What if…
And not just sexually speaking.
While she stood at the sink and filled a vase with water, she glanced out into the yard, where Woofer and Wags lay in the shade of an elm tree. The dogs had grown comfortable with each other in the past week or so.
The same could be said for Simone and Mike, she supposed.
She had to admit that she admired his spirit, as well as his thoughtfulness, and a solid friendship was clearly developing.
Would that make telling him about the baby easier or more difficult?
She couldn’t be sure.
Maybe she ought to just get it over with while they ate dinner—a game plan which seemed wise, especially after the dream she’d had last night. She’d awakened in the midst of it and found the image so unsettling that she’d climbed out of bed at 4:00 a.m. and put on a pot of water for a cup of tea.
In her dream, she’d held a baby girl, a sweet bundle of flannel and lace who’d had Mike’s black hair and green eyes. The smiling cherub had settled comfortably in Simone’s arm and turned a new mommy’s heart inside out—until the helpless babe began to cry.
A sense of panic had settled in, waking Simone from her sleep.
She feared that dreams like that might start hounding her subconscious until she finally told Mike she was pregnant and was able to put it all behind her.
Mike might have taken her past in stride, but he couldn’t convince her that she hadn’t come away from it unscathed.
And although he wasn’t worried about how she’d handle marriage and a family, she wasn’t ready to gamble with a child’s psyche.
Before the water threatened to spill out of the vase, she shut off the spigot. Next she cut off about an inch or so from the stems of the roses and arranged them carefully. When she carried the red buds back into the living room, Mike appeared to have everything planned just so.
“Do you care where I put these?” she asked.
“Not at all.”
In that case, she placed them in the center of her antique china hutch, then took a seat on one of the sofa cushions Mike had placed on the floor and studied the Japanese feast he’d spread out on the coffee table. He’d picked up wontons, California roll, a variety of sashimi, miso soup, steamed rice and chicken teriyaki.
“It looks good,” she said.
“Thanks. Why don’t you take a seat while I get us something to drink.”
“All right.”
“What would you like?”
“Water sounds good to me.”
When he returned from the kitchen with both glasses, he placed one in front of her and the other on his side of the table. Then he took his seat.
“How about some sashimi?” he asked. “I’ve got ahi and salmon.”
“I’ll pass.” She wasn’t sure what the rules were on eating raw fish when a woman was pregnant, so until she had a chance to read up on it, she thought it was best to decline.
He took a sip of his ice water. “I stocked some beer and wine in the fridge last time I was here. But I decided not to offer you any. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to ply you with alcohol.”
“Why would I think that?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Because I’ve offered you wine a couple of times. Of course, to be honest, I wouldn’t mind seeing you loosen up some.”
She bristled, sensing what he was about to say.
“You hold yourself back,” he went on to explain. “And I understand why you do. But there was a warm glow about you on the night we attended Dr. Wilder’s party, and you had a happy glimmer in your eyes.”
“That’s because I was tipsy.” And she’d be darned if she’d let that happen again.
“No, I noticed it when you reached for your first glass of champagne. I’m not sure you’d even taken a sip, but either way, I saw a side of you I hadn’t seen before, and it was nice.”
“That side of me doesn’t really exist.”
“I disagree. I think you let that woman out of her cage every now and again.”
For a moment, Simone was transported back to her college days. Back to when Tom broke up with her, saying pretty much the same thing. You need to loosen up, Simone. You’re strung too tight. You’ve built walls around yourself. And whenever anyone tries to get too close, you shut them out and turn on the deep freeze.
Tom’s words had stunned her to silence, and she’d felt herself recoil into an emotional fetal position, her heart frosting over and preparing for the worst.
Dammit. He’d slammed the palm of his hand down on the console of his car. There you go again, Simone, shutting me out. You’re an ice queen.
Mike hadn’t said those exact words, but his meaning was clear. And his thoughts had undoubtedly drifted in the same direction as Tom’s had that long-ago day on the way home from the shore.
“Is something wrong?” Mike asked.
Yes, something was wrong. They’d created a child. A baby she couldn’t keep. And she was going to have to level with him—now. While he was reminded of the woman she really was.
And who she wasn’t.
Oh, God, she pleaded, hoping The Man Upstairs cared enough to listen to her these days, that he cared enough to help her get the words out and set things to rights. I’ve got to tell him. And then I need to stand firm.
She raked a hand through the strands of her hair, then blew out a ragged breath. “There’s something you need to know.”
Mike, who was fiddling with his chopsticks, placed them on his paper plate and gazed at her. “What’s that?”
“I’m pregnant.”
His brow twitched, and his jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“Believe me, I may not have the best sense of humor in the world, but there’s no way I’d joke about something like that.”
“Is it mine?” His expression went from disbelief to well-duh in less than a millisecond. “Sorry. Of course it’s mine. I didn’t mean to…Wow.”
Yeah. Wow.
“That’s actually…cool,” he finally said, his initial shock morphing into an easy grin. “It’s a bit of a surprise, but I’m perfectly okay with it.”
Simone wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting him to say. Exactly that, she supposed.
But apparently, he hadn’t been listening to her. Didn’t he get it?
“Well, I’m not okay with it,” she admitted. “And I think it’s best for everyone involved if I give the baby up for adoption.”
As Simone’s cold hard solution hung in the air like the courthouse sentence of a convicted felon, Mike wanted to lash back, to argue. Yet he knew her well enough to keep his mouth shut and try to make some sense of this. To try to wrap his mind around it and form another game plan.
Damn.
Simone was pregnant.
With his baby.
For some crazy reason, he couldn’t stop a goofy smile from curling the edges of his mouth.
Their lovemaking had created a child.
Mike adored his nieces and nephews—seven of them and still counting. How he’d like to see his own son or daughter join its cousins in a game of