I parked in the small lot at the back of Stiva's and sat idling in Ranger's 911. I glanced at the shopping bag sitting on the seat next to me and placed my hand inside, idly running my fingers over the soft, delicate chenille of the cream-colored baby blanket. I'd been too dumbfounded by the huge amount of money in my bank account to pull the trigger on the crib, not to mention I wasn't sure if I could cram it in the tiny trunk of Ranger's car. The crib could wait, but I did leave with a baby blanket and a small yellow pacifier with a duck stuffed animal attached. I found that stroking the ultrasoft blanket was soothing, even if I was still unsure how I felt about parenting.

I climbed out of the car and swung my messenger bag over my shoulder, locking up before taking the sidewalk to the front doors. Stiva's was a two-story colonial-style home with a wrap-around porch on the front and utilitarian brick addition around back. The building had received some much-needed updates several years ago when I accidentally burned the place down—or so legend has it. For the record, my side of the story is slightly different.

I pushed my way through the door and into the vestibule, where the main offices for the funeral home were located. The bell on the door rang, alerting the staff of my presence.

"Coming," a voice rang out.

I followed the voice to the second office door and found Marty Mayhan sitting at his desk clad in black slacks and a blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His suit jacket was on the chair behind him, having dressed down from a morning funeral. Marty was the most recent co-owner of the funeral home, which was now officially being called "Mayhan & Doughtery Funeral Home" even if the entirety of the Burg still called it Stiva's. I knew Marty well, no thanks to the slew of viewings and funerals grandma dragged me to as chaperone. Grandma had a tendency to poke the deceased with pins to confirm they were, in fact, deceased, and on occasion, she'd been known to try to pry open closed caskets. These were two of the many reasons she required a chaperone.

"Hi Marty," I greeted.

"Stephanie!" he greeted, peering over the frames of his dark glasses at me, his black hair oily and wind-blown. "What a surprise. I didn't expect to see you. How may I help you?"

"I'm here about Richard Orr, Jr.'s funeral arrangements," I explained.

"Ah, yes. His visitation will be tonight. Are you wanting to send flowers? Contribute to his memorial?"

"No, I was stopping by to see if his parents had paid for your services yet."

"Well," Marty said, furrowing his brows and drawing out the syllable, "I'm not sure I can disclose that information to non-family. Is there a reason you ask?"

"I was going to write you a check to cover the funeral expenses if they hadn't already," I explained, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "I was the beneficiary of his life insurance policy, and its only right those funds cover the cost."

"Oh!" Marty said, scrambling to his feet. "I had no idea you and Mr. Orr were… an item."

He scrambled around the desk and ushered me into a green, wingback chair in front of his desk.

"I am so very sorry for your loss. Can I offer you a water? Coffee?"

"Marty, I'm fine. We weren't…. an item," I argued, mirroring his words. "He is… was… is… my ex husband."

"Oh," Marty said, confused. "Now you've lost me."

"Believe me, we're all confused," I said with a light laugh. "Can I just get you paid?"


Thirty minutes later, I was back on the road and twenty-two thousand dollars poorer. Not that a girl with nearly two million dollars in her bank account could be considered poor, but nevertheless, I'd never written a check that big before.

I thought about the additional money sitting in my account. When I'd thought about using it to provide for Avalos and Richard's child, I didn't feel so icky receiving the money. Now that she had died, it was just me and a huge sum of money. It was Twilight-Zone territory.

I drove to the bakery on autopilot and purchased two cannoli, then drove to the real estate office several blocks down. I'd never been to the office before, but I was familiar with the business. It was owned by Gina Graziano, who was in Morelli's class in school. Her dad, Gregor Graziano, had owned it prior to retiring to Atlantic City last year. I didn't know Gina well, but she had a reputation for being a good realtor.

I dialed Ranger using the car's Bluetooth as I shoved cannoli in my mouth. He answered on the third ring.

"Babe."

"Hey," I mumbled through a mouthful of pastry.

"Donuts?" he asked, his smile apparent in his tone.

"Mmm-mmm…" I said, swallowing. "Cannoli."

"Bad day?"

"Just weird," I admitted. "We still on for dinner at my parents'?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

I sat poking around at the pastry in my hand, an awkward silence sitting between us.

"Talk to me," he urged.

"Are you for real about us buying a house?"

"Of course," he said, his tone serious.

"I'm sitting in front of a realtor's office. I'm calling you for the motivation to do the thing."

I swear I could hear him smile on the other end.

"Proud of you, Babe."

I rolled my eyes and sighed.

"Anything I should know before I walk in?"

"I don't want to live on Stark Street," he said, deadpan.

I rolled my eyes so severely I nearly dropped my cannoli.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Two bedrooms minimum."

"Mmmhrm."

"Two baths."

"Okay."

"A garage would be ideal."

I started digging around in my messenger bag for something to write with, finding a pen but no paper. I scribbled shorthand notes on the back of my hand.

"I don't want to live in Ewing," he acknowledged.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for this," I admitted. "Home buying and home ownership seems awfully… responsible."

"Babe."

I sighed.

"Tell the realtor what you might want. They'll find homes for us to view. We can go together."


I sat at a chair across from Gina in her white office. White carpet, white chairs, white desk, white curtains. The only things that weren't white was her hair, which was bottle blonde with dark roots, and the variety of succulents that were scattered around the room in pots—which were also white.

"It's good to see you, Stephanie. I'm glad I happened to be in the office today. How can I help you? Property to sell? Looking to buy? Invest?"

"I think I want to buy a house," I said, an air of uncertainty in my voice.

She pursed her lips.

"You think?" she asked. "You don't know?" She gave a light laugh.

I shrugged.

"Yes, I think I want to buy a house. I don't know the first thing about doing it—that's why I'm here."

She gave a single nod.

"Well, you've come to the right place!" she said excitedly. "I'd be happy to help you find a home!"


After nearly an hour of discussing fixer-uppers, new construction, bathrooms, bedrooms, wine cellars, breakfast nooks, quartz countertops, attached garages, and other features I'd like in a home, I returned to the apartment where Ranger was waiting. He was dressed in shorts and a tee, looking comfortable and relaxed.

"How'd it go?" Ranger asked.

I dropped his keys into the silver tray on the entryway table.

"Fine," I sighed.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You don't sound fine."

"I had no idea discussing houses was so exhausting," I admitted, dumping my messenger bag on the floor.

I crossed into the living room and collapsed on the couch, dropping my shopping bags beside me.

"Let me know how I can help," Ranger said, crossing to stand behind me.

He placed his hands on my shoulders and began massaging my tight muscles. I couldn't help it—I moaned.

"You seem stressed," he admitted.

I nodded.

"Dickie's life insurance money showed up today. I paid for his funeral, but the rest of it…"

Silence sat between us, and I melted into the couch as his fingers released the tension I'd been carrying.

"I can get you a meeting with my financial advisor," Ranger finally said. "He could help talk you through some options.

I shrugged.

"That might be okay," I admitted. "Does he give good advice?"

"I've followed nearly all of his advice," Ranger acknowledged.

"Nearly all? What didn't you do?" I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

He leaned over and gave me a two-hundred-watt smile.

"I let you drive my cars."

I groaned and buried my face in my hands before we both broke into a fit of laughter.

"How was the mall?" Ranger asked, dutifully picking up my shopping bags.

"Heavenly," I admitted, remembering the smell of the pretzels.

He looked at the bags and raised an eyebrow at the Pottery Barn Kids bag.

"Gimme," I said, extending my arms to him.

He lightly tossed me the bag, and I pulled the soft baby blanket out, spreading it over my torso. I curled my fingers into the soft fabric and sighed.

"Motherhood looks good on you, Babe," Ranger said softly.

Our eyes met, and a moment passed between us. My heart fluttered in my chest.

Ranger's face grew serious. He placed the bags back on the floor and took a seat on the couch next to me. He gently placed a hand on the blanket over my abdomen and nuzzled into my neck. I placed my hand atop his and kissed his forehead, breathing in the scent of his hair.

"I love you," I murmured.


The smell of roast chicken and mashed potatoes permeated my parents living room as grandma ushered Ranger and I into the house.

"I can't believe you're not going to Dickie's viewing!" Grandma exclaimed. "It's gonna be huge!"

"Have you forgotten about our divorce?" I asked. "The Burg would go nuts if I went."

"Exactly!" Grandma said, clapping excitedly. "Wear something hot, and you'll be the talk of the town for days!"

I stared at Grandma in open-mouthed horror. She didn't understand how much I didn't want that attention.

"You're looking well, Mrs. Mazur," Ranger greeted, changing the subject.

Grandma embraced him, and I thought Ranger looked surprisingly at ease.

"Hi dad," I greeted, finding my father in front of the television.

"Hi pumpkin," he greeted flatly.

"Frank," Ranger greeted, taking a seat on the couch.

My dad nodded at Ranger as Grandma ushered me into the dining room.

The table was set for five, and the bread, wine, and water glasses were in place.

"Have you set the date for your big day yet?" Grandma asked excitedly.

"No," I admitted. "Everyone keeps asking, but I haven't even thought about it."

"Better get crackin'," Grandma said. "You wait too long, and you're gonna get wrinkly like me and your mother. Not to mention your ticking biological clock…"

I couldn't help it. I rolled my eyes and scowled, pushing through the door to the kitchen. My mom was standing at the stovetop, dishing something into a serving bowl.

"Hey mom."

"Stephanie!" she said enthusiastically. "I'm so glad you made it! Here," she said, thrusting the serving dish into my hands, "take these to the table."

I glanced down into the bowl of brussel sprouts.

"Okay."

I took two steps toward the kitchen door before the overpowering smell of the vegetables hit me like semi-truck. My stomach turned, and I barely managed to drop the bowl on the table before emptying the contents of my stomach into the kitchen garbage can.

"Stephanie?" my mother asked, her tone full of worry. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," I croaked, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. "Just gimme a minute."

Grandma took the bowl of brussel sprouts from the table.

"I haven't heard of any stomach bugs going around. Do you think it's food poisoning?" Grandma asked.

I shuffled to the sink and rinsed out my mouth with water.

"Really, I'm good," I said, taking a seat at the table.

Grandma stood behind me and put her hand on my forehead, checking for a fever. The brussel sprout smell wafted over to me again, and I launched myself to the garbage can to dry heave.

"Well I'll be! I knew you weren't a big fan of these," she said, gesturing at the bowl, "but I didn't realize they made you sick."

My mother turned to face me and crossed herself.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, are you pregnant?!" she shrieked.

"N… no…" I stammered, gripping the countertop for support. "Why would you say that?"

The kitchen door swung open, and Ranger strolled into the room. He took one look at me and realized something was off.

"Babe, you don't look so good."

"You're lying!" my mom argued, hands on hips. "You're a terrible liar."

Ranger wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into his side.

"What on God's green earth…" my dad said, walking into the kitchen to see what the commotion was about.

"Oh Helen, lay off her," Grandma said, placing a serving spoon in the bowl of vegetables.

"But she has to be pregnant!" my mother mused. "When I was pregnant with her, smells did the exact same thing to me."

Ranger's eyes met mine, and he gave me a barely perceptible nod. His approval to share the news. I sighed.

"Fine," I admitted. "We're pregnant."

Ranger gave tentative smile and placed a hand over my still-flat stomach.

"We were waiting for the second trimester to tell you," he said in explanation, "but it looks like baby had other plans."

Chaos erupted in the kitchen as my mom and grandma broke into cheers. My dad clapped Ranger on the back and shook his hand, congratulating him before wrapping me in a tight hug.

"She's getting married AND having a baby!" my mom cried, tears streaming down her face. "I'm going to be a grandma again!"

"Please keep this quiet for now," I begged my parents. "Its still early."

Ranger took my hand in his and squeezed it, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. He could sense my panic.

"Well, I'll be!" Grandma said, clapping her hands together. "I'm going to have to get the crochet hook out! I love baby afghans!"


Ranger and I rode in silence down Hamilton in his Porsche after dinner. Grandma had been in a hurry to finish dinner so she could get to Stiva's, and I wasn't going to complain. I was mentally drained, and I could tell Ranger was tired, too.

My phone buzzed as we sat at a stoplight. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw a number I didn't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Stephanie! This is Gina Graziano. Hey, I'm sorry to be calling on such short notice, but I just caught a price drop on a house that fits a lot of your criteria. I think we should move on it tonight if you're interested to see it."

"Wow. That's…. fast," I admitted.

"It would need a lot of work, but it's a steal. It sounded like you had the time to invest in a fixer-upper. Can I meet you in twenty?"

"Give me a sec," I said, covering the microphone on my phone. "Do we want to go check out a house?" I asked Ranger.

He gave a nod of agreement, and I put the phone back to my ear.

"Sure. Let me hand you to Rang…. I mean, Carlos. You can give him the address since he's driving."

Ranger grinned at my calling him Carlos and reached for the phone.

"You know that's never NOT going to be weird for me, right?" I admitted.

"Babe," he said with a shit-eating grin.

"Yo," Ranger said into the phone.

He listened for a while, then smirked. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt while he listened.

"We will see you shortly," Ranger closed before hanging up, handing me back the phone.

"Do you know how to get there?" I asked

"Yes."

We took three lefts and circled back the other direction.

"It's in the Burg?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes," Ranger said, his expression giving nothing away.

"Is that okay with you?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"My home is with you. I don't really care where it is."

We drove familiar roads until we eventually ended up parked in front of my parent's house once more. Their house was dark, the family having departed for Dickie's viewing.

"Are we that early? Are we killing time?" I asked, confused.

Ranger gestured at the other side of my parent's duplex, and recognition dawned on me.

"She's showing us Mrs. Markowitz's house?"