My Baby, My Darling.

His gentle hands trailed down my sides, igniting my skin with the simplest touch as the hem of my shirt reached upward until it covered only my chest, leaving my torso exposed. Dexter's lips moved perfectly in sync with mine, my back pressed against his bed with his warm body stationed in between my legs.

His lips moved down from my lips, kissing along my jawline and to my weak spot that only he knew about and took pride in teasing. My hands caressed the male of his neck as I let out a small gasp when his lips made contact with my weak spot. My eyes rolled back as he began to suck harder, most likely leaving a dark mark on my neck from the pressure. I let out a moan and pulled his hair slightly, causing him to let out a groan and increased his intensity on my neck. Dexter rolled his hips against mine and I felt his erection press against my inner thigh through the fabric and let out a small moan, shaking my head.

"Dex." I whispered weakly, rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow, kissing back up my neck and meeting my lips again.

"Dex." I spoke softly in between kisses, closing my eyes as I felt his cold hands run along my sides again. "Dex....we need to stop."

He let out a small groan, kissing my lips softly before brushing a stand of hair away from my face and rolling off of me.

I bit my lip at the sudden loss of heat before sending Dexter an apologetic look as he moved off of his bed, leaning against his wooden dresser as he attempted to steady his breathing. "I'm sorry, Dex. For doing this to you all the time."

And I had been doing this to him so many more times than I could count. We'd be making out on the couch, on my bed, on his bed, but I always stopped it before it went too far that I couldn't pull myself out of the lust. Dexter still didn't know that I was a virgin, and he probably assumed that i wasn't because I'd had boyfriends before him. I thought that if he knew, I wouldn't seem worthy of him, experienced enough. Because that's the problem I had with Brian. I always stopped him before it got too heated, always. And needless to say, he took his sexual frustrations elsewhere.

"No, I get it." He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down. "We're moving too fast for you. You're still getting over-"

"That's not, that's not it." I licked over my lips, swinging my legs over the side of his bed and meeting his eyes. "It's just, sex is a big thing for me, you know? I'm not casual. I've never been casual."

"And you think...what we're doing...is casual?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"No." I shook my head, scoffing. "I don't think that. You should know that I don't think of this as casual."

"If it's not that, then...am I doing something that you're not comfortable with?" He furrowed his eyebrows in concern, meeting my eyes. "Because you can tell me, if you have this sort of aversion, a fetish or...?

"Oh my god." I blushed heavily, shaking my head and turning away from him. "No. No, Dexter. I do not have a fetish. Oh my god."

His expression lightened into a smirk, he loved saying things that made me squirm. "I'm sorry. But, you can tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable in any way. Is it still the Monica thing? Because I thought we were past-"

"It's not the Monica thing." I said, biting my lip and meeting his eyes. "You know what, let's just drop it, okay?"

He nodded, still examining my face in curiosity and concern. "Alright."

And just like that. It was so easy for him to comply with my wishes, even though it went against his own judgement. He respected my space, but worried about me nonetheless. The respect he held for me only added to his admirable qualities. And that made my heart swell up even more.

"I love you, Dexter." I smiled weakly, standing up from the bed and kissing his lips softly. "And thank you, for being so great to me."

He smirked, placing another kiss onto my lips before leaning to whisper into my ear. "Who's the corny one now?"

"Shut up, Dex." I rolled my eyes, jokingly smacking him in the arm and walking out of the room.

He threw his head back in laughter, rubbing his arm in mock injury as he followed me out into the kitchen. "Love you too, sweetheart!"

---
People underestimate just how tightly-knit the confines of humanity are. The binds that hold us together, the networks that connect one person to another define us as people. We go about our daily routines, passing faces and uniforms, making eye contact with strangers for a brief second before averting our eyes and forgetting their faces entirely. The connections we make with people right now define our future and differentiate between the choices we make and the people we associate with. One day, we realize that the people we sit next to on a bus or the waitress that pours your coffee every morning just might be the friend you never imagined you’d connect with on such a deep level. The condescending jerk you meet at a party one day just might become your soul mate and the girl you brush past in middle school just might be the girl to help you realize more about yourself than you ever thought possible. And maybe, just maybe the disheveled mother you spot sitting on the opposite end of a diner, attending to her fussing toddler in a highchair might be waiting for a stranger to sit down with her and offer her some form of human contact, anyone that will understand her or bear with her for just a few hours because that’s all she needs. That’s all you really need when you’ve lost everything else.

“More coffee, honey?” Stella’s voice erupted from beside me, jolting me out of my train of thought.

My head spun to face her, my eyes automatically making contact with her kind, blue orbs that held such familiarity. I seemed to need more of that lately. The truth is, I’ve been missing my parents more and more each passing day.

I cleared my throat, sending her a soft smile. “Thanks, Stella. I could use an extra dosage considering the storm brewing outside.”

“Oh, tell me about it.” She shook her head slowly, a tired smile spreading across her face as her aged features became more prevalent. “It’s storms like these that make me want to retire and move on down to Florida or something.”

“Don’t tease me.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes jokingly.

“Hush, you!” She laughed loudly, shoving my arm lightly. “You should be lucky that I come back everyday to serve the likes of you. Lord knows you are not exactly a joy to be around.”

“You love me, Stella.” I grinned widely, taking a sip of my coffee.

She shook her head slowly, patting me on the head like a dog before brushing past my booth to tend to other customers. “Only on my good days, honey. Only on the good days.”

The warmth of my coffee enveloped my senses, thawing my cold hands as I stared out the windows of the diner at the storm looming overhead. The dark clouds enveloped the sky as gallons of water were squeezed into a downpour, flooding the highway outside. I knew that only an idiot would drive during the storm, so it was best to wait it out until later on when I needed to be get ready for the homecoming party Gabe was throwing for Marc. I looked down at my watch, reading 3 o'clock. Dexter was picking me up at 7.

I shrugged my khaki trench coat off my small frame and threw it onto the far end of the booth before taking another sip of my coffee, letting my eyes wander to the other end of the diner.

And that’s when I saw her, exhausted and disheveled as she gently attempted to coax the toddler sitting at her side into finishing her applesauce. The little girl merely distorted her face into an unsatisfied pout and turned her head to the side, letting out a whine. The mother pushed back the sleeves of her cardigan and pushed her long, blond hair over her shoulder, going back in for round two and accumulating another glob of applesauce onto her spoon. The little girl, with her dark, wavy hair only erupted into a fit of screams and sent the bowl of applesauce clattering to the floor, the clumped, liquid snack smearing over the tiled floors of the Peggy’s diner.

I bit my lip, silently pitying the mother as various customers seated in the diner spun their heads to glare at the raucous taking place in the corner, a toddler squealing and a mother trying desperately to soothe her screaming daughter’s tantrum while trying to wipe the table and floor clean of applesauce. In one arm, she held her flailing child and in the other, a clump of napkins already stained and blotted with the orange substance. Her struggle was evident to almost everyone in the diner, but no one made a move to help her. Not a single smug trucker eating flapjacks at the counter, not a single waitress taking orders from other diner patrons, not a single businessman stopping by the diner for lunch during his commute into the city.

The decision wasn’t easy. In fact, there was no decision. I had no idea what I was doing as I got up from my booth and rushed to her side, sending her a sympathetic smile as I offered for her to hand me the toddler and free one of her hands as she tried desperately to clean the mess sprawled about her table. Her eyes met my own and she knew immediately who I was. I could see in her mind as she recalled our encounter at the lake house, the encounter which caused her to come eye to eye with the girl that now held the heart of the man she once loved, the girl that now stood in front of her, offering to hold her screaming daughter.

“You don’t have to…” Her voice could barely be heard over the high-pitched cries flooding the diner.

I smiled hesitantly, slowly easing the toddler out of her grasp and bouncing her up and down against my warm body. “I know.”

And it was understood, our arrangement. Nothing was said about what we both knew about each other, our current situation. We had no relationship, no prior connection. All that we knew about each other is what other people had told us, rumors and gossip. But now we were face to face, nearly three feet away from each other as I took on my role as the stranger that offered to help.

After a few minutes, I was able to rock her daughter back and forth until her screams had died down to soft cries, and eventually to a frustrated calmness. I watched as Monica, with the help of Stella and her busboy rag, scraped the floor and table top of applesauce.

“I can take her now.” She spoke softly, trying desperately not to spark another fit of rage from her sleeping daughter.

I nodded, slowly shifting her snoring daughter into her arms. “She’s got quite a voice. I think she might have busted an eardrum.”

“You should have heard her as an infant.” She smiled lightly, leaning her daughter’s head against her chest. “Her name’s Lydia.”

I nodded, sending her a small smile. I already knew that, but now was hardly the time to point that out. I knew that I should have left at that point, walked away and brushed this unusual encounter off of my shoulder. But I didn’t, I couldn’t. For some reason, my feet were implanted into the floors of that diner, preventing me from turning around and walking back to my seat.

"Well, she really does have her mother's fashion sense." I joked, gesturing toward her well-dressed daughter in her sophisticated winter coat and tiny, cozy-looking boots.

She shook her head, swaying side to side as she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, well her mother is a compulsive online shopper. So, I guess it's more of a plague."

"You and my best friend should start a Facebook group or something. I swear she's bought me like ten toilet cozies from this weird online store just because they were on sale."

"The Cozy Corner?"

I nodded, laughing lightly, "You've heard of it?"

She scoffed, "That website is the reason for the myriad of baby booties in Lydia's sock drawer. That site should be taken down before I max out my credit card again."

I stifled a laugh, immediately covering my mouth with my hand when I saw her daughter stir a little in her sleep. It was sad to know that if we had met under different circumstances, we would have actually been friends. But we knew too much about each other, and based on our situation, it wasn't possible for our friendship to work. We had hit it off so well at the party, we'd been civil, friendly even. And this conversation reminded me of why I had gotten along so well with her the first time.

“She really is beautiful.” I admitted, gesturing toward her sleeping daughter. She shifted slightly, allowing her daughter’s face to come into full view and sending me a quiet look to say thank you.

And that’s when I saw it. I hadn’t really gotten a chance to look at Lydia’s features until now. When I carried her, her features were hidden, facing the opposite direction. But now she was sleeping calmly against her mother’s chest, her face in full view and I nearly choked on my own breath as I saw the familiarity in her face. As she slept, her features were relaxed enough that I was able to notice her eyes, so similar to the sleepy eyes that I fell asleep next to on rare occasions, her innocent expression and the way she winced slightly for a brief moment before returning to her relaxed expression. Her slightly tousled brown locks, a painfully familiar texture, stopped just below her shoulders and pieces of hair stuck slightly to her cheeks. It was in her slumber, that I saw features resembling that of Dexter McHale.

"Does she get her hair color from your side of the family?" I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to be careful with my words and not sound like her answer could either kill or assure me.

She bit her lip, signifying hesitation before shaking her head slowly. "That...she got from her father."

"Is he still back in Washington?" I said, trying my best to maintain an impassive, but friendly expression.

She shook her head, "You know. We should get going about now. It's Lydia's nap time and-"

"Who is the father, Monica?" I spoke slowly, trying with all my power not to freak out. She just needed an excuse to pull herself away from the conversation. It most likely was not Lydia's nap time, and even then, Monica would be insane to drive in that heavy rain. I wanted to assure her that she was safe in telling me, that everything would be fine. But even I didn't believe myself.

She hesitated, shaking her head as if to tell me that the answer would hurt more than just me. "I shouldn't..."

"You can tell me." I assured her, adding sincerity to my tone. "In keeping this lie, you're not saving anybody. He should know."

We both knew who I was talking about.

"It's not his. In all honesty, I can assure you that Lydia is not his." Monica spoke abruptly, erasing any suspicion of Dexter from my mind. She wanted to clear his name, make sure that he proceeded completely unscathed from the matter. "That's all I should tell you."

I didn't believe her. "Her eyes, her hair. You can't tell me that it's a coincidence that she has almost all of his features."

"No one was supposed to know. No one is going to know. Dexter hasn't even seen her. I just, I didn't think anyone would go to this diner. I mean, it's in the middle of nowhere." Her eyes met my own, pleading for me not to further investigate the matter.

"How can it not be his?" I licked over my lips, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion. "There isn't any possible way that she can look--how else is Lydia going to look almost exactly like...oh. Oh, no."

I understood. I could see it in her eyes that I had finally solved the complex puzzle, connected the dots of her lies. She was right, this was so much more than me. She was protecting so much more, hiding her intricate web of lies to cover up for him. Her eyes widened in fear, knowing that I had figured it out. Even I didn't want to say his name aloud, but it came out before I could even think about what I was going. I knew who the father was, I knew exactly who it was.

"Ben."