Newborn on Her Doorstep. Ellie Darkins
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alone with a sleeping baby—surely he could manage that, could ensure that she was safe while Lily was away?
He nodded. ‘Sure, go ahead. You look like you could do with a break.’
Her smile held for a moment before her face fell. Oh, God, that wasn’t what he’d meant at all. He’d all but said, You look awful, hadn’t he? What was it about this woman that made it so impossible for him to function anything like normal?
He started back-pedalling fast. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that at all. You look fine. I mean—I just meant you’ve slept in that chair two nights in a row, and I bet you’re tired. You look great.’
This wasn’t getting any better. But Lily grinned at him, probably enjoying his discomfort, and the fact that he didn’t seem at all able to remove his foot from his mouth.
A disconcerting noise and a very bad smell halted Nic’s apology in its tracks, and as he caught Lily’s eyes they both laughed.
‘Well, perhaps if you change her I might find it in my heart to forgive you.’
Before he had a chance to argue she was out of the room, leaving him alone with the baby. This was not at all what he’d expected when he’d reluctantly agreed to watch a sleeping baby for fifteen minutes, but he reached for the nappies and the cotton wool, acting on instinct.
He narrowed his eyes, trying not to see Rosie’s little pink cheeks or her tiny fingers. He just had to concentrate on the task in hand, and he could do that without really looking at her, without thinking about the fact that this little body was a whole new life—maybe a hundred years of potential all contained in seven pounds of toes and belly and new baby smell. Without thinking about his son.
He had nearly finished the nappy when Rosie began to fuss. As he fastened the poppers on her Babygro and washed his hands, he silently pleaded with her not to start crying. But her face screwed up and the tears started, and her banshee-like wail was impossible to ignore. He shut his eyes as he scooped a hand under her head and another under her bottom and lifted her to his shoulder, making soothing noises that he hoped would quiet her. He tried not to think at all as he bounced her gently, waiting for her tears to stop, tried not to think of the first time he had held his son, Max.
Or the last time.
The memory made him clutch Rosie a little tighter, hold her a little safer, knowing how precarious a young life could be. Eventually her cries slowed to sniffles as she snuggled closer to his shoulder and started looking for a source of food. He looked around the room, wondering where he’d lay his hands on formula and a bottle. He could ask the nurses, he supposed.
He transferred Rosie to the crook of one arm, only flinching momentarily at the remembered familiarity of the movement, and headed for the door. As it opened he was greeted by the sight of Lily, fresh from the shower, with no make-up and her hair pulled back, and it took his breath away.
Any chance of kidding himself that his interest was only in Rosie’s welfare was lost. It was more than that. It was...her. He just couldn’t stop thinking about her. But that was the problem. If he’d met Lily just one day earlier, before her sister had turned up with a baby, he wouldn’t have hesitated to explore this connection between them, to imagine Lily looking as she did now—all fresh and pink and polished from the shower. But the shower would have been in his flat, and she’d have just left his bed.
Everything about her fascinated him. But she’d taken in her sister’s child without a thought. And because of that he knew that they could never be happy together. He could see from her every look at Rosie that Lily was born to be a mother. She wanted a family, and he could never give her that—nor could he ask her to sacrifice it for him. There was no point considering a brief fling, either: a taste of her would never be enough—and if he started to fall for her then how would he make himself stop? And all that was even without the added complication of his sister’s unspoken threats to hurt him in a very sensitive place if he messed with her best friend.
‘I was just going to try and find her a bottle.’
Lily waved the bottle of formula she was carrying. ‘No need. I see you couldn’t resist a cuddle? I don’t blame you—she’s very squeezable.’
‘It’s not like that,’ he replied instinctively. ‘She was crying, that’s all. Here—take her.’ He almost shoved the baby at her, alarmed at how quickly he’d adapted, how natural it had felt to hold her.
‘What’s wrong?’ Lily asked, her eyes wary. ‘I don’t mind you holding her.’
‘I know.’ Nic breathed slowly, trying to fight the urge to run from the room, knowing that he should explain his harsh words to Lily. Hating the wary, guarded look that had just entered her eyes. ‘I’m just not good around babies.’
She glanced down at Rosie, who looked happy and content. ‘Seems like you’re pretty good to me.’
An awkward silence fell between them, and Lily looked as if she was trying to find the right words to say something. Suddenly he wanted out of the room. Her face was serious, and he wondered if she had guessed about his past, or if Kate had told her about it. His heart started racing as he remembered all the times he had failed at that in the past. All the broken conversations, the broken relationships that had followed.
‘Nic, I don’t know how to thank you for being there for us the other day. And Kate told me—’
Before he knew it he was reaching for her, wanting to stem the flow of her words. He didn’t want to know what Kate had told her of his failings as a father and a partner.
He’d do anything to stop her speaking.
His lips pressed against hers as his fingers cradled her jaw, and for just a second he wondered what would happen if she opened her mouth to him, if her body softened and relaxed against him. If this kiss changed from a desperate plea for mercy to something softer, something more passionate. But he pulled away before it had the chance.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, shutting his eyes against the confusion on her face and heading towards the door. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
* * *
Lily stood shell-shocked in the middle of the hospital room, the baby in one arm and the bottle held loosely in her other hand. What on earth had just happened? She’d been about to thank him for letting them stay with him—just until the work on her house was finished. But the cornered look in his eyes had stopped her words, and the kiss he’d pressed against her lips had stopped her thoughts.
It had been difficult enough to see herself living in his apartment. How was she meant to do it now, with this kiss between them, dragging up every fantasy she’d been forcing herself to bury? If she’d had any other option she’d have jumped at it. But Kate had been right. This was her only choice—kiss or no kiss.
She wondered at the expression on Nic’s face, at the way he had cradled Rosie in one arm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d obviously been around babies before. Had he been a father once? Was that what was behind the fear and the pain she saw in him? She couldn’t imagine that anything but the loss of a child could draw such a picture of grief on someone’s face. He carried a pain that was still raw and devastating—so why on earth had he agreed to let her live with him?
She spun at the sound of a knock to the door, wondering for an instant if it was Nic, back to rescind his invitation, to tell her she wasn’t welcome anywhere near him. But instead of Nic it was her social worker standing in the doorway, case file in hand and a smile on her face.
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