Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Careful Planning

Chapter 2

Seven rolled around faster than she thought it would, and while she was dressed in some nicer clothes, her dinner wasn't turning out quite like she wanted.

"Well, fuck you Rachel Ray, and your tetrazzini too." George muttered to herself as she tried to salvage dinner.

She really had been trying to learn to cook, but she hadn't had any hands on experience and her Mother, a decent cook, wasn't a particularly imaginative kitchen operator. George had tried a few cooking shows, but she hadn't been successful in making anything that looked remotely like what had been on TV, at least when it came to meals. Desserts she could handle. Cookies and cupcakes especially. They were easy. She was almost scared that Rube would take one look at her in the kitchen, laugh and walk out before she had a chance to talk to him about anything. She was interrupted a moment later, when her doorbell rang.

"Shit." She muttered to herself again, as she self-consciously brushed off her clothes before answering the door.

Rube was there, dressed in a nice black shirt and slacks. It was good to see him in something other than his sweaters or jacket and odd shirts. She liked the sweaters though, especially his white one, not that she'd tell him that.

"Are you going to invite me in, or are we having a picnic on the porch?" His sharp comment brought her attention back to where it was supposed to be, but for once she didn't have a snippy comment to reply with.

"Come in." She stepped aside and he entered, giving her a quick questioning glance, which she missed, before looking around the house. She didn't think he'd ever been there.

"So what's for dinner?" He asked once he'd taken in his surroundings.

"Well, small hitch in my cooking plans, so what sounds good? And we'll order in."

"You said you were going to make me dinner."

"I also said I was only joking about poisoning you. I had a hitch in my dinner plans. I didn't take into account how fucking inept I am in a kitchen when it comes to something other than cookies or cupcakes. So what would you…" She paused as he sighed and started to roll up his sleeves. "What are you doing?"

"If you wanted a cooking lesson, all you had to do was ask." She stared at him dumbfounded for a moment before picking her jaw up off the floor.

"Um…ok." She followed him into the kitchen and watched him survey the inedible mess she'd created.

"What were you trying to make?" He sounded entirely too patient and it was making her nervous.

"I don't know some fancy dish off one of those cooking shows. Tetrazzini or something. What can I say, if it's not some form of dessert, I'm really fucking bad in the kitchen."

"You need to start with something simple and work your way up to fancy. You like lasagna."

"Yeah. I was going to try making it sometime this week."

"Even better." He wandered around her kitchen picking up various items and transferring them to the island countertop after dumping her mess into the sink.

They made dinner together. Rube was especially patient, something she both loved and was scared of. He didn't snap at her or call her a fuck-up. In fact his language was rather subdued, which cooled hers as well. It was almost paternal. That thought stopped her in her tracks. That was exactly what she didn't want from him. She had a father. She didn't need a fucking parent. She didn't want to him to feel anything remotely father like for her, not when she was in love with him.

Rube turned to look at her because she'd stopped moving so suddenly and had gone silent. The frown on her face had him wondering what he'd done to piss her off now. Sometimes he just couldn't keep up with her thought processes, and as far as he could tell, he hadn't said anything insulting all evening.

"What's the matter, Peanut?" He asked finally, watching as he was suddenly fixed with a hard glare.

"Stop calling me that." Her tone brooked no argument, but he couldn't understand what brought it on, and where it had come from. And it hurt a little too if he wanted to be honest.

"Why? I've always called you Peanut." Her glare didn't soften at all. It narrowed a bit, and he began to feel uncomfortable with the look. She had to explain or he was going to lose his temper. He tried to be calm because with George, that was usually the best approach, but she could also try his patience like no other.

"Because I'm NOT a child. I am NOT your child. I am Not some poor unfortunate stray that you need to parent to feel better about yourself." For a moment he felt like someone had sucker punched him in the gut.

"Ok, but I like to call you Peanut."

"Why? Because I remind you of someone? Well I can guess who and I'm not her, nor will I ever be her. I can't be her. I won't be your daughter Rube, not when I feel…" She trailed off, not willing to finish her sentence. She cursed herself silently, berating herself over her almost slip of the tongue. She wasn't ready for him to know that secret and he wasn't ready to hear it. Their dinner together was supposed to be about him, not her, and she'd gone and fucked things up again.

"You feel what, George? What do you feel when I call you Peanut?" His voice rose in volume. She was making him lose his temper faster than either of them anticipated. And because he was so good at getting her to cave when she was angry, and he knew it, he continued to push her buttons. "What do you feel, Georgia?" The use of her proper name was the final straw.

"I feel perverted when you call me Peanut because no daughter should, or would, feel the way I feel about you. And I'm tired of you thinking you can use me as a replacement for her, Rube. I am not your daughter, and I don't want to be." She blurted it out. The look on his face was priceless, and had the moment been a funny one, she'd have been happily wishing for a camera right about then, but it wasn't funny. It was sad, and heartbreaking, and horrible, and tense, and scary, and fucking painful. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion and not being able to do a damn thing about it. He stood there staring at her in shock. "Fuck!" She exclaimed and walked into the living room to hide in the nook between the couch and the window, while he pulled it together.