by Erika Wilde
“So let’s take a listen to your lungs and heart before I pull up your lab results and see what, if anything, is going on.”
Dr. Jenkins pushed the rubber-tipped ends of her stethoscope into her ears and pulled Daisy’s gown just low enough to press the cold, round metal piece to her chest, then her back, while asking her to take deep breaths.
“All good,” her doctor declared, then looped the stethoscope around her neck and reached for her tablet. She pulled up Daisy’s chart, then her lab tests, and scrolled through the results. “Cholesterol and glucose levels are good. Thyroid is right on track, your kidney and liver values are right where they should be, but your iron and vitamin D levels are low, which could be contributing to your fatigue.”
Daisy breathed a major sigh of relief that the reason behind all her symptoms was nothing major while Dr. Jenkins quietly scrolled through the remaining test results. Adding a few vitamin supplements to her morning routine was something she could easily handle.
After a moment, the other woman looked up from her tablet and met Daisy’s gaze. “And . . . well, I’m not sure if this is good news, or a surprise, but you’re also pregnant.”
Daisy blinked at the other woman. “What?” Pregnant? The word bounced around in her head, but it didn’t make sense. “No, that can’t be right. I haven’t missed a period. In fact, I’m due to start any day now. My breasts are sore, I’m bloated . . . ”
Dr. Jenkins didn’t argue but took a more clinical approach. “When was the last time you had intercourse?”
That date was emblazoned in her memory, and she gave it to the other woman, which was almost three months ago.
“You’re not on any kind of contraceptive, so did you use some other form of birth control?” she asked gently.
“Condoms.” Three of them. That was difficult to forget, too, as was how each of them had been used and in what position.
“Well, condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective,” Dr. Jenkins said. “They can break without you or your partner even realizing it.”
“I really don’t think I’m pregnant.” Her heart was racing so fast she was starting to feel a little light-headed, and she desperately tried to grasp onto any reasoning she could. “What about having my periods?”
Her physician’s gaze filled with empathy. “You could be mistaking vaginal bleeding for your periods, which is common in the first trimester.”
“I can’t be pregnant,” she said, more adamantly this time, as if that would make her words true. “I haven’t had any morning sickness . . .” But she was exhausted, her breasts were so sensitive it almost hurt to touch her nipples, she’d been riding a roller coaster of emotions lately, and she’d never had heartburn until now . . . Oh, God, she was pregnant.
Doctor Jenkins must have sensed her impending panic, because she placed a gentle hand on her arm. “How about we do a quick pelvic exam and go from there?” she suggested.
Feeling numb and trying to beat back the anxiety threatening to take hold, Daisy laid back on the table and assumed the position with her feet in the stirrups. Dr. Jenkins did the exam while Daisy blocked out what was happening down below as she stared up at the ceiling, hoping that somehow, someway, those test results had been a false positive—even though she knew she was reaching for an explanation that didn’t exist.
“You’re definitely pregnant,” Dr. Jenkins confirmed as she pulled off her gloves and Daisy slowly sat back up, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry as the realization really sank in.
The other woman picked up her tablet again and made some notes. “Judging by the date you gave me, you’re probably about ten to twelve weeks along, but I’m going to get you in to see Dr. Lane next week, our ob-gyn here, who will give you a better indication of how far along you are after doing a ultrasound. You’ll get to hear the baby’s heartbeat at that time, too.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling as though she was operating on autopilot.
“In the meantime, let’s get you started on a prenatal vitamin to help boost your iron and vitamin D levels, which Dr. Lane will check again in a few weeks. Do you have any questions for me before I go?”
Daisy shook her head and gave her physician a wan smile. “I think I got all the answers that I came here for.”
Her doctor’s features softened with understanding. “I know this isn’t the news you were expecting, but I hope at least it’s a good surprise.”
Daisy couldn’t even answer because of the huge lump in her throat that was preceded by the sting of tears in her eyes. She was so overwhelmed emotionally, and she definitely had a lot of things to figure out.
As soon as she was alone in the exam room again, she got dressed, then picked up her paperwork and was given the appointment date with Dr. Lane for the following week at the checkout counter. Once she was in her car, she navigated the rush-hour traffic on the freeway back to her studio apartment, her thoughts not on Aiden’s reaction to the news—she had no doubt he’d be just as shocked as she was—but her mother’s response when she learned that Daisy was going to have a baby. Because there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that despite this pregnancy not being planned, and the scary changes ahead, she wasn’t giving it up.
But Daisy could already hear Diane Parker’s cynical comments in her head because she’d grown up hearing them often, how her mother had gotten knocked up by Daisy’s father—a man Daisy had never even met since he’d left when she was only a few months old—and how her mother had been forced to give up her dream of becoming a dancer to raise Daisy and had struggled to make end meets on her own. Daisy had been reminded of that sacrifice her mother had made for most of her childhood, and even now when the opportunity arose, as if she’d always been more of a burden to her mother than any kind of blessing.
And now Daisy was in a similar position, pregnant when she finally had a stable career and a job she loved. A baby would definitely change all that, and she’d have to figure out how to make it all work, even if it was one of the scariest things she’d ever have to do. But she knew for certain that any child of hers would never be made to feel as though they were anything less than wanted and loved.
As for Aiden . . . she knew he’d step up, because that’s the kind of man he was, and she’d let him be a part of this child’s life in any way he wanted. But other than that, any other obligations would stop there. She wasn’t part of the package, and she didn’t expect to be. Just because she was pregnant didn’t change the fact that they were both jaded by love when it came to relationships, and she preferred keeping her heart out of the equation, because Aiden was most likely going to be in this child’s life, hence her life, for years to come. Keeping him squarely in the friend zone was her safest bet to make sure they could co-parent effectively, if that’s what he decided he wanted to do.
Even though it all still felt surreal, she gave herself one night to come to terms with the new life growing in her belly, as well as ride the wave of a dozen different emotions that came with that knowledge. There was panic over the future and her job and how she was going to juggle everything, and fear that she didn’t have the first clue how to be a mom. There was a glimmer of excitement, and eventually she knew there would be complete acceptance, because there was no changing the fact that she was pregnant.
By midmorning, she was ready to share the news. Aiden had a right to know first, before anyone else, and she picked up her cell phone and texted him, even as nerves danced in her belly. Heck, for all she knew, that could be flutters from the baby.
Hey . . . I’d really like to talk to you if you’re around today or this evening. Not on the phone but in person, and preferably somewhere private.
This wasn’t news she wanted to break to him at the office or in a crowded restaurant, and she hit send and waited for his reply, which came a few minutes later.
Okay . . . would you like to come to my place around five? I can make us dinner and we can talk about whatever you need to.
She smiled at his sw
eet offer to make dinner, and a part of her wished it was under different circumstances. Sure. That sounds good. Text me your address?
That came through next, and she followed up with, I’ll see you soon.
And since she had a few hours to kill, and she now knew the source of her exhaustion, she listened to her body’s demands and went back to bed to take a guilt-free nap.
* * *
Aiden wasn’t a chef by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew how to make a great baked ziti thanks to his mom’s recipe. While that casserole was in the oven, he made a salad with Italian dressing and slathered garlic butter on slices of French bread to put in the broiler right before he served dinner.
He was expecting Daisy any minute, and he was stupidly nervous, like a teenager who’d finally scored a night with the girl he’d had a crush on for forever, and he hadn’t felt that way about anyone since, well, high school. This wasn’t a date, that much he knew, but it was the first time a woman had come over to his place for dinner . . . and not for just sex, which had previously been the only reason he’d invited a woman over. There would be no messing around with Daisy since they were friends, but the whole dinner thing just felt . . . like a date. But it wasn’t, even if he wished that it were.
God, he was such an idiot.
Daisy had asked to come to his place because she wanted to see him about something that clearly wasn’t work related—because otherwise, she would have talked to him at the office. He was pretty sure her visit had to do with her doctor’s appointment yesterday. It was the only thing that made sense, but he’d spent the afternoon wondering and worrying about what might be wrong with her, and he didn’t like the worst-case scenarios that filled his head. He’d been through some pretty bad stuff with his mother, and a part of him was uneasy about hearing what Daisy had to say.
Whatever it was, whatever she was going through, he’d be there for her. No questions asked. Because that’s what friends did.
He’d just taken the ziti out of the oven when a knock sounded on the front door of the single-story home he’d bought a few years ago. The place wasn’t overly huge, but it was a nice size, with three bedrooms, one of which he’d turned into an office, and a spacious backyard. As he was single and believed he’d always stay that way, the house suited him perfectly.
Heading through the adjoining living room, he opened the door, and damn if his heart didn’t give a happy little jolt at seeing Daisy, who looked surprisingly more rested than she had in weeks, standing on his front porch. He could tell that she was still tired, but he was encouraged by the slight pink coloring on her cheeks, which was an improvement over how pale she’d looked last week.
Huh. He thought maybe she was just fine, that all the exhaustion and other stuff he’d witnessed lately had been caused by the stress she’d put on herself for the Darlington campaign . . . until she gave him a strained smile that dispelled his hopeful assumption. As did the glimmer of vulnerability he caught in her gaze. Nope, something was definitely wrong, and it took major effort for him not to demand to know everything right now instead of being casual and patient about the situation, as well as giving her the time and space to tell him her news when she was ready.
Because that’s what goddamn friends did.
“Hey. Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her pass by.
A light, powdery scent filled his senses as she walked in, reminding him of the night they’d spent together—the feminine perfume that dusted her skin, and the floral way her hair smelled when he’d buried his face in the soft, flowing strands. Hell, what didn’t make him think of that night with her?
She was dressed in a pair of black leggings, a long, loose-fitting shirt that fell to mid-thigh, and sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, and she had minimal makeup on her face, if any at all, and he had to admit that he liked her looking so fresh and natural—instead of so prim and proper and buttoned up in the suits she wore for work.
And Jesus, he wanted to kiss her so fucking badly he ached with the wanting of it. Temptation nudged him to frame her face in his hands and just do it, while the rational side of his brain chanted, Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, don’t fucking touch her. She’s not yours to touch.
Once she was inside, he closed the door as she turned around to face him, and he forced himself to not touch her. “I just took dinner out of the oven, but we can talk before we eat if you want.”
She thought for a moment as her hand absently drifted to her stomach, as if she was contemplating how hungry she was. “Actually, whatever you made smells pretty good and I haven’t eaten since lunch. So, I’d love to have dinner, then talk if that’s okay?”
“Sure.” He was on her timeline tonight. He didn’t want to pressure her . . . but on the other hand, he was dying to know what she wanted to discuss. He wanted to be put out of his anxious misery.
He led the way into the spacious kitchen, and she followed, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the recent remodel he’d had done—the new granite countertops, the cherrywood cabinets, all upgraded appliances, and an added built-in island in the middle of the room.
She ran a hand over the smooth countertops while he slid the baking sheet with the garlic bread into the broiler. “Wow, this kitchen is bigger than my entire studio apartment,” she said, her tone light and teasing, just how he liked it best.
Well, second-best, anyway. First being her voice husky with desire and moaning softly as he did sinful things to her body. Yeah, that was his favorite.
He gave her a half grin, unable to imagine living in those kinds of close quarters. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not by much. The entire place is five hundred square feet, with a kitchenette, a very small bathroom, and a Murphy bed that folds up during the day so I have somewhat of a living area if I want or need it.” She shrugged, as if she’d gotten used to the small space. “Three years ago, when I moved from LA and started working for Roth Owens, I couldn’t afford much, so it was the most logical and practical choice.”
That was Daisy . . . logical and practical, he thought with a smile as he brought down two plates from the cupboard. “And now that you’re doing pretty well with the company? Have you thought about moving into something that will give you more room?”
She glanced away, breaking eye contact with him, suddenly looking hesitant. “Not until recently,” she murmured.
He wasn’t sure what to make of her sudden odd behavior, but he grabbed the bottle of Cabernet he’d put in the refrigerator earlier to chill. “Glass of wine with dinner?” he offered, automatically taking two glasses from the wine rack.
She shook her head. “I think I’ll have water. Thank you.”
Okay. So she obviously wanted to keep a clear head. He put away her glass and filled his, then made her an ice water as requested. The garlic bread was finally nice and crispy around the edges, so he served up both of their plates and carried them to the dining table. She followed, and they sat down next to one another to eat.
And still she seemed to avoid talking about whatever it was she’d come here to say, because she brought up the Darlington campaign, and they ended up discussing how to implement a few new marketing strategies that were geared toward the retail storefront that would gradually steer their customers toward online buying, as well.
It was an easy, comfortable, and familiar exchange, because that’s what they did all day at work—brainstormed, asked opinions, and shared concepts. But most telling, it was a conversation they easily could have had at the office on Monday, which told Aiden it was purely a stall tactic.
As he ate his dinner, she took occasional bites and pushed her food around on her plate. When there was a lull between them, she seemed to become distracted and fidgety, and by the time they were done with their meal, her anxiety was nearly palpable. Which made his own worry just as acute because those worst-case medical scenarios were rolling through his mind again.
He stood up to clear their plates from the tab
le so he could return and they could get to the real reason she was here, but she stood, as well, to pick up her own dish and followed him to the sink. When she turned the water on to rinse them—another diversion tactic, he knew—he reached out and deliberately shut the faucet.
She stiffened and turned around, but belatedly realized it put her in a position where her back was to the counter and he was now standing in front of her, leaving her no easy way to escape.
“The dishes can wait, Daisy,” he said, hating the trepidation in her big green eyes. “I need to know whatever it is you came here to tell me.”
She swallowed hard, and he knew she was struggling to get the words out.
He gently caressed his warm palms down her arms until he was holding her hands in his, feeling a lump growing in his own throat because, Jesus Christ, he was beginning to think she’d gotten bad news at the doctor’s.
“Sweetheart, you have to know that whatever is going on, I’ve got your back. We’re friends. Good friends, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Tell me what it is.”
Her bottom lip trembled, as did the soft, slender hands he held in his, but she bravely met his gaze. “God, there is no easy way to tell you this . . . I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
He frowned in confusion, certain he had to have heard her wrong, because that was the last thing he would have expected to come out of her mouth. “What?”
“I’m pregnant, Aiden,” she said, a vulnerable quiver in her voice. “I’m having a baby. Your baby.”
His entire body tensed at that unexpected bombshell, and he dropped her hands as if they were hot coals as her words really sank in. “Oh, fuck,” he said, panic-stricken.
She crossed her arms over her chest, almost protectively, and he belatedly realized what an asshole he’d just been. She’d taken his reaction as a rejection, when it had been spurred by pure shock. Hell, he was still stunned, but he rushed to try and fix the damage he’d already done.