"Does that look like a penis to you?" I ask Taylor as we stand in my office at GEH.

"I'm not quite sure, sir. I've never seen one with these dimensions before." He leans in and takes a closer look.

"I know the angle is odd, but don't you think it could be?" I point to the object in question. "See, right there, that thing shooting up...and over." We both tilt our heads in the direction of over.

"I don't know how to say this, Mr. Grey, but I don't think it's possible for it to be that lengthy."

"Well, he is my son," I say, pulling the framed ultrasound away from him. I've been going over and over this thing since we got it and I can't tell anything for certain. One minute I'm sure it's girls and then another possibility for penis pops up. It's like one of those optical illusions. Dr. Greene made sure to give me the most frustrating shot possible. Both sets of legs are pretty much closed, except for a slight knee bend and outward kick on one so there's just enough room to possibly see something, but definitely not. I think she did it just to fuck with me.

"They are good looking children, Mr. Grey!" Taylor says.

"Yes, they are beautiful," I say, smiling at the picture with pride.

"The new imaging they have is remarkable, sir. It looks like that one's waving."

"No, that's the penis!"

Andrea buzzes and I put the photo back onto the desk. All four of my children and Ana covering my workspace. I remember the first thing I ever put on my desk— other than a pen holder—was the glider, and now it's surrounded by a life built on the faith of its wings.

"What is it?" I answer the buzz.

"Welch on line one, Mr. Grey," Andrea says.

I switch over.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to return my call before the twins graduated high school."

"Listen, Grey. It's a no-go on the sneak peek of the Doc Greene records. I couldn't get anywhere. That office is tight. They were obviously prepared for your shenanigans."

"You're my investigator. You're not supposed to let them see my shenanigans coming."

"Listen, I can't hide the sun with my ass," he says. I'm not so sure about that.

"So, what exactly are you telling me?"

"Enjoy the party."

"Well, why don't you just enjoy the rest of your life!"

"Okay, I will."

I'm not sure what I just threatened, exactly. I felt like it should've been bigger than happily ever after.

"Did you get the other items I asked for?"

"Grey, for the last time, four-year-old boys don't have sex offender records."

"Well, you better find all the information you can—number of playground marriages, ring-around-the-rosies antics, playing entirely too well with others—because I don't want their first criminal mark to be against my daughter!"

Andrea buzzes again.

"Mr. Grey, your sister-in-law is on line two."

Fuck. Kate. She's probably calling to gloat.

"Hold on, I'm not done with you," I say to Welch and flip over to Kate. "Katherine, why if it isn't the gatekeeper of secrets herself—"

"Stop telling my husband to dig through my drawers!" she says.

"Oh, I don't think I'd ever encourage that," I sarcastically chuckle.

"I saw your texts to him, asking him to swipe the envelope, but I was prepared for your shenanigans." Why is everyone so prepared for them today?

"Dude, you're gonna be outnumbered!" Elliot yells from the background, laughing. "Amp up security!"

"What did he say? Does he know? Is it girls?!" I ask.

"No, he's being an ass like his brother who fell from the same tree. Aside from Dr. Greene, the only two people in the world who know what you don't are me and Ana's good friend, Mr. Halifax."

"Who the fuck is Mr. Halifax?!"

She laughs with that Kavanagh brand of snicker and snark, like her shit has flecks of gold.

Andrea buzzes.

"Your daughter is on line three and says it's important, Mr. Grey."

"Hold on Kate!" I yell and switch over. "Hello, Princess," I soften. "What's wrong?"

"Chester has a scratchy head for you."

"What do you mean? He has fleas?" I knew she let him root around those wildflowers too much last weekend during that garden tea we had in the meadow.

"No, he didn't know something, so he scratches at his head to try for it to come out, but you need to itchy it for him, Daddy."

"You mean he has a question I need to answer?"

"Yeah."

I'm amazed I can translate these things with such ease now.

"Okay, what is it baby?" Who the fuck is Mr. Halifax?! Someone at the school? Her work? No, I know everyone on the play-roll and payroll. Why did Kate tell him? He better not fucking be coming to the party!

"Should he wear the blue shiny pants or pink shorts with the flowers?" Phoebe asks.

"Well, it's warm today, so maybe the shorts." I can't get this fucker Halifax off my mind! My knee is tapping so hard it may launch through the roof. Fuck! I just hit it on my desk.

"No, for the party tomorrow. Rules is you gots to wear the colors of the baby kinds you pick and he's a boy, but he thinks it's sisters, but he doesn't want to feel shy in front of the other boys who pick brothers." That rat wore a peacock print smoking jacket, lifts and a gold beret to breakfast, when's he ever shy?

"I think you should tell him to wear the blue shiny pants with a top hat and jacket covered in the brightest pink unicorn poop you can find. He can represent both teams."

"Oh, that would be so much pretty! Love you, Daddy!"

"Love you, too, Princess!"

She hangs up. I immediately switch back to Kate, but she's hung up. Even the dead air on her line is filled with snark. Fuck! Wait, Welch is still there!

"Welch! Thank God you're still with me!"

"I'm paid by the minute, why would I ever leave?"

"I need you to launch an immediate full-out, full-on investigation on some fucker my wife is friends with—a Mr. Halifax."

"Who? The guy who bakes the cakes?"

"You find that fucker— wait a minute, the guy who bakes cakes? How do you know this?"

"Halifax cakes. They're the best. Very exclusive. A lot of celebrity clientele."

"That's it!" I say.

"What's it?" he asks.

That's how we find out!" I look to Taylor. "We go straight to the cake man himself!"

########

"Are you sure this is the place, Taylor?" I whisper to him as we walk into some hole-in-the-wall off the beaten path. Or rather on the so badly beaten path it needs reconstructive surgery. No, that still makes it sound like a hidden gem. It's more like a closet with ovens. And not Ana's closet now; the one she had in that first apartment if it was set on fire, hosed off and set on fire again because the first time didn't make enough of an impression. Is Halifax trying to make the impression that he cooks so many cakes that the wall paper melted off or that he's so bogged down in sugar he doesn't have time for interior design? I can't believe Ana's even been inside this place! Sawyer is going to hear about it. She's not to be in this tenement again. Nothing looks earthquake proof and everything alarms fire hazard. Why, the big one hits and she could be trapped beneath the rubble! With him! It's just not worth the risk for good cake. I think Grace used to tell Elliot that same thing, of course he didn't listen, and look where he ended up.

"Yes, sir. This is it."

"But, Welch said it was exclusive." Unless by exclusive he meant only one person can comfortably walk in at a time. My shoulders rubbing so close to Taylor's in here is already making me squeamish.

"This establishment is highly regarded," Taylor says.

"By whom?"

He points to the far wall that's actually only two feet in front of us. I look over the photos of celebrities who've been here that adorn it.

"Well, now I'm comforted knowing a roadie from Aerosmith was here once in 1997," I say, dismissively looking away. He was the one who probably set the place on fire.

"His Yelp reviews are remarkable, sir." Taylor shows me his phone. Five stars all the way. Fuck, everyone gushes over him like he's the Friar of Flour or something. There's something suspicious about that. It's well known Yelp is a place for assholes seeking an audience to complain.

"One woman says her life was made when she discovered the delicate sweetness of his buttercream," Taylor says, reading.

"Taylor, do I look like I want to fucking know that?"

"I know you like me to give you information, sir."

"Information, yes; not play-by-play anecdotes on another man's frosting." I try to shake off thoughts of the baker's buttercream, but I just keep thinking how Ana has tasted it—probably with her lovely smile as he gave her a spoonful... "Where is this fucker?" I mutter, clenching my jaw and fisting my hands at my sides.

I look over to the counter, which is three paces to our right, and no one is there. We have to shuffle to get past some large 3-D cardboard wedding cake being cut by some bride and groom who look at each other like they just met yesterday. Halifax has propped this monstrosity in front of the counter, which is practically the middle of the fucking room. Why would he bother with that? No one can see a walk down the aisle smashed against their groin.

"Perhaps we should call him, sir," Taylor says, pointing to one of those old diner bells next to the register that's accompanied by a little sign that says "ring for service" with an arrow pointing to it. Why do I feel like Alice about to fall down the hole into that sketchy cat's drug den?

"Maybe this is all a front for a narcotics ring or something," I say. "You know, white flour in the front door, white powder out the back."

"Don Knotts was here," Taylor says, almost horrified by my implication as he points to an early 80's black and white 8x10. Oh yeah—Mr. Furley.

"Well, that doesn't mean anything. I don't know what kinds of side show antics he was up to back in his come and knock on our door years."

I roll my eyes and decide to ring the bell. I have no choice. Halifax has my answers.

"How can I help you?" asks a roly-poly little man of seventy-ish as he comes out from the back curtain, wearing an apron smeared with the gluttony of his afternoon. Jesus, he's all sweaty and out of breath. It's like he just stuck his dick a few rounds in an apple pie. His belly proves one thing— baked goods have been his life. Either that or he's five months pregnant with twins, as well.

"We're here to see a man about a cake," I say, ignoring the lemon curd-ish thing about to drop from his peck pocket and onto the counter.

"Well, I'm a man about a cake," he laughs and it jiggles his gut. "Petey Halifax, how do you do?" What man north of seven calls himself Petey?

"Yes, nice. Listen, we want to be brief and discreet about this," I say. "No one can know we're talking to you."

"Oh?"

"We have a situation..."

"Oh?"

"We need some information about a certain type of cake..."

"Oh?" He says oh so much, he may as well flip the letters around, tack on a w at the front and become an owl.

"It's one of those celebration cakes either for two girls or two boys—" I raise a brow and nod upward so he'll catch my drift. Although his mental midgetry might prevent his thoughts from reaching that high.

He looks at me and Taylor for an uncomfortably long moment and then suddenly grins from ear-to-ear, like some lightbulb went off in his head.

"I just had one of those ordered from a sister-in-law yesterday," he says. "She said it was a surprise for the family."

"That's the one!" I say. "That's my sister-in-law!"

"So the cake is for you guys?"

"Yes! We're supposed be surprising everyone at a big party tomorrow, but I'm just going nuts about it."

"I don't know why announcing two fellas has to be seen as such a surprise..."

"Fellas?" I gasp. "Wait a minute. Did you just say— As in—" I gulp. "You mean two boys?"

"Well, yeah."

"Taylor," I turn to him. "Taylor, did you hear—boys!"

"Oh sir, congratulations!"

Taylor embraces me and we're both a little emotional.

"Well, I've sure as heck never seen two people more in love." Halifax says. "Bet you two are looking forward to the honeymoon!"

I stop hugging Taylor immediately—like so immediately I almost rewound time and didn't do it all—and look at the elfin baker.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"Your sister-in-law Bernice was so excited about the whole thing. Don't worry, Great Grandma will come around. Just make sure she knows that you two could adopt or mix your swimmers in a dish and have a doctor make it happen in a hired girl."

What the fuck? Honeymoon? Great Grandma? Swimmers in a dish happening in a hired girl? Oh. My. God. The thought of Taylor and my sperm swimming together in a Petrie environment just made my dick shrivel within an inch of its life. Does this fucker really think Taylor and I are getting married?"

"Wait a minute–who's Bernice?" I ask.

"Isn't that your sister-in-law?" he returns.

"No!"

"But I thought—"

"We're not getting married!" I say. "We're having twins. I mean, not Taylor and me. My wife and I."

"Your wife?" He eyes me over and then shoots a look behind me, then back and forth again. It's like he's putting two-and-two together and it's equaling three, but it's close enough. "Hey wait a minute..." He takes the glasses from on top of his head and puts them on. "Is that you?" He points to that celeb spectacular wall and Taylor and I turn to see that right above a photo of Pee Wee Herman in his post public masturbation years and right below that jackass local newscaster Lamp Lightly or Litt Lamply or whatever the fuck-head's name is with the so-black-it's-blue rug, is one of my Forbes Richest List pictures. Oh god, it's that 2013 edition where I attempted to smile, but I just look like I passed gas with evil intentions.

"Why the hell am I on your wall?" I ask. How did Taylor and I miss this before?

"So it is you?" he asks, accusatorially.

"Let me rephrase the question—why the hell am I on your wall?"

"Because you love my cakes."

"I didn't even know you existed an hour ago."

"Well, you've sure known my banana cream swirl for years."

"Trust me, I don't want to know anything about your bananas or cream or anything to do with the swirling of them. I just want to know the color of the cake Katherine Grey ordered!"

"I was warned about you and your shenanigans!" Fuck! Again! It's like a press release was sent out on my shenanigans. Of course—Kavanagh. That's how she spends her time at that news rag. "I just didn't know you'd bring a henchmen." He points to Taylor.

"Then, you don't know me at all," I say.

"I've been given strict instructions not to spill the beans on your babies. You're just going to have to be surprised with that sweet little wife of yours tomorrow."

"Hey! Don't you call my wife sweet!" I lunge forward and Taylor holds me back.

"You're crazy!" Baker Man says.

"Oh, I'm crazy? I'm not the one who puts a man he's never met up on his wall like I'm some kind of a Backstreet Boy or something!"

"Why, you—"

"I bet you never even met Pee Wee Herman! You were just a fan of his "work" in the theatre."

"Get out!" he says, with a grimace that indicates the impact of that statement was far too low a blow.

"I'm not leaving until I get an answer, or that picture of me comes down," I say, rolling up my proverbial sleeves and lacing my gloves.

"Sure, that picture can come down," he says, eerily calm all of a sudden.

He comes out from behind the counter, squeezes his belly past us—since there's no room for three men and a food baby—and pulls another framed photo off some side shelf it's propped on.

"But, this picture goes up." He holds the photo up so I can get a good look and my heart nearly stops as I search for air. It's a smiling Ana, holding my 30th birthday party cake. Happy Birthday Christian written in yellow cursive across the top and edged by daffodils. That was a damn good cake. Fucker!

"You give me that!" I say, grabbing for it, but he pulls it away.

"It's my picture."

"That's my wife!" I try to move toward him, but I keep tripping over that damn cardboard cut-out.

"Hey watch it with my promotional materials!"

I kick the thing just to piss him off.

"Sir—" Taylor's trying to stop this from escalating, I can tell.

"No one puts pictures of my wife up!"

"It may be your wife, but that's my cake. And she posed with it right where you're standing."

I gasp. The illicit act took place right under my nose—literally.

"No way in hell you're putting your twisted version of pornography up in your sugar shack!" I grab for it, but he holds it behind his back fat.

"You leave. The photo stays. And now, so does your mug on my wall. Goodbye!" He opens the door.

"That's false advertisement. I could sue you for saying I endorse this place."

"I got checks with the Grey name—from your wife, your sister-in-law, your mama..."

"Oh, so you want to talk about mamas now?" Grace goes here, too? How did I not know that? My whole life feels like a string of baked good lies.

"Sir," Taylor whispers. "Talking about mamas never leads to anything good."

"Fine, why don't we talk to my lawyers?"

"Good idea, sir," Taylor says. "Let's go and talk to them, before you really have to talk them."

"You don't want to fuck with me, Grey," Halifax says. "Trust me. Everyone in this town loves the baker."

"Oh yeah—watch me!" I turn and reach over and rip my photo off the wall, along with Pee Wee's, taking a good portion of the remaining wallpaper with it.

"Now give me the photo of my wife," I say. "Or your Pee Wee photo is toast."

Halifax is seething; his glasses fogging up from the hell-hath-no-fury steam emanating from his eyeballs and out his ears. I think he may charge me, but instead sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. Damn, he knows how to whistle. Dogs in Oregon are barking right now.

"What seems to be the problem?" a deep graveled voice asks from the beyond. Not beyond the grave, beyond the door, but I can't see him because this place is so fucking small and Halifax's belly is so fucking big.

"Samson, it seems I have an unhappy customer..." Halifax says. "Put a smile on his face again."

Samson? Why do I get the feeling that Delilah didn't get to the haircut?

"I'd be delighted to, sir," Samson says. Shit, does this baker have his own Taylor?

Petey steps out, so Samson can squeeze in, alongside another authority figure of equal size. Authority meaning they're not quite police, but not quite unarmed citizens either. They're sort of like rent-a-cops with benefits.

"Petey says we gotta make you smile again," Samson says as the flank steak to his rib eye stands by, cracking his knuckles. "Now, how do you like to smile—teeth in or teeth out?"

#######

"We could've taken them down!" I say as Taylor opens my car door. "I thought you were a war man! Why'd you play all peacemaker back there?"

"Sir, I assess the risks of battle. And by the looks of that man's fist, the risk you wouldn't have found out the sex of your children until you awoke from the coma was far too great."

"That guy is mobbed up, Taylor." I grimace. "What kind of baker in a broom closet has a team of bouncers at the ready? Now we know how he gets those Yelp reviews!" I bet Don Knotts died not knowing he was up on that wall.

"At least you got your photos, sir," he says and shuts my door to take the driver's side.

"Yeah, for "framing costs" and the price of a new wall! Why would he want a new wall anyway, when he can just match the other ones with a flattened out cardboard box?" I shake my head. "And I still don't know the color of the cake!"

"Sir, it's less than twenty-four hours away. Maybe it'll be fun."

"Oh yeah? How am I supposed to act surprised for a crowd?"

"Well... I think just be surprised, sir, and see where that leads."

"Yeah, but what if it leads to a weird kind of surprised look with the cake cutting and everything. The photographer will be snapping off photos. People will expect something from me. I'm not a demonstrative person."

"Oh I don't know about that, sir. You were quite demonstrative back at the bakery."

"What if I'm over-the-moon excited on the inside, but it only comes across as vaguely bewildered and in twenty years the kids will be at Flynn thinking I wanted another gender and I'm a terrible father, all because I didn't know how to be surprised right?!"

"I'm sure the psychological ramifications won't run too far and wide, sir." He turns a corner, heading for home.

"Yeah, famous last words."

#######

"Ana, I need you in the bedroom, now," I say, walking into her office, taking her hand and attempting to pull her out of her desk chair, but it's taking more effort these days. So, instead of a swift dance, it's a multi-tiered ballet with a lengthy intermission.

"Yes, Sir," she smirks, after I finally have her up.

"Not that," I say. "Well, that after, but I need to talk to you first."

"In the bedroom?"

"I don't want you distracted by work... And I want the other after we talk."

"What is it? You look upset."

I sigh. "I can't lie to you, Ana. I've been to see the baker."

"Oh my God." She gasps. "Wait, what does that mean?"

"Your big friend who's obsessed with you."

"Is this about Jose again?"

"No, worse—Halifax!"

"Obsessed? That little old man, Petey?"

"Don't be confused by that cutesy Petey shit, he's a full blown Peter."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's a criminal. And you're not to endanger your life in that hobo shack again!"

"What? Why were you over there—oh no, you didn't!"

"I did, Ana. But, don't worry. He protected your secret with his life. And nearly had me gunned down by his militia in the process."

"What is going on here?" She looks genuinely bemused.

"I can't take it, Ana. It's driving me crazy that this information is out there and I can't get my hands on it. I want to find out. I just can't live another minute without knowing."

She sighs. "Okay."

"Okay? Okay to what?" She's so calm I fear for the future children living in my testicles.

"Okay, If you want to know you should know. It's not fair of me to hold the information back from you."

"Just like that?"

"They're your babies, too." She brushes my hand with her fingers and kisses my cheek. This definitely isn't how I expected this playing out.

She reaches over and grabs her cell and dials. Who's she calling? Kate will never give me the info, no matter what. And Halifax is probably filing paperwork against me as we speak.

"Dr. Greene, it's Ana." Dr. Greene? "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just calling to say that Christian and I have decided that it's okay if you tell him the sex of the babies." I can hear Dr. Greene yapping on about something in the background, sounding like those never seen adults in the Peanuts cartoons. "I know he's like that..."

"Like what?" I ask.

Ana waves at me to hush. "Yes, I'm sure. No, I don't want to know yet, but please tell him. I'm certain. Okay. Here he is." She hands me the phone.

"But, Ana," I say.

"It's okay. Go ahead." She smiles.

My Ana.

I put the phone up to my ear. I don't say anything for a moment. I'm speechless. I just look at the face of my angel.

"Mr. Grey, I can hear you breathing," Dr. Greene says. "I don't have all day." She'll have all day once I put a cork in it and the champagne fund dries up.

"Dr. Greene," I say.

"Well, let's get on with it," she says. "You're having—"

"Wait!" I say, my eyes locked on Ana.

"Mr. Grey—" Dr. Greene says.

"No, I don't want to know," I say and hang up.

"Christian," Ana says, watching me like the circus came to town and left behind a grinder monkey. "Why did you hang up on her?"

"Because I don't want to find out like this. I want to find out with you—together— and I want it to be special."

"But, you said you couldn't live another minute not knowing."

"That's when I felt I didn't have any control over the minutes or the knowing... Now that I do, I want to wait. I want it with you—tomorrow."

"Remember when I used to say you were mercurial?"

"Yes."

"That was an understatement."

"Oh, Ana..." I take her in my arms and hold her as close to me as possible. "I love you. And I'm excited for tomorrow."

"I can tell," she says as her fingertips brush my erection.

"Oh no," I pull back and look at her. "That doesn't wait until tomorrow."

"Really, Mr. Grey? Are you taking me to our bedroom like you promised?"

"No baby. I think I'm going to fuck you right here." I sit her on the edge of her desk and brush the papers away.

Reveal Party Next... xox