were living proof.
John ate the remainder of his breakfast vigorously. The real question was, though, why hadn’t she thought about that when they’d made love? Ah, hell, why hadn’t he thought about anything but how much he’d wanted her that night? There was no point in making this a blame game. What was done was done. They’d had sex, hot sex, and made a baby.
Though there was no way on earth he could invest emotionally in the pregnancy, or be a proper father, he could at least be an ally for Polly during a time when she would definitely need a friend. As for after the pregnancy? He downed the last of his orange juice. Well, he was content to take it one step at a time for now, and she’d just have to understand.
“So I’ll wait for you at the hospital parking lot on Thursday when you get off work, and take you to your appointment.”
“Okay.” She sounded like a teenager who’d given up on getting out of a major book report. “But can you take me home now? I’d really like to shower.”
“Of course.”
On Thursday, Polly ran a little late after change-of-shift report and had to run-walk to meet John at the car. He’d had the car brought up to the entrance and leaned against his silver sedan, checking his watch as she jogged his way.
“Sorry! We had some late admits and I couldn’t just dump and run.”
“I’ve already called the doctor’s office and let them know we may be a little late. I’ll drop you off in front then park.”
“Great. Thanks.” She fixed the flying strands of hair around her face, knowing her skin was probably shiny from working hard all day and that her colored lip gloss had long ago been chewed off. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The least he could do, was that how he looked at it? Was he only trying to get away with doing the bare minimum so as not to come off as a deadbeat? Boy, had she been there and done that with her aunts and uncles after her mother had died. Every part of that equation made her skin crawl, yet here she was, riding in John Griffin’s fancy car on her way to the doctor’s appointment he’d arranged. She was sick of people going through the motions on her behalf, but that seemed to be the repetitious hand life had dealt her. Resigned, she’d just have to make the best of it this time, not for her but for her baby’s sake.
Dr. Bernstein’s nurse was ready for her the minute she walked in and whisked her into one of the examination rooms in the glamorous medical suite. She had no intention of letting John in on the actual examination.
The doctor looked to be around John’s age and had gentle hands and an affable personality. He looked intently into her eyes as she explained her side of the pregnancy, and she believed him when he promised to keep her and the baby healthy and happy for the next eight and a half months.
“You can get dressed then meet me in my office,” he said on his way out the door after the thorough examination.
Polly suffered a surprise when she entered Dr. Bernstein’s office only to find John already sitting there, chatting amicably with “Geoff”, as he called him. The moment Polly stepped inside the conversation stopped and John shot up. He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit. She’d give him points for always being a gentleman.
“Polly,” Dr. “Geoff” started right in, “you are a healthy young woman, and at this early stage in the process I’d say you’re going to do well. Your uterus and cervix look good, the pregnancy is implanted securely in your uterus lining, and your pelvic cradle should handle the body changes just fine. I want to get some baseline lab work done for you and start you on prenatal vitamins. In a couple of weeks we’ll do an ultrasound.” He scribbled on a prescription pad, ripped it off and handed it to her, then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Do you have any questions?”
“My due date?”
“Right. My calculations show March twenty-eighth, give or take a day or two.”
The skin on her shoulders and arms prickled. Somehow, this actual date of birth made everything come into focus. It was real. She’d have a baby and be a mom beginning March twenty-eighth. John must have noticed her emotional reaction when he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. She couldn’t help the brimming tears. She was going to be a mother in eight short months from now. Only because the long and stressful day had caught up with her, and she needed it right this moment, she accepted John’s comfort as she buried her weeping eyes on his shoulder.
Back at the car, John grinned at her as he let her in the passenger side. “You agreed to let me fix you dinner twice a week, and I thought tonight would be a good time to get that routine rolling.”
“You don’t even know if I have food allergies or anything.” She’d recovered from the emotional high in the doctor’s office and had pulled up her guard again.
“Chicken tetrazzini with wholegrain noodles and a garden salad.”
Her mouth watered at the description. “I hate onions. Does it have onions?”
“Not now. I hope you like garlic, though.”
She bobbed her head as she slid inside the car. Hating having to hold back all her excitement about being pregnant, she tightened her jaw and ground her teeth for most of the ride back to John’s condo.
Marco the doorman gave her and John a knowing nod when they walked inside, and it made her pause. Had she ever seen him before? The small but tasteful lobby gave her the impression that well-off, long-time New Yorkers lived in the building. What a difference from her turn-of-the-century walk-up.
Though John had overall masculine flair in his taste in interior design, a maroon leather couch and chair with glass and chrome tables got her attention, and across the room a surprising floral-upholstered overstuffed chair and ottoman looked beyond inviting.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room that flowed naturally into his kitchen. “You need to rest as often as you can.” He tossed her the newspaper he’d just sorted out of his pile of mail. “Read this while I get cooking.”
“Don’t be so bossy.” At a little after five o’clock she was hungry and more than ready to eat, and decided not to give him a hard time, so she did what she was told and put her feet up, shaking out the newspaper and reading the headlines of the day, all of which were depressing.
She surreptitiously kept track of him while he cooked. He wore khaki slacks that fit in all the right places and a pale blue shirt. He’d removed the tie while he’d shuffled through his mail, and the open-collar look held her interest longer than she’d wanted. But most of all what kept her riveted to watching John was how he genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. She liked discovering that about him.
He ran a tidy kitchen and was very comfortable in it, like cooking was a less sterile version of surgery. She thought of her living arrangement and the tiny outdated appliances she shared. What she’d give to have such a gorgeous modern kitchen at her fingertips. The comfort of the chair and the simple dream of living in a place like John’s soon had her closing her suddenly weary eyes...
“Dinner’s ready!”
Polly sat bolt upright. What time was it? She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She’d taken a forty-minute nap. The hint of garlic, chicken and freshly drained pasta weaving their way from the kitchen and up her nostrils was heavenly. “Give me a sec to wash up, okay?”
“Of course.” He whistled while he set plates and flatware on the bistro-sized table in the corner of the kitchen, and she stopped a couple of moments to enjoy the sight.
The food smelled fantastic and her taste buds went into overdrive, looking forward to the meal as she hurried down the hall to wash her hands.
He hadn’t lied. John Griffin was a darned fine cook. Every mouthful sent jets of pleasure through her gastronomic senses. She could get used to these twice-a-week meals,