My Rockstar's Secret Baby

“May I assist?”

He might as well have been a giant, offering down a helping hand from the clouds. I accepted without hesitation; the deity made flesh almost levitating me to my feet. His other hand touched my hip as he helped to steady me, which caused my panties to flood themselves with lust.

“Thank you,” I managed, without stammering.

“I doubt anyone would notice,” he said, his light foreign accent registering for the first time.

“Notice what?”

“If you took your shoes off. They seem to be causing you bother.”

Stealing a quick glance around, I slipped off the heels, letting the hem of the dress fall back around my ankles. He was right, no one would notice and so what if they did?

It was a spring wedding, after all. If anything, I was on theme. A slow grin spread over my face as my aching feet felt a wave of relief.

“Better?”

“Much, Mr.- I’m sorry; what is your name?”

“I am called Ragnar. Ragnar Karlssen.”

“That’s funny, I have a cousin named Ragnar,” I blurted.

“Are you Norwegian?”

“Swedish, originally, I mean. Third generation. I’m Stephanie, Stephanie Morris.”

“They call you Stephanie?”

He rose an eyebrow at me.

And I mean, understandably, Jonna’s name definitely reflected our heritage, so “Stephanie” did seem to sort of come out of nowhere.

“Well, technically it’s my middle name,” I admitted, making a face. “But I’ve always gone by it.”

“What’s your first name?” he asked curiously.

I grimaced. My first name wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but he seemed so genuine and interested that I decided to share.

“It’s actually Olga,” I admitted.

He smiled a little.

“I have to admit, you don’t exactly look like an Olga,” he says.

“Don’t feel like one, either,” I replied with a laugh. I’d always hated that name. “Hence why I go by my middle name! So, what does Ragnar mean?”

“Army council.”

“Are you a general?” I teased.

“In a manner of speaking. You could say I keep the troops marching in time.”

I turned his words over in my head, searching for an angle by which to better understand them. He was certainly cryptic, as well as tall and handsome. The only thing missing was dark, and he would be the stuff of fortune-telling predictions.

Some of his oddities could no doubt be chalked up to cultural difference. He didn’t seem fresh-off-the-boat but he also didn’t seem like he had arrived all that long ago.

Was he one of Seth’s relatives?

Or could he possibly be one of mine?

I didn’t think we had any Norwegian blood, but anything was possible.

“We aren’t related, are we?” I blurted out.

“No, I’ve seen the family tree, and there’s not a Morris on it.”

“My mother’s maiden name is Erikssen,” I offered.

“No, none of them either. Why do you ask?”

The heat migrated from my pussy to my cheeks as I blushed furiously.

Had I basically just told a stranger I wanted to jump his bones?

In a round-about way, maybe, though it still really wasn’t like me.

“Would you like to go for a drink?” he asked me.

“They have drinks here,” I replied, pretending I didn’t know what he meant, to try to make up for my bluntness just a moment ago.

“I mean, after, like a date,” he elaborated.

“Oh, sure, though I don’t really drink,” I confessed, still trying to maintain my composure.

Inside I was screaming, he asked me on a date! Hooray!

“Me neither,” Seth said. “Alcohol can be really poisonous to the body and mind and soul. It’s one of the many things I’ve learned from Seth. He’s a great guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” I agreed, glad once again that my sister had found such a wonderful husband.

“I’ve got something to do here, and then we can go wherever you like,” he said.

I was within an inch of blurting ‘my place!’ but I managed to restrain my stampeding hormones. I’d never been so horny, but that was supposedly what happened once one was approaching 30, wasn’t it?

“Okay,” is all I said.

“You can come and watch,” he offered.

My mind swirling with questions, I followed him to the bandstand, where some guests had already gathered. It looked to be set up for a concert, with acoustic guitars of various sorts and at least three different versions of portable drums, from a full-sized set of bongos to one of those percussion boxes drummers use for unplugged sets.

“Seth decided to do something a bit different for his big day,” Ragnar explained, no doubt noticing my expression.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. From what I knew of Seth, he was one to march to the beat of his own drummer.

Following Ragnar’s lead, I sat down on the grass, wishing I had a towel or blanket to put down first, let alone a chair. I was never really good with nature, one of the side effects of being a city kid who’d never gone camping.

My idea of roughing it was sleeping on a friend’s couch in a basement apartment. You never knew where bugs might be hiding.