Sorry for the wait. I finished Harry Potter on Saturday afternoon and then ended up watching a lot of Arrested Development instead of writing. But here's the chapter, and I hope y'all aren't disappointed.

Dedicated to Kristin, who really should update her own story.

Same goes for the other authors who read my story.

Ch. 16

Olivia brightened suddenly. "I'm gonna go make breakfast!"

Michael made no move to stop her as she skipped out the door. "Uh, does she know how to cook?"

"Oh, you're one to talk," he laughed, sitting down next to me on the bed. "She's got the cereal thing down pat. Maybe she can show you how."

"Maybe I can show you a good hangover remedy."

With a sudden drop of his head, Michael was leaning rather uncomfortably against my shoulder. "Thank God!" he mumbled into my t-shirt. "You know?"

"Know what?"

"About my hangover. I was kinda hoping no one would notice. It might lead to some…awkward questions."

As long as he's not the one asking.

"How'd you know?" he asked, looking offended. "I'm pretty good, you know. Olivia's never caught on."

Never? As in this isn't the first time Michael's gotten drunk since I left? Whatever happened to his life of solitude? The VOW OF SILENCE? And I'm seriously hoping that celibacy thing stuck.

Or was that whole "Michael shaved his head and became a monk" thing just a dream?

Seeing as how I was running my hands through his thick brown hair, I'm guessing so. "Oh, sweetie," I laughed. "It's kinda obvious. Plus, I was kind of there whenever you were hitting the sauce."

"So how are YOU hiding the killer headache? I need an aspirin," he whined.

Poor, poor Mr. Moscovitz. I've hardly ever gotten drunk with him before, but Grandmere's little soirees were known to leave him hanging over the toilet for ages.

"I'm never drinking again. I don't even remember last night. Was I acting like a total idiot?"

"Of course not!" I assured him. He was much preferable last night to the guy who greeted me upon my return to New York. "You were fine. Just…just fine."

He looked up at me, his forehead wrinkling. "If I, um, if I did anyth—sorry. I know that's over and we shouldn't. I mean, it's not like I remember it at all, so it shouldn't matt—we used, uh, protection, didn't we?"

"Protection from what?" I asked blankly.

"Oh, that's right," said Michael, laughing nervously. "The uterus thing. So there's no chance…um, I really don't usually do that sort of thing. I'm responsible, I swear. And I won't do it again, unless…"

"Won't do what?" I was still completely in the dark. What did my uterus have to do with the events of—ohhhh…

My sudden bout of the giggles seemed to trouble Michael even more. "It's been a while!" he said defensively. "And…well, I can't be blamed for anything."

"Michael, we didn't do anything," I assured him, still chuckling a little. "We just shared the bed. I didn't think it was fair to make you sleep on the couch."

"N-nothing?" he stammered. "I guess…I mean, you were sober…can't be blamed…didn't want to take advan—let's go check on Olivia, 'kay?"

Michael shuttled me into the kitchen, his hand uncomfortably warm on the small of my back. "Are you okay, Daddy?" asked Olivia, looking up at him intently from her bowl of Cap'n Crunch. "You look really creepy."

"Oh?" was all Michael said in reply. But she was right. Bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes…traces of drool still present on his chin…chocolate locks in ever direction…

He grabbed a cereal box out of the pantry and turned to me. "Breakfast?" he said, wincing as he shut the cabinet door.

I took the Fruity Pebbles from him. "Don't worry about it. Just go back to bed." Michael smiled appreciatively, so I added under my breath, "You never could hold your liquor."

With an adorable blush and a slightly embarrassed grin, he shuffled back towards the bedroom, his pajama bottoms bunching up at his feet.

The fact that I want to follow him back there and pounce doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me, right? I mean, lots of people love the effects of hangovers. It's like how sweat is a turn-on or…or…people can't help but watch a car crash. Human nature!

There might be a hint of animal magnetism in there.

Once the door was safely closed behind him, I busied myself with fixing my cereal. Who says I can't cook? Thermopolis has got mad gourmet skills. Maybe I can't work a stove worth a damn, but damnit—I can pour.

"So, Olivia," I said casually, taking a seat beside her as she shoveled the golden cubes into her mouth with far more hand-eye coordination than I could ever hope to have. "Does your daddy get headaches in the mornings a lot?"

She looked up at me, her brows furrowing as she chewed. "He had tonsolomitis," she said slowly. "Is that the same thing?"

I tried another tactic. "Does he have lots of girlfriends?"

"Like you?" she asked, still looking a bit puzzled.

"Yeah, like—no, no, not like me at all. We're just friends."

"Then what kind of girlfriend?"

I fumbled for an explanation. Jeez! Doesn't she watch Friends? "Like one who sleeps over and he's really happy around her and talks about her a lot to you. And he wants you to like her a lot because he likes her so much."

Her confusion seemed to deepen even further. "Like you," she said more firmly, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.

"Michael doesn't like me," I insisted. "I'm not his girlfriend. I mean, like, someone he's in love with. That would be his girlfriend."

"But what if—" Olivia began.

"Do we have any Advil?" said Michael, appearing very suddenly in the doorway. Okay, seriously. I never even heard him leave the bedroom.

"Go away, Dad!" hissed Olivia. "This is top secret."

"Top secret, eh?" he said, eyes darting suspiciously between us.

"Girls only!" she said forcefully, raising her eyebrows.

After one more penetrating look around the room, he shuffled back to the bedroom.

Jeez. Who knows how much he heard?

"What were you saying?" I said to Olivia after my heart rate had returned to normal.

"Oh, nothing."

"What happened to girl talk?"

"Go have some girlfriend talk."

I shook my head. "You're crazy, kiddo. Now let's get out of the house…go do something. Have you ever seen a sand dollar?"

"A what?"

I sighed in relief. So not a good idea to be in such close proximity to my supposed boyfriend. Who knows what might happen? Or what he even knows?

Not that any of Olivia's speculation has anything to it. Just the silly observations of a child.

- - -

No wonder Michael had nothing resembling a love life (at least as far as Olivia knew…which doesn't seem to be much). He was spending all of his time studying James Bond movies. Brushing up on his somersaults. Shining his Walter PPK. Perfecting a British accent.

Homeboy has managed to pull off the sinister silent creep-up-and-scare-the-hell-out-of-Mia move without the blink of an eye. Twice now!

"Whatcha doin'?" he said in my ear, appearing suddenly beside me as Olivia and I were walking back to the cottage. Eerie, huh? How could I have not seen him walking out of the house!

It took me a moment to recover, clutching my heart as Michael grinned. "Christ! Do you always have to do that?"

"What's the big deal? We're just having fun."

"You're having fun," I corrected. "Jumping out and surprising me all the time. My heart wasn't made for this, you know."

"You surprise me all the time," said Michael ambiguously. "That's not fun?"

"It's not…intentional," I said slowly, unsure of what he was talking about.

"Hey, Olivia," said Michael, turning his attention away from me. "Mia and I are gonna go for a walk. That all right?"

She just shot me a grin and scampered into the house. Cute little brat.

"Come on," he said, walking a few steps ahead of me.

I stared after him for a moment. Olivia is reading way too much into this, alright? I mean…Michael and I had our thing, and for seven years that was pretty nice. But I'm different now! I was in love with a completely different guy.

But…I've befriended that guy. And we're raising a child together. And he's still pretty cute.

I caught up with him, falling into step with his bare feet as we padded along through the sand.

"You haven't changed, you know," he said, breaking the silence.

Crap.

"I mean it," continued Michael, taking my expression the wrong way. "Like, when you first showed up at my apartment. All I could see was, well, you that night. When we fought and you…well, you didn't wanna be there any more. But you're still you. You're not all pretentious like I thought you'd be. That's what I meant by surprises."

"So…so it's a good surprise?" I said nervously, not even sure what I was saying any more.

"I'd say so," said Michael, employing that voice I hadn't heard in years.

Oh, God. It was hisSexy Growl.

Of course, it had always been a joke between Michael and me, stemming from his obsession with none other than the Bond movies. He thought he'd try and be a ladies' man and woo me into his pants, but I'd giggle any time Michael would 'sexily' cock an eyebrow or purse his lips at me.

I tried to laugh. Really, I did! But at that point, anything Michael did was irresistible to me.

"Maybe…maybe I should go check on Olivia," I said breathlessly.

"She knows not to touch the stove. She's learned from your mistakes," joked Michael, taking a step towards me.

I so cannot handle this! It's far more than enough that Michael doesn't find me completely repulsive. I can cope with that. But for him to just waltz back in and have me trembling within weeks?

NOT COOL.

So, in accordance to Michael's opinion of my monotony, I turned and ran inside.

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