Her Christmas Baby Bump

by Robin Gianna

  But what about the fact that he’d been an insulting jerk, too? His words still stung if she let herself think about them, and the only reason she’d invited him to join her today was because she’d realized at the party that, unbelievable as it seemed, he’d looked surprisingly vulnerable when he’d apologized for that.

  Seeing that briefly unguarded moment had made her caregiving instincts jump up to step in. Could talented, confident Aaron Cartwright have something in his history, some kind of demon that haunted him? Something from his days in foster care that would be good for him to talk about?

  Holding pain deep inside, refusing to share it, was hard on anyone, which was why she’d impulsively invited him here today. Thinking that perhaps spending time at the merry, entertaining atmosphere of the festival might relax him enough to unburden himself.

  Only problem was, she’d thought his anger with her, and hers with him, would have smothered all that chemistry between them, leaving behind just a cordial friendship. Clearly she’d been utterly wrong, and how could that be, considering everything?

  Somehow, she’d have to tamp it down when she tried to coax answers out of him. Then, whether he did or didn’t talk about himself to her, this absolutely had to be their last day together as she started her new life.

  The life he didn’t approve of at all, which was odd as heck considering what he did for a living.

  Remembering that helped cool the heat she’d been feeling a minute ago, and she concentrated on selling and making as many smoothies as possible. Finally, their shift was over, and none too soon, because her back was starting to ache and she figured his had to be, too.

  “You’ve been a trouper, Aaron.” She tugged at her apron strings as the next shift took over, then stopped to stare at Aaron’s hands as he wiped them on a towel. “Oh, my gosh, your poor fingers are all pruney! I’m sorry—you should have asked to switch with me and let me take over the chopping for a while.”

  “I’d rather my hands get pruney than your pretty ones,” he said. “Besides, I’m hoping that seeing me suffer like this for you will put me back in your good graces.”

  “You don’t have to suffer to get back in my good graces,” she said, surprised that, even though his lips were curved, his eyes looked serious. “You apologized and also helped here. Forgiven.”

  “Thank you. Not sure I deserve it, but I appreciate it.” He lifted her apron over her head then smoothed back her hair, his gaze still on hers. “So what now? Do I have to cut up smelly fish for a couple more hours to make fish smoothies?”

  “Oh, yuck. No!” A laugh bubbled from her throat. “I think you just might have ruined my appetite for the rest of the day.” How had she not realized before what a good sense of humor he had? Maybe because she’d been noticing everything else about him. Like his good looks, and how wonderful it had felt to touch the softness of his skin over all those hard muscles of his. Sensuously shaped lips that had made her utterly mindless when he’d kissed her.

  No. Not going to think about any of that ever again. “Let’s just walk for a bit, see what we find to do,” she said a little breathlessly. She moved into the flow of the crowd, trying to think of what he might enjoy, and when the time might be right to pry into his life to play therapist. Then had to stop for a second to bend to each side, trying to loosen her tight muscles. “How come my back hurts standing in one place for two hours, when it never hurts running around the hospital, even after a ten-hour shift?”

  “Because when you’re moving around the hospital, you’re using all your back muscles. Standing still in one position too long strains the extensor muscles at the back of your spine that help you stand straight, making them feel stiff.” His eyes were fixed on her body as she stretched, and his voice went lower. “I’d be happy to give you a back massage. I’m pretty good at it.”

  She’d bet he was. Also good at turning that back massage into something more, no doubt. “It was a rhetorical question, Dr. Cartwright. I did have to study anatomy, you know.”

  “I do know. And I liked it a lot when you studied my anatomy.”

  That wicked glint was back in his eyes and she folded her arms across her chest and glared at him in the hopes that he wouldn’t know her thoughts had gone straight to his deliciously awesome anatomy, and that he made her want to laugh again. “Ground rules. Amusing though you are, the suggestive remarks need to stop. Just friends, remember? And for obvious reasons, after today we won’t even be that.”

  “Sorry. Something about you makes me want to tease like a teenager, but I’ll be good.”

  Yes, the darned man was good all right. Very, very good.

  She cleared her throat. “So, what would you like to do? There are art exhibits and all kinds of musicians and bands here and there, which we’ll see as we walk around. Lots of restaurants have foods out on the pavement, usually their specialties, and other food stalls like ours are everywhere, if you’re hungry. And then there’s dancing.”

  “I think I already told you moving from one foot to the other is about the extent of my dancing skills. But if there’s dancing you like to watch, I’m good with that.”

  “Something you’d probably enjoy is the belly dancing. Might even want to give it a try.”

  He laughed. “Me belly dancing is such a horrifying visual I don’t want to even think about it. But you?” He might have been talking about belly dancing, but his gaze was on her mouth, which sent her heart into that ridiculous pit-a-pat it kept doing around him, in spite of everything. “Seeing you belly dance would probably give me a heart attack.”

  “Wouldn’t want that. But since it’s not on my list of talents, nor do I keep a jewel in my belly button, I’m pretty sure your heart is safe.”

  He didn’t answer, just stood there looking at her, oddly still and suddenly serious, as though she’d said something important instead of silly.

  Then he turned away to scan the crowd of people, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What do you usually like to do here?”

  The change from teasing camaraderie to the kind of slightly distant demeanor he would have engaged her with at the hospital before they’d met was a little unnerving. But him putting distance between them was a good thing, right? So she wouldn’t have to.

  As if she’d been doing a very good job of it anyway.

  “Let’s eat first. Smelling that fruit for so long made my stomach a little gurgly, wanting some real food.”

  “Anything but fish smoothies sounds good to me.”

  She laughed, relieved to see his normal teasing look was back, though why that seemed so important, she wasn’t sure.

  Both were silent as they made their way down streets crowded with all kinds of people, some dressed in period clothing, some wearing wild colors, their faces painted in bright blues, greens and reds, others wearing fairy wings and crazy hats and everything else imaginable. Aaron still hadn’t spoken again, and she looked up at him, wondering what he thought of it all. The look on his face as he studied the crowd could only be described as dumbfounded, and she had to chuckle.

  “Crazy, huh? And you haven’t even seen what people dress up in for the parade.”

  “Do these people live in Cambridge?” he asked in a tone that showed he found it hard to believe, and maybe a little alarming.

  “A lot do. But plenty come from other places, even other countries. I think something like ten thousand people came to last year’s festival.”

  “I’d always thought folks here seemed pretty normal.”

  “Don’t be a fuddy-duddy. Dressing up and having fun is normal. Maybe you should try it.” Though she had to admit she couldn’t imagine it. The man practically exuded a level of testosterone that made it impossible to picture him in a silly costume.

  “No, thanks. Unless wearing scrubs and pretending to be a doctor counts.”

>   “Don’t think it counts when you are a doctor, unless there’s something you want to confess? Like you printed out your own medical degree from a six-week Internet course on fertility?”

  “Ah, damn. You’ve found me out.” His brown eyes twinkled at her. “Can we keep that just between the two of us? I need next week’s paycheck.”

  “Our secret.” She made an X across her heart. “You know, maybe being horrified by the idea of dressing up in a costume and having fun makes you the abnormal one,” she joked, aware of a little happy feeling in her chest that they seemed to be back to enjoying the day the same way they had when they’d punted together, which was what she’d hoped for when she first suggested it.

  Well, not exactly like that, since their boating trip had ended in lots of knee-melting kisses, not to mention a crashed boat and unforgettable lovemaking. Which she scolded herself for thinking of when he was standing right next to her, since he might see in her eyes exactly how those memories affected her.

  “You know, I used to think I was pretty normal, but I’m beginning to wonder about that.”

  And there it was. That odd seriousness when he’d looked at her earlier. What was that about? Could it be a sign that the time was right to ask him more about his life, which she kept forgetting had been her ultimate goal for the day?

  Just as she was pondering how to start that conversation, enticing scents from a grill set up outside a Middle Eastern restaurant wafted their way, apparently grabbing both their attention at the same time. Like tin soldiers winding down, they stopped mid-step, and the brown eyes that met hers were no longer serious but lit with anticipation.

  “Are you feeling the same excitement my stomach is feeling? Because that smells incredibly good.”

  She pressed her palms to her suddenly growling belly, and blushed slightly at his chuckle, since he’d obviously heard. “Well, since we haven’t come across any fish smoothies, we can settle for this, I guess.”

  “If we have to.” He grinned at her, and insisted on paying as chicken kabobs and rice pilaf were piled onto paper plates and covered with some kind of thick yogurt sauce. Hope balanced the wobbly dish in her hands, wondering how she could manage to eat without spilling it all over her shirt, when one of the tables on the pavement was vacated at just the right moment.

  “Come on.” Aaron’s long strides got there well before anyone else who’d been eyeing it could, and he set his plate down before pulling out a chair for her.

  “This is perfect,” she said. “Know why?”

  “Because we don’t have to balance our plates on one hand and eat standing up?”

  “Because the parade will be coming down this street in about—” she glanced at her watch “—one minute. Believe me, you’re going to be amazed at all the costumes and music.”

  Distant drumming, then accordion music and off-key singing drifted through the air, along with something that sounded like bells. Hope craned her neck, and, sure enough, dancers with outrageous costumes that looked like something from a bad outer-space movie appeared at the end of the street and headed their way as jesters hula-hooped their way through the crowd in front of them. Behind the accordions, a tall, tree-shaped thing appeared, wrapped in a mishmash of fabrics with flags fluttering all over it. A woman stuck out of the top, a massive silver ball of something on her head, as the whole thing rolled down the street toward them.

  Hope glanced at Aaron. He was holding his kabob stick between his thumb and forefinger, and it hung suspended in the air as he stared. His expression was so comical, she burst out laughing.

  “I wondered why you’d invited me here after you were mad at me for being so irritating.” He turned that stunned look to her. “Now I know. You’re torturing me for it. This is payback, isn’t it?”

  She nearly choked, laughing. “No. I swear. There really are a lot of fun things to do and see, and I find the costumes and silliness entertaining.”

  “You honestly like the costumes and...” he waved his kabob around “...all this?”

  “I do.” Maybe she should be irritated that he didn’t get the Mill Road scene, but the almost little-boy bafflement on his face was adorable. “It didn’t occur to me you’d be horrified. I thought you’d be amused. When we’re done eating, we’ll move on to other things you’ll like. I promise.”

  “I’m not horrified. Just...confused.” He lifted his free hand to her face and stroked a strand of hair from her eyes, his lips curving a little now. “But if you enjoy it, that’s all that matters.”

  And wasn’t that a sweet thing to say? His perplexed expression had melted away, and she could tell he really meant it. Her heart got a little squishy again, thinking about the giving, generous side of this man she’d already seen a number of times. Not at all like some of the doctors she’d worked with who were surprisingly arrogant, everything always having to revolve around what they wanted and how they wanted it.

  It occurred to her that right then was the perfect time to talk to him. Instead of one-on-one with her where he might feel under a microscope, being in the middle of the crowd and loud performance seemed more casual somehow.

  She set down her kabob, then hesitated, suddenly feeling doubtful about her plan. Probably because she didn’t have any more right to ask him personal questions than he’d had lecturing her about her life. Could she just be being nosy? Just wanting to know more about super-sexy Aaron Cartwright and who he was before they didn’t see each other again?

  Maybe. But they were here now, and she might as well ask. If he didn’t want to answer, he wouldn’t.

  She drew a breath then jumped in. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  The eyes that turned to her were instantly wary. “What kind of personal question?”

  “I can’t help but wonder why a fertility specialist would have such...surprising opinions about IVF and single women and multiple births. Isn’t that all a part of what you do?”

  He looked at her for a long moment before he spoke, his expression inscrutable. “I can’t help but wonder why a beautiful woman, who any man would fall over himself to marry and have children with, wouldn’t look for that instead of doing a procedure that leaves her with no help at home and her children without a father.”

  Her lips tightened. Here she’d wanted to have a conversation that might help him unburden himself about something, and instead it was leading right back to the argument they’d had before. “Any man? Pretty sure you said you were a man who wasn’t interested in forever after, so does that mean there’s something wrong with you?”

  “Most men.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he modified that statement. “Not wanting that for myself doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”

  “But me not wanting it for myself does mean there’s something wrong with me?” Her heart slammed into her chest, because, yes, there might be something wrong with her, but since he didn’t know that, his attitude was insulting. “A double standard for women and men? Wow, that’s real fair, isn’t it?”

  “Never mind.” He huffed out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t want to get into another argument with you, and before I stick my foot in my mouth again, I’m shutting it.”

  “I already told you I’m apparently incapable of committing to a man. But I do want children, have always wanted children, and neither of those things means there’s something wrong with me. But you know what is wrong with me?”

  God, she was shaking. She sucked in a breath to control it, and tried to hold the words inside, just be quiet and get a grip on herself and walk away, but they burst out before she could stop them. “I have endometriosis. My parents had me when they were very young and insisted I not make the same mistake they did, having a baby before they were financially ready, then struggling to make ends meet. Things weren’t good at home. Having a career before starting a family seemed best,
that it would work for me. It never occurred to any of us that my mother being infertile from endometriosis in just her twenties might be genetic. But I’m thirty-four and, yeah, I have it. Does not being able to love a man, to want that kind of commitment in my life, destine me to be childless? I don’t think it has to. And if I don’t start a family now, it may be too late.”

  She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You don’t want children, so you can’t understand how I feel, how important it is to me. How I’ve pictured having a baby ever since I can remember. The truth? Yes, I’m scared I might not be a good mother. I’m afraid that my child will suffer not having a father, and that maybe it makes me selfish to have one anyway, just like you said. It worries me, but I’m trying hard to push that aside. To believe in myself and make my dream come true. And here you are, piling more weight on top of my fears.” She dragged in a shaky breath. “No, you don’t want children so you can’t possibly understand my dream to have a baby that’s mine. And since you don’t understand, maybe don’t even care to understand, you should keep your judgments and self-righteous opinions to yourself.”

  Unexpected tears stung her eyes and, horrified, she leaped from the chair and blindly made her way down the pavement, pushing her way through the crowd.

  Where had all that come from? She swiped at her cheeks and kept going. Here she’d wanted him to unburden himself, and it ended up being her pouring her anxiety and pain all over him. Setting free all the emotion, the worry, the fear that had lodged deep inside after the failed artificial insemination attempts. Fear that she’d never have a child. Fears she hadn’t even acknowledged—that maybe there really was something wrong with her that she couldn’t say “yes” to George, that she was incapable of any kind of love. Fear that she’d be forever alone the rest of her life. With no one to love and care for. No one to love her in return.

  “Hope! Hope, wait!”

  She walked faster, not wanting to talk to him, to hear any more questions or criticism, to expose more of herself in such a public place.