Special Delivery: Father's Day: An Mpreg Romance Collection

by Aria Grace

  Shit. I’ve already given him a discount, but I thought—well, hoped that he had enough. As a struggling artist, I need every dollar that comes my way.

  What the hell am I supposed to do?

  The boy must see the hesitation on my face because he looks frightened for a moment. “It’s not enough?”

  It takes me another heartbeat to recover enough to speak. “You know what?” I say, my voice a little higher pitched than normal. “You said you’re getting this for your dad for Father’s Day?”

  The boy nods. Shit, are his eyes filling up with tears?

  I swallow thickly and deposit the figurine into a paper bag before pushing it and the mound of cash toward the boy. “How about this is my gift to you?” I say. “So you can give this to your dad?”

  He doesn’t move, not at first. “So...I don’t have to pay for it?”

  I nod. “Just be sure to give him a happy, happy Father’s Day, okay?”

  A little eep escapes him as he reaches up and takes the bag. He also starts picking up the cash, but his little hands have trouble grabbing all of it, especially since the bills are now all over my counter.

  So I grab another paper bag and slide them all into it. I hope it keeps things a little more organized for him—a little. “Oh,” I say, thinking of one more thing. “Take this business card in case your dad wants another figurine.” I slot the business card into the bag with the money. “Or he can buy a birdhouse,” I add, reaching out to touch one that’s hanging up. “I’m here every Sunday.”

  And suddenly I feel bad that it seems like I’m trying to upsell the kid. I’m really not, but...a part of me wants to meet the father of such a sweet boy. Then again, I’m sure he already has a partner, and I’m just one lonely alpha who fantasizes way too much about where his carvings end up.

  You’re pathetic, Joel.

  The little boy nods. “Th-thank you!”

  He turns to leave.

  “Hey,” I say, “what’s your name?”

  The boy stops and frowns. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  I blink at the unexpected answer and then barely hold back my laughter, especially since I can see his confusion, as he had just been talking to me and probably wonders if he did do something wrong.

  “Right,” I say with a nod. “Of course. Tell your dad happy Father’s Day for me.”

  The boy still watches me with that curious expression. “What’s your name?”

  Damn, he’s so cute. I smile. “Joel. My name is Joel.”

  “I’m Reilly,” the boy says quickly before running off into the crowd. Whether introducing himself was a slip or he decided it was okay after I told him my name, I’m not sure.

  But I do appreciate that he trusted me enough for that.

  “Hope your dad enjoys it, Reilly,” I murmur. I watch the spot where he left for a few seconds longer before sighing and getting back to work. That kid is probably going to be the highlight of my Sunday.

  And I turn back to help the next customer.

  18

  Marc

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” I ask Reilly as I see him running up to me.

  For a moment, I see a little of his alpha father in him as he runs on his skinny legs. Losing Chris two years ago had been devastating for me, but I see more and more of my late husband in our son every day.

  Chris, if only you were here. And my heart both swells and breaks in this moment as I lean forward to look at Reilly. “Is it in that bag?” I nod to the paper bag in his tight fist.

  “No,” Reilly says, hiding it from me, and it more than confirms my suspicions that he’s found some sort of gift for Father’s Day.

  We’d been going through the local farmer’s market down the road from our house, and something had caught his eye enough to where he shooed me away to a corner of the market so that he could use his saved-up money to buy...whatever it is. I hope he didn’t spend all of his hard-earned cash. It’s leftover from visits from the tooth fairy and finding some coins in the couch. Not a lot, by any means, but I know he’s been trying so hard to make this Father’s Day the best ever for me.

  Little does he know that every day with him as my son is the best Father’s Day I could ever wish for.

  Still, though, I can’t help teasing him. “It’s not something, is it?” I half-heartedly reach for the bag, and he turns farther away from me. “Then you won’t mind me having a look, right?”

  “Daa--aaad,” Reilly exclaims.

  I give a long sigh. “Okay, fine. Have your secrets.”

  It was a little hard giving him enough space to buy something to surprise me, but I respected him enough to give him his space. He knows that if someone were to try to kidnap him that he needs to scream, but I hated leaving him alone for that five minutes.

  And now he has something that he’s not going to show me, at least until next Sunday for Father’s Day. When I was his age, I couldn’t keep my excitement to myself and gave any present I got to my Dad and Pa right away.

  Reilly is completely different. A little sneaky and very stubborn. Chris was the exact same way, so I know where he gets it from. It’ll help him go further in life.

  I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him to my side as we walk past a florist stall. “I think we’re finished here, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Reilly says. “Dad?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Do you think you’ll get married again?”

  I nearly choke at his question and look down at him in shock. “Where did that come from?”

  He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Just wondering.”

  I hesitate, debating on what to say to him. How do you tell your five-year-old son that it’s hard when the person you swore to spend the rest of your life with passes away suddenly? How do you hope to move on from that?

  And what answer is Reilly looking for? I don’t want to lie to him, but I also don’t want to unnecessarily hurt him.

  “I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “It depends on if I found someone who would complete our family? And who would definitely treat you right.”

  He nods. “‘Kay.”

  “What would you want, Reilly?”

  He considers his answer for a moment, kicking at a rock in the path. “I don’t know. I just want you to be happy.”

  I suck in a deep breath and squeeze his shoulder. “Trust me, Reilly, I’m happy.”

  But like all things, I could be happier. But I don’t tell him that, and instead take him home.

  I stare at the figurine in my hands in disbelief. I just unwrapped it from the haphazard wrapping job that Reilly had done on his Father’s Day gift to me, and I hold it in my hands in shock.

  This is what Reilly bought last Sunday? This is what six dollars and change bought?

  No, not six dollars and change, because I saw that he had kept his money once we got home. I figured that he had bought something cheap and that was that.

  This is not cheap. This is exquisite, well-done, and most certainly expensive as hell. It’s a wooden carving of a father figure shielding his child in a loving embrace. Even though the lines are simple on the figure, I can see the story unfolding in the carving.

  Whoever did this is a master at his craft.

  “Reilly,” I whisper. “Where—how did you get this?”

  My son catches my shock, and I see his lip tremble. “From the farmer’s market. Joel makes carvings out of wood.”

  I whip my head up. “Joel?”

  “He makes those.” He nods to the figurine in my hands. “He’s really nice.”

  I’m still in shock, and a part of me wonders if I need to have a talk with him about stealing. Because there’s no way he got this for a few dollars—especially if it’s handmade.

  I finally settle on a question that I hope won’t turn my son off from telling me the truth. “Did you pay for this with your own money?”

  Reilly watches me for a long moment before shaking his head. Lik
e he knows he’s already in trouble.

  I sigh and sit back, unable to believe what he just told me. Maybe I need to teach him how money works. Maybe this is my fault.

  Regardless, this is something that we need to make right.

  “Reilly…”

  “He gave it to me,” Reilly says suddenly. “Joel gave it to me to give to you. Wanted to tell you Happy Father’s Day, too.”

  “He gave this to you?” I repeat in disbelief as I hold up the figurine. “But Reilly, this…”

  “He did, I promise!” Reilly’s eyes get watery. “I can prove it to you.”

  Before I can say another word, Reilly runs off toward his room, and a few moments later, he comes back with a business card in his hand. He hands it to me, and I look down at it dubiously.

  Joel Daniels, Woodcarver and Sculpturist

  There’s a phone number and website at the bottom. I debate for a moment calling the number to see if this Joel knows that his work of art somehow ended up in my son’s hands.

  Would he even remember Reilly coming over to his stall? It's been a week since he got this figurine, and there are many, many people that go through that farmer's market. I wouldn't be surprised if this Joel person didn't remember Reilly.

  Especially if your son stole the figurine.

  I dash the thought from my mind—Reilly told me that he didn't steal it, I need to believe him when he says that. If it is a lie, then, well, that's a conversation that I would gladly put off for another day.

  Chris, I wish you were here to help me with our son.

  I decide not to call the phone number—who knows if Joel would even pick up, and what would I say anyway? Thank you? Happy Father's Day to you, too? Does he even have kids?

  One step at a time. I take a steadying breath and look over at Reilly, giving him a smile. "Okay. I believe you."

  His entire body relaxes at my words, and I don't think he would be acting this way if he were lying. I have to trust my son in this.

  But, still, isn't the farmer's market open every Sunday, rain or shine, holiday or no holiday? Perhaps going down there to walk through the aisles would give us the opportunity to stop by Joel's stall. Maybe I could tell him thank you. Offer up a good review on Yelp or something.

  "So you said that Joel gave this to you, to give to me?" I ask Reilly. My son's relief suddenly turns back to concern, and I immediately try to smooth it over. "I think we should stop by today and say thank you. He may be out there all by himself on Father's Day, and we should do something to thank him."

  After all, good deeds don't come without strings.

  Reilly's face brightens up. "You wanna go to the market again?" Maybe it’s because he knows we’re going back to the woodworking stall, but he sounds so excited. I've been taking Reilly to the market every Sunday since he was in a bassinet. When Chris passed away, it was one of those routines that really got me through the rough times.

  I nod, and he squeaks with excitement, running away to his bedroom to put his shoes on for heading out. I chuckle to myself as I stand up and look at the figurine one last time.

  Seriously, it's so beautiful and well done, I can feel my throat tighten with emotion. I grin to myself as I set the figurine on the mantel, and get ready to go.

  19

  Joel

  I've had a booth at the farmer's market for eight years now, and while attendance goes up during spring and summer, you can definitely see the difference when there's a holiday like Father's Day. If you had asked me which holidays would be the busiest for the market, I would have said the Fourth of July or something like that. But Father's Day tends to bring out all the dads with their kids and gives them a bit of bonding time together.

  I love seeing it, even though my own childhood with my dads wasn't the best. I still feel a hole in my heart where I wish I could spend a day like today with a gorgeous omega and our brood of children.

  But that's never been in the cards for me, has it?

  I sigh and turn back to my till, watching the droves of people as they wander around the stall looking at my pieces. I've been especially busy today with all the extra foot traffic. Most have been interested in buying birdhouses or my handmade wooden bottle opener. I wish I could sell some more of my artistic pieces, but I'm not going to get in the way of what people want.

  I'm certainly not going to upsell them. I'm a great woodcarver, but I'm a really shitty salesman.

  So far, though, it hasn't hurt me too much.

  And that's when I spot a familiar face in the crowd.

  "Joel!" the little boy from last weekend exclaims as our eyes meet. His little hand lets go of the man's who is walking next to him so that he can run over this way.

  But I can't take my eyes off the man who's walking with him.

  He's a gorgeous omega, a little shorter than me, with a head of luscious black hair, bronzed skin, and blue eyes. I can see enough of him in Reilly, so I know he's his father, but...damn.

  I lick my lips, straighten my shoulders, and adjust the bulge in my pants, because it seems like every part of my body has gone on high alert with this gorgeous omega here. I’m glad to be behind my table.

  I force myself to pay attention to the little boy as he runs up to me. He deserves all the attention, even though his father can command it like a pro. "Reilly! How are you doing?" I come around the table and bend over and put my hands on my knees to bring me down to his level. "Did your dad like your present?" I ask him in a whisper.

  Reilly giggles. "Yes!" he says very loudly, and I nearly stagger backwards at his outburst. He looks back behind him at the omega. "Dad loved it, didn't you, Dad?"

  The omega comes up to my stall and stops beside his son, giving me a huge grin. "Reilly told me that you gave him the figurine."

  I stand up to my full height so that I can meet the omega in the eyes, and I give him a nod. "Yeah." And the weirdest thought occurs to me—shit, did he think that Reilly stole the figurine? "He had money for it, but he seemed so excited that I wanted to help out and give it to him."

  The omega watches me for a long moment before giving a nod. "That was...incredibly nice of you. It's just beautiful."

  The corners of my mouth lift in a grin that I can't help. "Thank you. I’m proud of it."

  Reilly slips his hand through his dad's and looks up at him. "I told you, Dad."

  And maybe my suspicion was right and he did truly think that about Reilly.

  "I figured that if he wanted to get you that for Father's Day, then it was going to a loving home." I nod to them both. "I can see that I was right.”

  To my immense pleasure, the omega blushes adorably.

  “He’s a good kid,” he says. His voice drops so Reilly can’t hear him and he leans into me. I get a delicious whiff of sandalwood and leather and something that just piques a primal instinct in me. “I have to admit…” the omega says softly, “I thought he…”

  “Stole it?” I laugh lightly and shake my head. “Nah, I generally keep a good eye on the merchandise, especially when it comes to the things I’m really proud of.” I gesture to one of the birdhouses hanging from the ceiling of my shop. “Sometimes, I’ll let someone steal one of these, at least, so the birds will have a place to be happy.”

  “And the figurines?”

  I suck in a breath. “Those I keep a better eye on. They take a lot longer, and they’re more...one of a kind.” I look over at Reilly as he picks up a birdhouse to examine it. “But your son was so excited to get that figurine, I couldn’t turn him down.”

  The omega watches me, his head cocked to the side. “Thank you.” He extends out his hand. “My name is Marc.”

  So we’re on a first-name basis right now. A rather large part of me is delighted.

  “Joel.” I take his proffered hand and give it a firm shake.

  “And you’ve already met Reilly, master gift giver of the market.”

  “Da-aaad,” Reilly says in an annoyed voice. He gives me a sidelong glance, like can you b
elieve him? and I laugh. "Dad always says stuff like that."

  "Well," I say, crossing my arms, "I agree with him."

  Reilly flushes such a deep red, I think I really offended him, but he just ducks behind Marc, and the omega chuckles. I can tell that he really loves his son, and I feel something twist in my chest.

  I wish I had something like that.

  But all of my relationships before this point have been, well, less than successful. My long-term boyfriend broke up with me last year because I wanted kids and he didn't. When it's something as different and drastic as that, you can't find common ground and compromise.

  You either have kids or you don't, and I really, really wanted a child to call my own and raise—and teach him how to carve like my father taught me.

  Kent didn't want anything to do with that, though, and so even though we tried working it out, we eventually broke up.

  Seeing Marc and Reilly right now and the love they have between them, I can tell that I made the right choice. Even if I haven't found the right omega yet.

  I suck in a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but I only draw his attention back to me, and Marc’s eyes pinch in the corners as he squints in the morning sun.

  "I want to thank you for the gift," he says.

  "Really, you don't have to." Although a part of me wants something more from him—but that's not something that you say to a man you just met. I scratch the back of my neck, trying to take my mind off it.

  "You don't know how much it means to me."

  "That's exactly why I gave it to Reilly." I nod at the boy. "To give to you."

  Marc purses his lips together, thinking as he digs in his pocket. "What time do you close your shop?" he asks suddenly.

  The question catches me off guard. "The market closes at one, but it usually takes a good forty-five minutes to pack everything up." Wood is more fragile than it seems, and I individually wrap every piece so it doesn't break or get damaged. I don't want to let down any customer by selling them a broken birdhouse. I'm more careful with my pieces than Geoff, the ceramics seller, is with his pottery.