A/N: I don't own what you recognize. And thank you to anyone who has reviewed.

George was a patient man. He was a calm man. He was a kind man. He was a good man.

However, he was not a man who liked it when other people sat in his favorite recliner in the living room.

I learned this the night that we found out that I was having a girl. I was curled up in the recliner and reading Death Comes for the Archbishop while drinking a mug of mint tea. And then George came into the living room.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked me, leaning against the top of my chair.

"Reading," I replied without looking up.

George sighed. "I know you're reading. What else are you doing?"

"Attempting to ignore you."

"Emma, you are sitting in MY chair."

"Oh," I said casually. "I suppose I am. Is that a problem?"

"Is that a problem?" he repeated, seemingly befuddled. "It's my chair, the chair that I bought with my own money, my favorite chair. It's my chair, and I want to sit in it. But I can't because you're sitting in it. Of course it's a problem."

"But I'm pregnant, and it's a comfortable chair." That comment was accentuated by my attempt at puppy-dog eyes.

He sighed. "Are you going to use pregnancy as an excuse for everything now?"

I rolled my eyes. "George, I am pregnant. And it is a very comfortable chair."

"I know that it's a comfortable chair, and I would like to sit in it."

I sighed. "So despite the fact that I'm pregnant and I finally got comfortable, I have to move just to make you happy?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

"All right," I said, starting to sit up. "But I would just like you to know that Baby does not approve of this."

"Tell Baby that it's nothing personal. I just want to be comfortable."

I stood up and moved to the couch. "Fine, but Baby says that she'll remember this at three o'clock in the morning when you have a class to teach at eight o'clock the next morning."

He rolled his eyes. "The baby is not vindictive. That's her mother."

"She's a girl, and I'm her mother. Of course she's vindictive."

George laughed as he sat down in his recliner. "Good gravy, you are ridiculous, Emma Clare."

"I'm pregnant. You have to humor me. Besides, I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant and I have to tell my parents."

"You haven't told your parents yet?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Why not?"

"I'm scared."

He took my hand and squeezed it. "They're your parents. They adore you. Just tell them. You're five months pregnant. They're going to notice."

"Not if I just avoid them until after the baby is born," I replied.

"And then you're going to hide the baby for the rest of her life?"

I sighed. "Don't bother me with trivialities."

"Em, you're pregnant. They're your parents and they love you. They'll be thrilled that you're having a baby."

"They won't be thrilled that I'm a single mother. "

"You've got me by your side. You'll be fine. They'll be thrilled."

I snorted. "George, you know my parents. They won't be thrilled about the baby. My mom will use this as yet another excuse to point out why my dad shouldn't have gotten custody of me after the divorce. And my dad will use this as another reason how my mom failed our family and let us all down when she left him for John. This will just be another example of how freaking dysfunctional my family is."

"Em, you don't have to tell them about Paul. You can say that it's my baby."

"Umm, moron, you were in England when I got pregnant. This is not your baby," I said, resting my hands on my belly.

"Em, we could lie to your parents."

"Wait, St. George Knightley is promoting lying?" I teased.

"Okay, so maybe we shouldn't lie to them directly," he replied with a firm look in his eyes. "It will just be a lie of omission. You'll tell them that you're pregnant and due in November. You'll mention that you and Paul broke up for good back in the winter. I'll be there with you and acting very supportive of course. Naturally, Chuck and Dianne will use this information to deduce that we are together and that I'm the father of your baby. And we won't do anything to contradict this."

I smiled. "Why are you always so helpful?"

"So that you forget that I stole the recliner from you," he replied with an impish grin.

I'm not going to lie. At that moment, I totally wanted to kiss him senseless. But that was totally just the result of pregnancy hormones messing with my brain. Totally.

Two days later, I had lunch with Hannah Taylor-Churchill and Hattie Smith. Hannah and I had been on shaky terms since Paul and I broke up. While we were still friends, Paul was her husband's brother, and that made things a bit sticky between us. I had managed to keep my pregnancy from her thus far, but now it was inevitable that I would have to tell her. And knowing Hannah's sentimentality, she would insist that there must be a way for Paul and I to make peace for the sake of our child. She wouldn't like the idea of George taking Paul's place in the baby's life while I didn't think that Paul had any sort of place in the baby's life other than that of an anonymous sperm donor.

And Hattie was despondent over her "breakup" with Blake. Sure, they'd only had a few dates, but to Hattie, that might as well as have been seven years of marriage with three kids. "I just want a real man," she sighed as soon as we were seated and the hostess had given us our menus.

" A real man?" I asked with a sigh. "I'd love to know where I could find one of those."

"Oh please," Hannah snorted. "You live with George. He is the most perfect man alive. I mean, sure, Paul and Weston are probably more attractive, but George is simply amazing. They don't make them like him anymore."

"He is gorgeous," Hattie sighed. "I'd date him. But I'm still hoping I could get Blake back."

"But you guys broke up ages ago," I said. "Do you really think that you want to get back together with some guy you went on three dates with back in the winter?"

"It was winter and spring," she protested. "And besides, Emma, I know you don't understand this, but he's my soulmate. He's my Prince Charming, my one true love. I know that we are destined to be together. We're like Hannah and Weston and you with Paul. We are soulmates."

I sighed and rested a hand on my belly under the table. "Hatte, I've told you that Paul and I are over."

"You guys have broken up before though," Hannah protested. "And you always get back together. You guys are destined."

"No, we're really not," I began.

Hannah held up a hand. "It's destiny. I know you don't believe me, but it is. You're my best friend, and he's my husband's brother. It is destiny, sweetie."

I sighed. "I know you mean well, but seriously, Paul and I are over for good this time."

"You guys broke up on Valentine's Day over George's shirt. It's just a dumb little shirt. Inevitably, you will be back together," Hannah protested.

"Exactly," Hattie agreed. "I know that this thing that Blake is doing with Gus is just a phase, and someday soon he'll find his way home to me."

I couldn't believe she still thought that. She had gone on three, count them three, dates with Blake. He had been dating Gus for four months. There was no way she was going to get Blake back now that he was in the clutches of Augusta Georgia Hawkins. But I wasn't about to tell her that; Hattie wouldn't listen anyway.

"The point is, Emma," Hannah said. "This is destiny. You two are meant to be together."

"No, we really aren't," I said. "I know that for sure."

"How can you know that?" Hannah demanded.

I sighed and rubbed my bump, which was still hidden under the table. "Paul doesn't ever want to have children. He told me that a few times over the past few years, but he made it infinitely clear in May. He never wants kids, and I can't live like that."

"Maybe he'll change his mind with time," Hattie offered sweetly.

"I don't think there is very much time left for him to change his mind," I said softly.

Hannah's face was suddenly concerned. "What happened now?"

"I'm pregnant," I told her. "I'm five months pregnant, and while the baby is Paul's, he has absolutely no interest in the baby."

"I'm sure that if you talked to him," my friend began.

I cut her off. "I have talked to him. He told me to terminate the pregnancy and save us both the hassle."

"Well, then, I'll have Weston talk to him. I'm sure he'll change his mind."

I sighed. "Hannah, please don't do that. Paul doesn't want the baby. I don't even think he wants me. But George has promised me that he'll be there for me the whole way."

"I knew he was the perfect man," Hattie sighed. Sometimes, I was pretty sure that she had the emotional depth of a thirteen-year-old girl reading a Nicholas Sparks book.

I shrugged. "I don't know if he's perfect, but he's pretty darn amazing."

"So you're going to marry George now, right?" Hattie inquired. The eager look on her face quite honestly reminded me of a beaver; her buckteeth did not help her in that regard.

I shook my head. "No, we're just friends. He'll be there for Baby and me no matter what. But we're just friends."

"He's so dreamy," my younger friend sighed. "I would love to marry a man who is as faithful, devoted, and gorgeous as George Knightley."

"I cannot understand why you're still friends with Hattie Smith," George sighed when we were making dinner together that evening. "She's immature and ridiculous."

I laughed. "Funny, I'm pretty sure I've heard her describe you as a dreamboat a few times."

He snorted. "A dreamboat? Me? Ha, I knew she was dumb."

I smacked him. "George, that's horrible."

"Okay, she's not dumb, but she sure isn't a genius either. And furthermore, I am not a dreamboat. I'm a tall, skinny blond guy. I'm pretty bland to be honest."

I laughed. "Personally, I think you're pretty darn amazing."

He shrugged. "I'm just an average guy trying to make his way through life."

"Maybe that's how you see yourself, but to someone trying to navigate her way through a difficult time in her personal life, you're a hero."

George smiled one of his rare real smiles. "So, my dear damsel in distress, when would you like this hero to go with you to talk to your parents?"

"We're meeting my dad for dinner on Monday," I began. "And we're having dinner with my mom and John on Wednesday. If that works for you, that is."

He pulled out his iPhone and scrolled for a few seconds. "Yep, I'm free both nights. I'll be there, holding your hand and doing anything else you need."

"See, you really are utterly amazing," I sighed.

He smiled. "But I demand that you give me Tuesday evening free to go out with Rob Martin and have real man time."

I laughed. "Real man time? That's what you call it?"

He shrugged. "I need time when I can burp and drink beer and have fun."

"And you can't do that with me?"

"Em, it's nothing personal. But I feel guilty drinking around you when you're pregnant. And I know you; you don't like burping."

"It's gross," I said.

"So you've told me a million times. And that's why I'm going to go out burping with Rob on Tuesday."

I raised my eyebrows. "I hope you have fun."

He grinned. "Oh trust me, Emma Woodhouse. I will."

A/N: Please review!