,” Gram huffed. “Four cookies, but you have to have a piece of fruit with it.”
“Deal,” I said, grabbing a banana and my sugary-protein morning meal. “Have you seen Birdie? I’m worried about her.”
Gram sat down on the table right in front of me. “She’s been hidin’ in the cellar.”
“I don’t have a cellar,” I said, confused.
“I think Gram means the crawlspace,” Steve said.
I glanced over at him. “Not exactly a place I’d want to hang out.”
“Ditto,” Steve said. “I’ll go check on her.”
“Thank you,” I told him as he sank through the floor and vanished.
I’d do it myself, but I had to get ready for a visit with Darth Vader and couldn’t really show up covered in cobwebs and dirt. However, if Birdie was still down there when I got back, we were going to spend some quality time together in my crawlspace.
“Gram, I’m taking part in a surprise ambush on John Travolta this morning. Want to help me pick out an outfit?” I asked, grabbing another cookie and heading upstairs.
“Thought you didn’t like surprises,” Gram pointed out.
“Only when they happen to me. You want to help?”
“Can a fish cry underwater?” Gram asked, following me.
I stopped and stared at her. “Can it?”
“Can what?” she asked, shooing her beau away. “Jimmy, as much as I adore ya, I’m gonna have a little Daisy/Gram time.”
He bowed politely, blew Gram a kiss and disappeared.
“I have it real dang bad for that dead man,” Gram said, patting her heart. “Jimmy Joe Johnson just dills my pickles and then some. Sometimes