by Tracy Wolff
Of course, maybe the reason there was no book was because no man had actually succeeded in coming out the other side without battle wounds. He cleared his throat. Suddenly a pomegranate martini wasn’t sounding too bad, even if it was a chick drink.
“Is that a no to the apple juice, then?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Okay.” He picked up the controller, shut off the TV just as OU had the bases loaded and their strongest hitter was on his way up to bat. He reached for Camille’s hand, held it. And tried to ignore the electricity that zinged through him from the contact.
Just friends, he reminded himself. They were just friends now. “So, do you want to talk?”
“Not really. I’m just being stupid.”
“So what? It’s not like the whole world is sitting here, waiting for your admission.”
Her laugh was watery, but at least it was genuine. “Just you.”
“Exactly. And before this is over, I have a feeling I’m going to see you in a lot more compromising positions than this.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Labor is definitely not something I’m looking forward to.”
Neither was he, but why bring that up when she already looked strung out?
“So, come on. Spit it out.”
She shook her head, but when she leaned back against the couch her eyes were dry and she looked much more like the Camille he’d known—or thought he’d known.
He shut the thought down before it could take hold, before he could remember how suicidally stupid it was to want to let her back into his life—even on a platonic basis. After all, it wasn’t like he had a choice.
“I’m an idiot. I’ve got canvas and other supplies that need to be shipped from Italy in the next few days—before my friend who’s been holding them for me leaves for Paris—and I can’t very well store them in my motel room. So I started looking for an apartment, something up here in North Austin so that you wouldn’t have to drive very far to see the baby when…” She cleared her throat.
“Anyway, they wanted me to sign a year’s lease and I kind of freaked out.”
He’d just bet that she had. For a woman who refused to buy a twelve-pack of soda because it implied too much of a commitment, a yearlong lease had probably sounded like a death knell.
“You know, even though you sign a year’s lease, that doesn’t mean you have to stay there for a year. The worst that will happen if you leave early is you forfeit the deposit.”
“I know that.”
“So what’s the big deal? If you’re concerned about the money—”
He bit his tongue as she shot him a withering look. “It’s not the money.”
“Okay. Of course not.” So what the hell was it, then? If she wasn’t worried about being locked into a lease without escape and she wasn’t freaking out about her deposit, then why—
“It just got me thinking, that’s all.”
He could relate to that—he’d been doing an awful lot of thinking himself these past few days. And freaking himself out a little more with each new idea that occurred to him.
Now didn’t seem the prudent time to bring that up, however.
“The baby won’t be born for six months, and then, I assume, I’ll have to stick around for a while after the birth, right?”
His heart plummeted to his feet at the implication that she would, indeed, be leaving—sooner rather than later—and taking his child with her. Not that he hadn’t expected to have this discussion, but he’d figured he had more time before they got into the fact that he didn’t want her to leave.
Correction, didn’t want her to take the baby away, he clarified. He refused to have feelings for Camille anymore, at least not beyond her role as the mother of his child. But the baby, that was another matter entirely. Already, he could see himself holding a little girl like Reece’s daughter, Rose, or playing catch with a rambunctious little boy, like Reece’s twin stepsons.
But another look at Camille’s face convinced him that his initial assessment had been right—now wasn’t the time for that fight. “I think that’s probably wise. A newborn has a lot of needs. A one-week checkup, a two-week checkup, a two-months checkup. Not to mention trying to get everything right with the feeding schedule. And if he or she has jaundice and—” He broke off at her incredulous look.
“What? How do you know all that?”
He shrugged, then gestured to the pile of books sitting on the bookshelf at the other end of the room. “I’ve been reading about it.”
Her laugh, when it came, was much easier this time around. “Of course you have.” She pushed off the sofa and crossed to the bookshelf.
Picking up the first book, she read the title. “What to Expect the First Year.” She put it to the side and looked at the second book. “How to Have a Smarter Baby.” She sent him an arch look.
“There’s nothing wrong with being prepared—” She held up a finger to cut him off, then plowed through the rest of the stack. “Your Baby and You. The First Six Months. What to Expect When You’re Expecting?” She cracked up at the title of the last book and he could feel his cheeks burning, especially when she started flipping through the book.
“So, Matt, what does the book say you should do about those swollen ankles?”
He cleared his throat, tried for dignified. “I bought that one for you.”
“Sure. That’s what they all say.” But she didn’t seem in any hurry to put the book down, flipping through the pages with a mixture of reverence and revulsion. He would have left her to it, except her hands were shaking.
Crossing to her, he pulled the text from Camille’s reluctant clutches, then guided her back to the couch with an arm around her waist. “You don’t have to have it all figured out today, you know.” He repeated the advice Reece had given him a couple of days before. “We have time.”
“I know that. I do,” she insisted at his skeptical look. “But at the same time, I want to know what’s going to happen. I want to make sure I’m prepared.”
“You?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “The woman who won’t make a date more than two days in the future because she doesn’t know where she’ll be any further in advance? The one who picks her next destination by closing her eyes and pointing at a world map?”
She shoved away from him, rolled her eyes in a way he still found strangely endearing—even after everything that had passed between them. “This is different. This is about my baby. Our baby,” she corrected herself. “I don’t want to make a mistake that might hurt her or him.”
Deep inside him, the core of ice that had been there since she’d walked out on him for Carnaval started to thaw. It didn’t melt completely—he was too smart to let that happen—but it warmed up just a little. Camille did care about this baby, did care about doing things the right way. That alone would make things between them so much easier.
“Then don’t rush things. It takes time to make a good plan, one that makes sense and points you in the right direction. We’ll figure it out.”
She smirked. “Don’t you mean, you’ll figure it out?”
Maybe that was what he meant, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say it out loud—at least not to a woman whose emotions were bouncing around like a frog on amphetamines.
At that minute the doorbell rang and he breathed a huge sigh of relief—saved by the bell. “Why don’t we start with feeding you? I think that’s the pizza I ordered.”
Her face lit up like the sun. “You ordered pizza? What kind? Please tell me it’s supreme.”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Exactly!” She stood up eagerly. “Go get it and I’ll grab some plates from the kitchen. Do you want a beer?”
“Yeah. And there’s some milk in there—”
“I am not drinking milk with pizza. Surely you’ve got a soft drink in there, somewhere.” She disappeared into his kitchen.
He smiled as he went to answer the door. He’d picked up some Sprite when he’d
stopped for gas the night before—figuring he’d need it if Camille stopped by. And he’d been right. No matter what Reece said, there was merit in having a well thought-out plan, one that provided for unexpected contingencies.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY ATE PIZZA AND SALAD—Matt had insisted on making one because she and the baby needed vitamins—on the family-room floor, while Texas creamed Oklahoma on the huge flat-screen TV. They talked of stupid things—the weather, a musician they both liked, the game—and laughed a lot, though later Camille wouldn’t have been able to say what they’d both found so funny.
For the first time since she’d returned to Austin, things were easy between them. Relaxed. And she couldn’t help remembering why she’d fallen for Matt in the first place—and why she’d been tempted to break her own rules with him all those months before.In the dim light of the TV, she couldn’t see Matt’s eyes clearly, but his mouth was stretched in a sexy grin—one that had her heart pounding just a little too fast and her toes tingling in a way that would probably end up spelling disaster. But in those moments of friendly intimacy, she couldn’t bring herself to care. The pizza was delicious, the company even more so, and she found herself relaxing despite the stress and fear that had sent her running over to Matt’s in the first place.
And she wasn’t even going to touch that right now—the fact that she’d instinctively gone to him for comfort. Nor was she going to focus on the fact that he had, indeed, comforted her.
In the grand scheme of things, what was a security deposit, after all?
“Do you want the last piece?” Matt held it up enticingly.
“Are you kidding? I’m so full I might explode.”
“Don’t do that—I’ve also got butter pecan ice cream in the freezer.”
She groaned. “Now, that’s not right. You know it’s my favorite.”
“I do, indeed.”
“So, you are trying to kill me?”
“Nope, just fatten you up a little bit.”
“Nice.” She shot him a mock glare. “There is such a thing as being too honest.”
He grinned. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
“You just don’t believe in it?”
“I never said that. I grew up in a house with four women—believe me, I know the merits of a well-placed ‘No, of course that doesn’t make your butt look big.’ Probably a lot better than most guys.”
“What was that like?”
“Lying to my sisters? Self-preservation, mostly. Fun, other times.”
“No, I meant growing up in a big family.” She gestured to the fireplace mantel, where he had a number of family pictures clustered. “Was it difficult?”
He started to give her the same pat answer he gave everyone, but she wasn’t everyone—and never would be. In the end, he settled for the truth. “Sometimes. My dad ran out on my mom when she was pregnant with my youngest sisters and we never saw him again.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been—”
He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t as bad as everyone thought. We were lucky—my mom was one of those women who’d gone to college and had a good job even thirty years ago, so it’s not like she had no options. Plus, Dad was always pretty decent about sending money. Not a lot, and not regularly, but a few times a year a check would show up—usually around Christmas or our birthdays, when Mom really needed the extra cash. That was back in the days before deadbeat dads were taken to task.”
“He did that, but he never came back to see you? Or her?”
“No.” He shrugged. “But like I said, we did okay. My oldest sister, Rhiannon, was three and a half years older than me and nine years older than the twins, so she was always stuck with babysitting the three of us. It probably sucked for her, but she never complained.”
“I bet it wasn’t so bad. You were probably a really responsible kid.”
He laughed. “I was a holy terror, and so were the twins. We were always in trouble.”
“Really?” She looked fascinated. “You’re such a stand-up guy I have trouble imagining you doing anything that terrible.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I got into more than my fair share of trouble.”
“Like what?”
He thought for a minute. “I spray painted my sister’s cat once. Electric-green.”
“You did not!”
“I did. I also stole the neighbor’s goat and hid it in my bathtub, put lizards in my sisters’ beds and dyed Rhiannon and her first boyfriend blue by putting a ton of food coloring in the hot tub.”
“Blue?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Why blue?”
“It was the same color as the lining of the hot tub. They couldn’t see it—until they got out, and by then it was too late.”
She stared at him, amazed. “You were diabolical.”
“I was—absolutely.”
“So what happened? You just grew out of it?”
“Something like that.”
“Something like what?”
“Life has a way of coming full circle, you know?” For a fleeting moment he thought of his childhood—of the day his youngest sister had gone missing when he was supposed to be watching her—then let the old, painful memory go. She had been found, but the hours they had spent searching were among the worst of his life. Still, if he’d learned one thing in his life, it was that dwelling on the past got him nowhere. Concentrating on the future—planning for it—was the way to go.
A little upset at how much he’d revealed, he glanced over at Camille, who was watching him with a rare understanding in her eyes. Usually he felt as if they were worlds apart, but in that moment, it seemed she understood everything he hadn’t said. Instead of making him uncomfortable, it made him feel good, as if there was something more between them than the baby.
Maybe that was why he gave voice to the idea that had been circling in his head since she’d come to his door, upset about the twelve-month lease. “Move in with me.”
For long seconds, Camille didn’t move, didn’t react at all—almost as if she hadn’t heard him. Not that he blamed her—the idea had come out of nowhere. Still, it felt right, so he prepared to voice the request again, a little more delicately this time. But just as he opened his mouth, she whispered, “What did you say?”
“I want you to move in with me,” he repeated. “It’s the perfect solution.”
“For who?”
“For both of us. For all three of us.”
“What are you talking about?” She stared at him in disbelief. “Where did this come from?”
“I’ve been thinking about it since you got here.”
“Wow, a whole hour and a half. You’ve really thought this out then, huh, Matt?”
“How much thought do I need to put into it to know the idea makes sense?”
“And I thought I was the impulsive one in this relationship. You’re talking about changing our entire lives, yet you give more thought to where you want to go to dinner than you’ve given this whole idea.”
“Maybe,” he answered, though he knew she was right. Normally he would have sweated over the decision, thought about it for days or weeks. But he didn’t have weeks—odds were Camille would settle on an apartment in the next few days if he didn’t convince her to move in with him.
And suddenly, it really did seem like the best solution. The only solution. If they were living apart, he would miss out on whole chunks of his child’s life—like his father had. And while he’d never truly felt deprived growing up without a father, there were times through the years that he’d really wished his dad had been there.
He didn’t want his own child going through that. He wanted—needed—to be there for him or her. The thought had him pushing at her to agree with him.
“Come on, Camille. Think about it. Any decent apartment you look at is going to require a twelve-month lease. That’s pretty standard stuff here in Austin. If you move in here, you won’t ha
ve to worry about a lease at all. And you’ll have me around to help with the baby.”
“The baby’s not due for six months.”
“Pregnancy stuff, then. You’ll need help as you get further along—you can’t do it all alone and I’m more than capable of giving you whatever help you need.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Camille had stiffened, her eyes turning frigid. Her next words confirmed his suspicions. “I’m a big girl, Matt. I don’t need you—or anyone—to take care of me.”
He started to backpedal. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Her smile was so sharp that he felt it slice into him. “You said I should move in here so you can help me—with the baby, with pregnancy stuff. That you could do things for me that I can’t do on my own. How else am I supposed to take it?”
“I only meant that I could make things easier for you. My friend’s wife had to go through a pregnancy alone—it’s not a picnic.” He felt his own temper start to rise. “I’m just trying to help, Camille. Can’t you cut me some slack?”
“There’s that word again. Help.” She threw her paper plate into the empty pizza box before pushing to her feet. “I’m not a charity case, Matt. I haven’t asked you for a damn thing.”
“And you won’t. I get that. No matter how much it frustrates me, I do get that.” He stood, followed her across the room to where she was standing, hands on hips. “But does that mean I can’t offer?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know anything anymore. Two weeks ago I was in Italy looking at centuries-old architecture, studying paintings done by the Masters, with nothing more pressing on my mind than what museum I should visit that day or what I should paint next.
“Then, suddenly, I’m pregnant and my whole life has changed. I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen years old, never answering to anyone. And suddenly here you are, expecting me to answer to you. Telling me how much to eat and when to sleep and what I can or cannot paint with. Now you’re even telling me where to live.”