“There’s no point you simply handing me money willy-nilly from your wallet,” she said. “If you want to be that gung-ho about it, I’ll create a spreadsheet. We can track every expense down to the cent.”
Her disdain for the notion must have been evident, because Rhys gave her a frustrated look. “What else do you suggest we do, then?”
She knew he was right. As much as she hated having to treat her pregnancy and their child like some sort of joint project, the reality was that if they were truly going to share responsibility, they needed to keep track of expenses and contributions. It wasn’t pretty, but it was practical.
“It’s just…hard,” she said, trying to convey how she felt. “The Bean is a person in her own right. Not some piece of furniture we’re going halves in.”
His eyebrows arched. “The Bean?”
“That’s what I call her. Even before I knew she was a she. There was a poster in the doctor’s office that said at eight weeks the fetus is the size of a kidney bean.” She shrugged, feeling more than a little foolish. “It stuck in my head.”
“The Bean. I like it. The Bean Walker has a real ring to it.”
As always, his silliness made her smile.
“It will look great on business cards, that’s for sure,” she said.
“And on a desk plate. Engraved in brass.”
A woman was approaching the entrance, her big pregnant belly leading the way. They both stepped to one side to let her pass. Rhys pulled back his cuff and checked his watch.
“You probably need to go,” Charlie said, checking her own watch.
Somehow, what had felt like only fifteen minutes had chewed up nearly an hour.
“What are you doing now?” Rhys asked.
The sun was behind him, causing her to squint as she looked at him.
“I’ve got some page flats and some coding I need to sort out. Why?”
“I was thinking we could grab lunch.” He glanced toward the clear blue sky. “It’s such a great day, seems a shame to waste it.”
“What about your work?”
He shrugged. “My afternoon is clear. I can play hooky for a few hours. How about you?”
Her stupid, stupid heart gave a little jump at the prospect of spending a sunny afternoon with Rhys—a very good reason for her to make an excuse to put him off.
“Come on. I’ll put in a good word for you with the boss,” he said in his most charming, wheedling tone.
She found herself nodding, despite the sensible voice in her head. “Okay. Sure, why not?”
“Great. We can leave your car here and pick it up later. Where do you want to go?” His started toward his BMW, confident and relaxed.
“Um. I’m not sure. Maybe somewhere near the water. I got takeout and went to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair on the weekend and that was pretty nice.”
“Let’s do that,” Rhys said.
She couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiastic decisiveness.
Rhys made a quick call to the office to let them know his plans, then they stopped in Glebe to buy takeout from a macrobiotic-food store Charlie had recently discovered. Afterward, they drove across the city and into the Domain. They weren’t the only Sydneysiders who thought a bright day was the perfect excuse for a picnic and they had to park halfway around the loop and walk back to the point that offered the most sweeping harbor views. Rhys found an old beach towel in the back of the car and they spread it out on the slope facing the Harbour Bridge, the wind in their hair and the sun warming them.
“This was a good idea,” Rhys said as she pried the lids off the various plastic containers. He glanced at the food and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “The food I’m not so sure about.”
“Wait until you taste it. It’s so good you’d swear it was bad for you.”
“How bad? Hamburgers-and-French-fries bad? Deep-fried-chicken-wings bad?”
“You’ll have to try and see.”
“You sounded like a mum then.”
“I did not.”
“You did. Gave me a little mum look, too. Next, you’ll be asking if I have a hankie in my pocket.”
She passed one of the tofu burgers to him. “Try not to talk with your mouth full.” It was the only motherly thing she could think of on the spot, but he laughed anyway.
He bit into his burger and made a surprised sound. She raised her eyebrows, waiting.
“Okay. I’ll eat my words, as well as this burger. This is delicious.”
She smiled in what she hoped was a smug way and resumed eating her own burger.
They ate the salad and the dairy-free cheesecake, then lay back on their elbows in sated, companionable silence as they soaked up the view.
“It’s good to be the king,” Rhys said after a few minutes.
She smiled. The sun was on her face, warm and life affirming. She knew she should probably be running for the shade, worrying about her complexion, but instead she settled onto her back and closed her eyes and basked like a lizard.
“Guess we’re going to have to start a list of girls’ names,” Rhys said beside her.
He sounded as drowsy and content as she felt. She was suddenly very glad that she’d agreed to share lunch and the sunshine and this view with him.
“Actually, I have a name picked out already. An old family name,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“Gertrude,” she said, absolutely straight-faced. She cracked an eye so she could see Rhys’s reaction. He was frowning, and she could almost hear him trying to formulate a diplomatic response. Then he caught her watching him and a slow smile curved his mouth.
“Nice one. Almost had me.”
“Almost? You were fully on the hook.”
“But I was still wriggling.”
“On the hook is on the hook.”
He rolled onto his side so he faced her. “You’re a tough customer.”
“Former army, don’t you know.”
He smiled, his gaze scanning her face before dropping below her neck. “You look good in that color.”
She glanced down at herself. She’d had the sweater for years and had long ago stopped thinking of it as a piece of fashion apparel.
“What color would you call that? Periwinkle blue?” Rhys asked.
“I have no idea what a periwinkle even is.”
“Hot-summer-day sky blue. That’s what we’ll call it.”
“That’s quite a mouthful.”
“When you’re aiming for accuracy, brevity has to be sacrificed.” He said it very solemnly, almost pompously, and she laughed.
His gaze moved over her features lazily, idly. “I guess our little girl will look like you, won’t she?”
She made a face. “God, I hope not.”
He looked surprised. “You think that would be a bad thing?”
“I think she’d be better served taking after the Walker side of the family.” She lay a hand on her stomach. “Do you hear that, Bean? Think Black Irish and you can’t go wrong.”
“Hang on a minute. Let’s not rush to the Walker side just yet. I think The Bean would be doing herself a disservice if she missed out on your nose. And she definitely needs your mouth.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
“Fine. But she has to get everything else from you. Including your hair.”
“Again, what’s wrong with your hair?”
“It’s dead straight. And it’s the color of a well-known rodent.”
“It’s brown. Mink brown.”
“Minks are rodents, too.”
His gaze was intense now. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Your sisters are beautiful. Why wouldn�
�t I want her to take after them?”
“You’re beautiful, too.”
Charlie let her gaze slide over his shoulder. She knew what he was doing—being kind, his usual charming self.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, because she’d read somewhere that it was always polite to acknowledge compliments. Not that she’d had a lot of practice, but still.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Rhys asked, his frown deepening.
“I think—” She jerked to the side as a big fat bee flew into view and hovered near his shoulder. “Shit.”
“It’s okay. He won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt him.”
“I’m allergic,” she said tightly, pressing herself into the ground.
Rhys immediately rolled onto his back, luring the bee with him. She watched as he shooed it gently away, and finally it flew off to search for less vigilant prey.
“Thanks,” she said. “He probably wasn’t going to hurt me, but being stung still worries me.”
Rhys resumed his position, took one look at her and started laughing. She blinked.
“I’m beginning to think you have a twisted sense of humor.”
“Sorry. You got some grass in your hair just now, that’s all.”
She gave him a look. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to appreciate when someone looks funny. It looks as though a little bird has made his home on your head.”
She reached up to brush the grass away. “Has it gone?”
“Nope, not all of it.”
He was enjoying himself hugely at her expense. She started to sit up.
“Relax. I’ll get it.” He reached across and brushed at her hair. Unable to hold his gaze at such close quarters, her eyes drifted to his jaw, then, somehow, to his mouth. She traced his full bottom lip with her eyes, marveling that it could be both masculine and soft looking at the same time. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes and let herself be very foolish, she could still remember how he tasted. How it had felt to have those lips on her skin…
She realized that Rhys had long since stopped brushing her hair and she lifted her gaze. He was watching her, his dark eyes intent.
“Charlie,” he said, his voice very low.
His thumb brushed her cheek, then he lowered his face toward her. She acted in instinctive, panicky self-defense, lifting a hand to his chest to halt his descent.
“What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Kissing you?”
“No.”
He pulled back a few inches. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”
“I think it’s a really bad idea.”
He tilted his head a fraction of an inch. “That’s not the same as not wanting me to kiss you.”
“It might as well be.”
“Are you telling me that you haven’t thought about it? About us, together?”
An image popped into her mind, inspired by his words. Rhys between her legs, filling her with his heat and hardness, his mouth at her breasts.
“No,” she lied.
He stared at her. He was leaning over her, blocking out the sun, filling almost all her vision, and it was impossible to avoid his searching gaze.
“No,” she said again.
Then, because she was afraid that what willpower and common sense she possessed were hanging by a rapidly unraveling thread, she pushed him away and wriggled to the side until she could sit upright without banging heads with him.
“We should go.” She collected the empty containers, stuffing them all into the bag they’d come in. Then she rose and started up the hill.
She didn’t look back. She knew exactly what she was walking away from. She knew she was doing the right thing, too. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.
RHYS WATCHED CHARLIE walk away from him and tried to work out what had happened between them. She had wanted him. He’d seen it in her eyes. Yet she’d lied to him, told him she never thought about the two of them together.
“Bullshit,” he said under his breath. He scrambled to his feet, scooped up the beach towel and went after her.
She was dumping their garbage in a bin when he caught up with her.
“We need to talk about this. Even if just to clear the air,” he said.
She looked at him, her face shuttered. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yeah, there is. There’s a bloody huge elephant in the room, and we’ve been dancing around it for weeks.”
“We haven’t been dancing around anything.”
He refused to let her sidetrack him. “The reason you’re pregnant, Charlie, is because we had sex. And we had sex because we’re really into each other.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “That was three months ago. And it was one night. And we were both drunk.”
Rhys flinched. “I knew exactly what I was doing and who I was with. Are you saying it was different for you?”
Color flooded Charlie’s cheeks, but she didn’t say a word. Taking the Fifth, obviously.
“Why did you leave that night without saying goodbye?” He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t ask her again, that he wouldn’t harangue her like a lovesick teen, but the words were out his mouth before he could stop them.
Her arms tightened around her body. “Because it was a one-night stand. We both knew that.”
“I didn’t.”
She stared at him, her regard so intent that he felt as though she was searching for his soul. After a long moment she looked away. “I did.”
“You didn’t have a good time?” Hard to ask, but he needed to know if he’d been kidding himself about her right from the start.
The glance she sent him was almost resentful. “You know I did.”
“Then why leave?”
Charlie threw her hands in the air. “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.”
“Because we almost kissed.”
Charlie blinked. Then her chin came up. “I would like to go back to my car now, please.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond, turning on her heel and walking toward where they’d parked. For the second time that day Rhys stared at her retreating back. Everything in him wanted to keep pushing, to demand she be honest with him about how she felt and what she wanted. He took a step, ready to go after her yet again.
Then it hit him that she had told him what she wanted. She’d told him she didn’t think it was a good idea that they kiss. She’d told him that their one night had always been only one night in her mind. She’d told him that her priority was the baby. And only the baby.
She’d told him a number of times in a bunch of different ways what she wanted. He simply didn’t like what she was saying.
She’s not interested, mate. Accept it, suck it up and move on. Otherwise you’ll start looking like some obsessive stalker head case.
He turned and looked at the view, inhaling deeply through his nose before exhaling again in a frustrated, resigned rush. High overhead, a seagull squawked. He glanced at it as it wheeled against the bright blue sky.
Shaking his head, he dug deep into his pocket and found his car keys. He started toward the car. He could see Charlie, standing beside the passenger side, her face and body in profile to him as she stared out toward the naval base in Woolloomooloo Bay. She looked slim and strong and very alone.
He waited until he was a few feet from the car before activating the remote lock. She opened the door and slid in without saying a word. He climbed into the driver’s seat. He didn’t start the car. No way was he driving back to Glebe and letting her go home with this sitting between them.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, if you’re not interested, I won’t raise the subject again,�
�� he said quietly.
She glanced at him for a second before fixing her gaze on the car ahead.
“I think it’s for the best,” she said.
He had no idea what that even meant, but he’d told her he’d drop it, so he started the engine and signaled before pulling out. After a few minutes of silence Charlie brought up the DVD of the scan, telling him she would attempt to burn copies this evening, one for him, one for his parents.
“I know they’d appreciate that,” he said.
Conversation continued in fits and starts, both of them making an effort to get back on an even keel. When he stopped at the radiology clinic, Charlie released her seat belt and collected her bag from the floor.
“Lunch was nice. Thanks for playing hooky with me,” she said.
She didn’t kiss him goodbye. Instead, she touched his forearm briefly before opening her door and slipping out of the car.
He was halfway to the office when he realized work was the last place he wanted to be.
It had been a long time since he’d felt that way.
He called Julie and told her he wouldn’t be in at all for the rest of the day, then headed for home. His workout gear had been kicked into the corner in the spare room, and he changed into shorts and a tank top and jogged the two blocks to the gym. He sweated on the weight machines and treadmill for a good hour, working out his frustration and confusion.
He wasn’t used to being in the dark this way. He liked to have a plan. He liked to have goals he could aspire to. He liked certainty.
There was nothing certain about Charlie. She slipped through his fingers, constantly confounding him, letting him close then pushing him away.
Her choice—she had a right to keep him at a distance if that was what she wanted. But it didn’t mean the rest of his world needed to remain in flux. He’d been reacting—reeling in shock, really—ever since he’d learned he would be a father. It was time to get back into the driver’s seat.
He made plans as he jogged home. He’d call around a few real estate agents first thing tomorrow and see how much house his money could buy him in the Eastern Suburbs. He’d be happy in Paddington and Woollahra, maybe even Rose Bay. All suburbs at the pricey end of the property market, but the Finger Wharf had been, too. He might have adjusted some of his priorities, but he didn’t need to give up all his aspirations.
More Than One Night Page 18