To Have the Doctor's Baby. Teresa Southwick
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This was the first time she’d been back since they’d broken up, and driving through the community was surreal. Nothing had changed, but everything felt different. The houses were all large, expensive and well-maintained. But it wasn’t familiar. She felt distant. And sad. She’d really loved the house and this area.
She pulled into the circular drive, parking behind Nick’s car. He was standing beside it. Glancing at the stately, two-story house brought on that surreal feeling again, but really she’d been wearing that hat ever since she’d presented her how-to-conceive-in-a-nanosecond research.
As far as bizarre moments went, that topped the list. But she’d felt it important to mention everything that could possibly expedite the process. She wanted to get pregnant right away for lots of reasons, not the least of which was not to see Nick after mission accomplished. It didn’t seem prudent to tempt fate too far what with her attraction to him still going on. The only way she’d managed to get through her sex notes was by keeping the conversation clinical and detached, as if she were talking about someone else.
But it wasn’t someone else temporarily moving into Nick’s house. It was her, the same woman who’d moved into this place seeing everything by the light of the stars in her eyes and the delusion that they were going to be blissfully happy there for the rest of their lives. She wasn’t sure which philosopher said the only thing we could count on was change, but the time came when she’d wanted to choke him. She hated change. It was almost always bad.
Bliss and happiness were elusive and highly overrated. Living in the real world wasn’t as much fun, but the highs and lows were smoothed out into straight and steady. She could live with straight and steady.
Blowing out a cleansing breath, she opened her car door and stepped onto the concrete drive separating the house from the landscaping. The dry riverbed running through the length of the yard was still dry and lined with smooth rocks. It was bordered by gold and purple flowering lantana bushes. Everything looked just as it had when she’d left. Nothing had changed but her.
“Why don’t I take your things inside?” Nick said.
His deep voice from behind startled her out of the bittersweet reverie. She turned and forced a big smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
After she unlocked her trunk and started to pull out her suitcase, he put a hand on hers.
“I’ll get it. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t gotten any lighter since I put it in there.”
“Thanks.”
His palm was big and strong, his fingers warm. The touch had heat pooling in her belly and flushing her cheeks. Twilight had dropped shadows over the craggy mountains not so far away, and she was pretty sure Nick couldn’t see how the brush of his hand affected her.
That was something else that hadn’t changed. But attraction without emotion was like a bow without an arrow—no power to wound.
It took several trips to carry suitcases, garment bags and toiletries into the house. He’d suggested she stay here while looking for a permanent place of her own and she’d brought a lot of clothes with her. The apartment was utilitarian and good for storage, but she’d be more comfortable in a house.
Looking around the two-story entry, she wasn’t so sure. Memories attacked from every direction. Nick carrying her over the threshold when they bought the place. The huge kitchen with granite countertops was especially bittersweet. He’d made love to her beside the stainless-steel refrigerator because his eyes went smoky, her insides turned liquid and they simply couldn’t hold back. In fact, the day they moved in he’d declared his intention to make love to her in every room of the house. They’d nearly met that challenge.
She scanned the family room with its big flat-screen TV and the dark green corner group in front of it. In spite of all her efforts to stop it, a big sigh leaked out.
Nick stopped beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Afraid he would see the lie, she didn’t look at him. “Why?”
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“Just checking out the old stomping grounds.”
He rested his hands on lean hips. His jeans were worn nearly white in the most interesting places. The long sleeves of his navy-blue shirt were rolled up, revealing wide wrists and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms. He always dressed casually, and right now was no exception. It also wasn’t an indication of whether or not he was working. He’d told her Carlton Gallagher was on call today, and she wondered if she should feel honored. Maybe tomorrow.
“And?”
“What?” She was a little disturbed by how easily one look at him could annihilate her concentration.
“How does it look? Your old stomping grounds.”
“The same,” she answered truthfully. “I was just remembering how festive everything was at Christmas.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “You mean with the tree in here instead of the living room?”
“Yeah.”
“I stand by what I said then.”
“As do I.” She could feel the warmth from his body and smell the slightly spicy scent of his skin. Quivers started inside her and rippled everywhere. Bumping up against the bittersweet recollections. “The decorated tree would have been fabulous in the front window as people drove by and looked at the outside decorations.”
“But we wouldn’t have enjoyed it.” He held out his hand and indicated the large room. “Here, we could see it along with a fire in the fireplace, watching TV, or eating dinner.”
His insistence was ironic since he’d hardly ever been there for dinner, nights in front of the fire, or watching TV together. But that was water under the bridge.
“You won. We did it your way.” She’d given in because making him happy was her goal. Now it was her turn to get what she wanted.
“Other than that, how does it look?” he asked.
“The same. And I’m a little surprised.”
“Redecorating isn’t my thing.” The teasing tone was missing from his voice.
Was he feeling nostalgic, too? Not the Nick she remembered.
“That’s not what I meant.” She looked up at him. “I’m surprised you didn’t sell the house after the divorce.”
“I had my reasons.”
The dark look in his eyes made her wonder. “Such as?”
“I didn’t get around to it, then the housing market tanked. Moving is time-consuming and it really doesn’t much matter where I get my mail.”
All practical reasons, she thought. If the situation had been reversed, she’d have sold it at a loss simply because it was too painful to share the space with the ghosts of what would never be.
“And I’m hardly ever here,” he added.
That wasn’t new information. It was time to move forward. Literally.
“So,” she said brightly. “Where do you want me?”
A sexy smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Do I get a vote?”
She didn’t have to ask where his thoughts had gone. That made two of them, but she wasn’t here for that sex. This wasn’t personal.
“I meant which bedroom.”
“Take your pick,” he said. “Although there’s not really much of a choice.”
She walked upstairs to check it out for herself. The master bedroom was off the landing at the top. She peeked inside at the four-poster bed, matching oak dresser and armoire. A pair of running shoes beside the walk-in closet and a towel carelessly