‘Just after seven. Sorry I’m a bit late, we had an emergency in NICU.’
She gave a quiet nod—she could hardly object, conscious of the fact that in a few days’ or weeks’ time her baby could be the emergency in NICU.
‘I guess I lost track of time,’ she murmured looking back out over the bustling city. Last time she’d looked outside it had been late afternoon. Had she drifted off to sleep? Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her of why she’d been waiting for Linc. ‘Did you bring dinner?’
‘Ahh…about that…’ His forehead puckered in a frown.
This time it was her turn to smile. ‘You forgot—didn’t you?’
‘Not exactly.’ He extended his arm towards her, trying to push aside the delicious thoughts of the scene he’d just witnessed, his brain swiftly improvising. ‘I decided to take you out to dinner. You must be going crazy, stuck in my apartment.’
Amy pressed her palms against the window. ‘I don’t know if crazy is the right word, but I definitely feel as if I’m missing out on something. I’ve dreamed about exploring San Francisco for years, and now that I’m here I feel as if it’s just outside my reach.’ She turned to face him and flattened her back against his picture window. ‘I want to ride on the cable cars—I don’t want to watch them turn underneath me. I want to do the boat trip to Alcatraz and stand in the cells and feel the atmosphere of the place. I want to go down to Pier 39 and have my picture taken next to the Fisherman’s Wharf sign. I want to go and explore Chinatown. I want to eat there, see the colours and smell all the wonderful food. I want to spend the day wandering around Fisherman’s Wharf wondering what type of ice cream I want to eat next. I want to sit in some of the quayside restaurants and eat all the fish on the menu.’
Lincoln raised his eyebrow at her, folding his arms across his chest. ‘You have been going crazy in here, haven’t you? Why didn’t you say something sooner?’
She sighed. ‘You’ve been busy, Linc. The last thing you need to do is try and entertain an uninvited house guest.’
He shook his head. ‘Why do you keep saying stuff like that?’
‘Stuff like what?’
His brow was puckered again. ‘Uninvited house guest.’ He looked annoyed. ‘You’re not uninvited. I invited you.’ He swung his arms wide, ‘This is my home. I wanted you here.’
Amy licked her lips, as if she was preparing to say something. Her eyes were fixed on his again. And he could sense something. Something bubbling just underneath the surface, getting ready to erupt. The hairs stood up at the back of his neck, making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. All of sudden he felt as the though the walls of his spacious apartment were starting to close in around him.
‘Come on.’ He extended his arm towards her, anxious to break the tension between them. ‘You can pick wherever you like. Let’s eat.’
* * *
The street was packed. The early evening tourists were crammed onto the sidewalks, reading menus and deciding what restaurant to eat in. Lincoln weaved seamlessly through the crowd and pushed open a heavy wooden door, holding it open until Amy was safely inside.
She blinked furiously, her eyes struggling to adjust to the gloomy interior, but Lincoln took her hand again and eased her through the dimly lit restaurant, pulling her into a wooden seated booth.
‘I thought I was getting to pick?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘If we’d waited for you to pick, we’d still be standing on the sidewalk at midnight, peering at menus.’
He handed her a plastic-coated menu. ‘What do you want to eat?’
Amy looked around her. The gaudily decorated interior of fake wooden barrels and ship’s wheels draped with Hawaiian garlands left her speechless. To say nothing of the life-size pirate standing the corner of the room.
‘This looks like a bit of a tourist trap,’ she mumbled, her eyes running over the menu in the hope it could redeem itself to her.
Lincoln leaned back in the booth, ‘That’s the beauty of this place,’ he said, a smile plastered across his face. ‘It looks dark and seedy. But it hides San Francisco’s best-kept secret. My mate Johnny is the chef and he makes the best food in the world.’ He leaned across the booth towards her. ‘So what do you fancy?’
The English terminology made her blink, as did the double meaning. What she ‘fancied’ wasn’t on the menu in front of her. But right now she couldn’t even contemplate what she ‘fancied’. Not while she currently felt like a beached whale.
Her tongue ran nervously along her lips, her eyes fixed on the plastic menu—because looking upwards would mean staring into those deep blue eyes and she couldn’t face that right now. Junior gave another kick and she winced.
Lincoln’s hand shot across the table and caught hers. ‘Are you okay? Is something wrong?’
Yes, yes, something was wrong. Her brain couldn’t focus. Her rational thoughts had left the building. She wanted to blurt out everything that was currently spinning around in her head. She wanted to tell him that she wished she’d called him six years ago when she’d got the cancer diagnosis. She wanted to tell him that she wished the baby she was currently carrying in her belly was his, instead of donor 867’s. She wanted to tell him that she wished she’d had her surgery and her body looked normal again so she could finally stand and look at her naked reflection in the mirror again. She wanted to tell him that her back ached, her feet were sore and her headache was really starting to annoy her—but he’d just taken her out and the last thing she wanted to do right now was head back to the apartment. Because there it would just be the two of them. Alone.
Suddenly the grubby-looking restaurant didn’t seem so bad. At least there were other people around.
A man appeared and slapped Lincoln on the shoulder. ‘Who’s the lovely lady, Linc? And why haven’t you introduced me?’
Lincoln smiled. He seemed relaxed and easy in here and the tension that had been between them seemed to have left his tightened shoulders. He held his hand out towards Amy. ‘This, Johnny, is my good friend Amy Carson. She’s never sampled the delights of your cooking, so I hope you’re going to impress her—otherwise she’ll bend my ear all night for bringing her to such a dive.’ He gave her a little wink across the table.
Johnny laughed. A deep, hearty laugh that seemed to come from all the way down at his toes. ‘Impress? Me? Once I’ve fed this lady, she’ll never look at you again, Linc.’ He bent his head and picked up Amy’s hand, kissing it with a flourish. ‘So, beautiful, what can I get you?’
Amy looked back at Linc in panic. She hadn’t even read the menu properly yet.
Lincoln pointed towards her. ‘Why don’t you decide for us, Johnny? Only be careful what you give my pregnant friend, we’re hoping to avoid an early labour.’
Johnny’s eyes turned to where Amy’s extended abdomen was tucked neatly under the table in the darkened booth. He beamed. ‘Congratulations, beautiful lady. I’m sure I can rustle something up that will delight your little bambino.’
He wandered back off to the kitchen and left the two of them sitting in the booth. Amy held her breath. Johnny was obviously a friend; would he assume the baby was Lincoln’s? Or was her imagination just making wild leaps?
She could be a colleague from work, a neighbour, an old friend from school. There was no reason for Johnny to think anything else. So why was half of her hoping that he was?
Her stomach growled loudly. ‘So what am I going to get to eat, Linc? With my current busy lifestyle, food is becoming a very important part of my day.’
Lincoln smiled at the lilt in her voice. This was the Amy he remembered. A bit cheeky, with a definite sarcastic edge. Not the nervous and uptight woman he’d spent the last few days with.
‘I think I can safely say you’ll get a feast fit for a king.’
‘Or a quee
n?’ The teasing tone was apparent.
‘Ouch. Yes, or a queen.’ He rested his head on his hands. ‘What did Cassidy say today?’
Amy could feel the smile drop from her face. Why was it the mere mention of that woman’s name automatically put her hackles up? Cassidy had only ever been pleasant and professional to Amy, but Amy could see the way Cassidy looked at Lincoln—even if he couldn’t. His easy flirtatious manner was coming back to bite him on the…
‘Nothing’s changed. I’ve to go back tomorrow for more of the same.’
Lincoln leaned back and looked at her face. She looked vaguely irritated, as if she was annoyed. Surely, at this stage, no news was good news?
‘So what’s with the long face?’
Amy took a deep breath. This was where she should play the nice house guest. Happy, amenable and anxious to please.
Except these pregnancy hormones were driving her nuts. Her aching back was driving her nuts. Living under the same roof as Lincoln was driving her nuts. And seeing some gorgeous, statuesque blonde looking at Lincoln, her Lincoln, the way that woman did was driving her nuts.
She opened her mouth to speak just as Johnny reappeared and slid the biggest platter known to man onto their table. Grilled shrimp, Dungeness crab, scallops and crab cakes with rice and salad on the side. Then another plateful with grilled chicken, peppers, onion, a bowl of ratatouille and some garlic bread. Johnny folded his arms across his chest. ‘Before you start, I know all of this is high in Omega 3 and can assure you it’s all completely fresh and fully cooked. No tuna, no tilefish, no mackerel. All safe for a pregnant lady.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘But I also made you some chicken and garlic bread in case you were a little wary.’
Amy’s face relaxed as the wonderful smell of freshly cooked fish wafted towards her. Her smile lit up her face. ‘Johnny, how can a girl come to Fisherman’s Wharf and not sample the Dungeness crab?’
She lifted her napkin from the table and spread it across her bump. ‘Not the most glamorous, I know, but I’d hate to ruin these gorgeous clothes that you stole for me from the First Lady.’
Lincoln laughed as he pulled a plate towards him and started lifting some food from the platter. The maternity clothes had been a godsend. Today Amy was wearing a deep purple smock, which complemented her red hair and pale skin perfectly. In fact, every time he saw her she had a different outfit on. He had the distinct impression that the First Lady had known exactly the impact her ‘cast-off’ clothes would have. Brownie points. Big time. ‘I didn’t steal them. She wanted you to have them. And it’s obvious you’re making good use of them—that’s what she wanted.’
Amy lifted a fork to her mouth. ‘So are you going to tell me anything interesting about the First Lady?’
‘And break patient confidentiality?’ He’d raised one eyebrow at her, in mock indignation, then bent over and took a bite of his crab, shaking his head as he quickly swallowed. ‘Nope. I’m not going to tell you a thing. Except she wanted you to use those clothes. Oh, and that she called me an incorrigible flirt—how dare she?’
Amy laughed. ‘Well, she got that right.’
‘I do not flirt, I’m just a friendly person,’ Lincoln protested.
Amy rolled her eyes. ‘Women fall at your feet everywhere, Linc.’
He paused for a second, as if lost in a thought, ‘Mmm, not all women. It’s only useful if it’s the woman you want.’
The air seemed to go silent around them. Amy bit her lip. What did that mean? Did he mean her? Had she fallen at his feet on the Amazon boat and he hadn’t wanted her to? Or was he talking about now, and how she was trying to keep her distance? She had no idea what was going on inside his head.
Amy took another bite of her shrimp, then broke the garlic bread in half, handing it to him across the table. A little twinge came across her back. Junior felt as if he was turning around inside her right now. She crossed then uncrossed her ankles, trying to find a more comfortable position.
‘Everything okay?’
‘That’s twice you’ve asked in the last fifteen minutes.’
‘And that’s twice I’ve caught you looking at me as if you want to take a meat cleaver to my head.’ Lincoln put his food back on the plate. ‘So spill, Amy, what’s eating you?’
‘Nothing.’
Lincoln gave a sigh and lifted his glass of root beer, which had magically appeared at his side. ‘So, if nothing’s wrong, quit being snarky. I’ve had a crappy day at work and I just want to come home and relax.’
‘Snarky? Is that even a word?’ She couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried, the words were practically a growl.
He lifted one eyebrow at her again. It was a habit of his that was really beginning to annoy her. No matter how chilled she tried to be.
‘Amy, I’m only going to ask this once more. What’s wrong?’
All of a sudden the gorgeous platter of food didn’t seem so appetising. It looked as if it could catch in her throat and choke her to death. Worse, she could feel tears start to form in her eyes. Why was she about to cry? What the hell was wrong with her?
She gulped as one tear escaped and slid down her cheek and she fumbled for her napkin. ‘Nothing’s wrong. And everything’s wrong. That’s just it, Linc. I don’t know what’s wrong—I just know something is.’
Within seconds he’d reached across the table and captured her hands in his. She could feel the warmth from his hands creeping up her arms. Her hands felt cold, like blocks of ice. Truth be told, her whole body felt like that.
Another tear slid down her face and she pulled her hand away, brushing the paper napkin against her face. ‘Damn pregnancy hormones,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t, Amy. Don’t do that. Don’t blame this on the fact you’re pregnant. We both know it’s not that.’ His voice cut through the dim light like a brilliant strobe, making her breath catch in her throat. He was looking directly at her, one hand now at the back of his head, pulling at his hair. His frustration was evident.
Silence. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she should say. She didn’t know what she could say.
In her head it was easy. She was a princess in a pink satin dress, standing at the top of her tower, and he was Prince Charming on the white charger below. But she wasn’t a child, and this wasn’t a fairy-tale. This was real and in her head the princess wasn’t pregnant with a sperm donor’s baby and hadn’t suffered from breast cancer and had a mastectomy. In her head the princess was the perfect healthy, whole, fertile partner that Prince Charming deserved.
Something she would never be.
‘You do know she’s got a crush on you—don’t you?’
‘What?’ Lincoln looked confused at the change in subject. ‘Who?’
‘Cassidy Yates, that’s who.’
Lincoln shook his head in bewilderment. ‘No, she doesn’t—that’s ridiculous.’
Amy banged her hand on the table. ‘Oh, yes, she does! I can see it every time she looks at you.’
Lincoln slammed down his glass, sloshing root beer all over the table. ‘And why does it matter? Why does it matter if she does have a crush on me? Why does it matter to you?’
She could feel her lips trembling and her hands begin to shake. He was angry. She’d never seen Lincoln angry before.
And it knocked the wind clean out of her sails.
He pushed himself up. ‘This isn’t about Cassidy Yates. This could never be about Cassidy Yates. This is about you and me, Amy. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.’
She could see the fire in his eyes, the pent-up frustration so tangible she could almost reach out and touch it.
Something gripped around her heart, squeezing it tightly. Could she tell him that she loved him? Could she say that right now she couldn’t bear to be
in the same room as him because she ached for his touch? Could she tell him that she wished she could turn back the clock six years?
No. No, she couldn’t. Because Lincoln didn’t need half a woman. He needed a whole one. He didn’t need a woman who was carrying someone else’s baby—a woman who would never be able to have any more natural children. He needed someone else, he deserved someone else. Someone who could give him children of his own.
But being around him and knowing that hurt like hell.
She had to get of there.
‘I can’t do this, Linc.’ She stood up and slid out from the booth. ‘I can’t do this right now.’ Her shaky voice grew firm, determined. ‘This isn’t a good time.’ Her hands rested on her belly. ‘I need to concentrate on this. I need to concentrate on him. Nothing is more important than this baby. I can’t let anything else confuse me.’ Try as she may and no matter how steady her voice was, she couldn’t meet his gaze. One look into those eyes right now and she could crumble.
Lincoln’s voice was barely contained. ‘So I “confuse” you now? That’s rubbish and you know it.’ He came around and stood directly in front of her, his hands touching her shoulders. ‘Tell me, Amy. Tell me how you feel.’
Her resolve started to shatter underneath her. Tears started to spill down her cheeks again. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if any of these feelings are real, or if they’re just a huge rush of hormones and nostalgia.’ She flung her arms out in frustration, then raised her hands to her temples. She winced as her fingers touched the sides of her forehead. ‘I can’t sort anything out in my head right now. I can’t think. I can’t concentrate.’ She shook her head furiously. ‘I can’t get rid of this damn headache!’
Her eyes finally met his. ‘I didn’t come here for me, Lincoln. I didn’t come here for you. I came here…’ she pressed her hands to her belly again ‘…for my son.’
Lincoln threw his hands up in frustration. He couldn’t stand this any longer. He’d spent the last few days tiptoeing around her. Keeping his distance—even though it was killing him. Giving her space, giving her time.
West Wing to Maternity Wing! Page 12