“Michael…they’re so beautiful,” Hayden says from the corner, her hand brushing over the comforter and things she just put in the new crib. It’s no different from the six times she’s said it before. I watch her from my peripheral vision as she moves to the table that has the matching lamp on it. She brushes her hand over it gently, as if she was afraid just one touch would cause it to break. I finish tightening the last screw on the ottoman that goes with the glider.

“Finished,” I tell her. I expected her to turn around and look at the chair, but she doesn’t. She just keeps staring at the lamp. “Hayden?” I question after a couple of minutes. Finally, she turns around, and I’m surprised when I see a trail of tears that slide down her cheeks.

“I saw this lamp in the window in town a couple of weeks after I got out of the hospital. I wanted it for her, but I knew there was no way I could buy it for her. I told myself that it didn’t matter. I kept saying that I could paint her walls pretty and as long as I managed to get her a comfortable place to sleep it would be okay, you know?”

“Hayden…”

“You couldn’t have known, but I saw this lamp, and I wanted Maggie to have it, Michael. I wanted her to have all of this.”

She just stands there looking more than a little lost. She’s crying, and I hate the sight of her tears. Knowing what I do of her past, I have a feeling that she’s had way too many tears. I’m not equipped to deal with a woman and obvious pregnancy hormones. I walk over to her, I place my hand against her neck, tilting her so she looks up at me.

“Stop crying,” I order her, desperate to stop her tears.

“They’re happy tears,” she says, as if that makes them better.

“I don’t like them. It was just a gift.”

“It’s an amazing gift,” she corrects me, and the look on her face makes me feel...strange.

“You’re going to kiss me again, aren’t you?” I mumble, half wishing she would and half praying she doesn’t.

In response, Hayden laughs through her tears. “Considering how much it seems to bother you, no,” she exclaims. That shouldn’t disappoint me, but I know that’s what I’m feeling. “I don’t know how to thank you for all of this. I really appreciate it, Michael,” she tells me and I shrug it off, I didn’t do it for her gratitude. “I need to go work in the kitchen. I have to work tomorrow, but Pastor Sturgill needed his orders early so he’s coming by in the morning to pick up some cookies and pies for the Church’s widow’s dinner. You going back to your place or you want to stick around? You could watch television. Isn’t there like a ballgame on or something?”

“You cook for the church?” I ask, following her into the kitchen. Until I find out what the fuck is up with the Dwellers, I don’t see me letting her out of my sight. I don’t want to tell her that yet, because I don’t want her to panic. I’ll hang around here as late as possible and then I will make sure I always have my eyes on her place—and her. That’s the best I can do.

I lean with my back against the counter, angling so I can watch Hayden as she stands at the stove and begins wrapping cookies.

“Yeah, they’re one of my best customers, besides the diner and the Stop-N-Shop in town.”

“Why would a church buy baked goods?”

“Well this is for a dinner, but they buy them to sell at their consignment shop, and they buy them for bake sales. That kind of thing,” she says, while continuing wrapping the cookies. I reach over and grab one when I notice it’s the peanut butter ones like she made me a week or so ago. I take a bite, stopping mid-bite when she stares at me. I figured she would scold me, but she only laughs. “Good thing I made extra.” I give her the grunt she seems to appreciate so much, and sure enough, the minute I do it, she laughs.

“How do they make money if they have to buy the things they sell?” I ask her, once I finish the cookie.

“They price them for more money than they pay. I give the church a discount.”

“I just figured the members would make what they sell.” I shrug, that makes more sense to me and if I’m going to be completely honest, I don’t like her doing things for the preacher. I’m not sure why. I just don’t like the way he looks.

“They do some things,” she says, turning back around to wrap some more cookies. “Actually, I figure Pastor Sturgill buys more than they need, just to help me. I’m grateful. He’s been a good friend,” she says and something about that really bothers me.

My hand comes up to the side of my face and my fingers push into the beard on my chin, as I move them over the indentions I find there. I trace the scars through my beard and think on what Hayden said, and the longer I do, the more I don’t like it.

“Do you kiss him?” I ask her, and my question comes out harsher than I intended. Hayden turns around to look at me and her steely eyes grow large as she looks at me in complete shock.

“What?” she gasps, surprise etched on her face—so much of it I want to smile. Still, I want to hear her deny it. I need her to confirm my thoughts. I’m not questioning myself as to why. I have a feeling that I don’t want to know.

“Do you kiss him?”

“Are you crazy? Why would I?”

“You said you kiss your friends when they do something nice for you,” I remind her, and I enjoy the way the heat moves into her face causing her to blush.

She’s got her hair up in a crazy contraption on the top of her head again. Wispy strands are going every which way. She’s wearing a red, long-sleeved t-shirt, and jogging pants. Her stomach is silhouetted softly in the shirt and she looks beautiful. Young, sweet, and untouched, which seems in direct contrast to her pregnancy. In this moment, I’m not sure I’ve seen a prettier woman. How did I ever think she was homely?

“Pastor Sturgill isn’t like you… well…I mean he’s a Pastor! I couldn’t kiss him. I wouldn’t want to. Wouldn’t God get mad or something?”

I smirk at her answer, while she’s busying herself with putting the now empty cookie sheet in the sink and washing it off. I know however, she’s just avoiding looking at me.

“I’m pretty sure you’re thinking of a priest.”

“What? Oh...Well, regardless. I wouldn’t even dream of doing that with Pastor Sturgill. He’s been good to me, but we’re not…friends. He’s not like you.”

“Like me?” I ask, suddenly more interested than I should be.

“Yeah. You know you’re different. You’re like Charlie,” she says, transferring the cookies into a cardboard box.

“Charlie’s a woman. A very old woman. I’m a man,” I remind her, suddenly feeling annoyed. This makes Hayden turn to look at me. Somehow, she’s managed to get a little dusting of flour on her cheek.

“Of course she’s a woman. But well, you’re not a man to me,” she says shaking her head, and she says the words like she’s trying to explain something simple to a child. And now I know I’m annoyed.

“I’m not a man?” I growl.

“No. Well, I mean, obviously, you’re a man, but not to me. To me you’re…kind of…asexual.”

“Asexual?” I roar. Definitely roar. Fuck, I may have given up on my dick for longer than I care to think about, but I am definitely not ready for a woman to think of me as…Fuck. She thinks of me like a fucking old woman!

“What’s wrong with you?” Hayden asks, and I swear the woman is clueless, which just makes this worse.

“Maybe I’m upset because a woman is standing here telling me she doesn’t see me as a man!” I grumble. I didn’t think I had pride anymore. Apparently, I was wrong.

“Michael—”

“Don’t say it,” I warn her.

“Say what?” She stops, looking at me with her face a mixture of confusion and annoyance. She thinks she’s annoyed?

“Whatever you have cooked up in that silly noggin’ of yours.”

“Noggin’? Michael, seriously I think—”

“I assure you, Hayden, I am definitely a man.”

“Well of course you are. But not with me. With me you’re a friend. Like Charlie is my friend. And—”

“I warned you not to say that,” I mutter, turning to face her.

“What’s got into you?” she asks. “You’re acting crazy.”

“Men get that way when a woman doesn’t notice that they are, in actuality, a man.”

“Michael, you’re acting nuts. I just don’t see you like that. Just like you don’t see me as a woman. We’re friends,” she says again, and Jesus, can she be that clueless.

“Maybe it’s time I did something about it then.”

“About what?”

“Maybe it’s time I showed you that I am a man,” I gripe.

“Michael—” I don’t let her finish. I don’t let her finish because I know she’s going to end up saying something else to piss me off. So, I grab her and pull her into me. “Michael, please. I think—” Before she can finish I capture her words with my mouth.

I may regret this. Fuck. I know I’m gonna regret it, but I also know I’m going to kiss the hell out of Hayden Graham. She’ll never doubt I’m a man again.