‘SO DID HE manage to track you down at the speed dating?’
Iona stared at Jenny, taking a second or two to work out what she was talking about because it seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘Oh—yes. Yes, he did. Thanks for sending him there.’
‘I hope he apologised for being rude in Resus as well as running off with your beloved stethoscope?’
She laughed softly. ‘Yes, he apologised.’ For that, and for all the things he’d said in the car, too, which had been much more hurtful. They’d come totally out of the blue and had seemed really out of character from what little she knew of him—which, she realised, was precious little, so maybe it wasn’t out of character. But then he’d kissed her...
‘So where am I today?’
‘Oh, I think James has put you in Minors, keeping an eye on Tim. Between you and me, I think he’s a bit worried about him.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s not alone. OK, Jenny, thanks.’
She made her way to Minors, relieved in some ways that it would be a relatively easy day, but she should have realised nothing was ever as straightforward as it seemed. And Tim, with his lack of experience and apparently no gut instinct, was at the root of it.
‘How are you getting on?’ she asked him after a while.
‘OK. I’ve got someone with migraine I’m just about to discharge with codeine.’
She frowned. ‘Do they have a history?’
‘No. It’s the first time, but he said it was very bad with a roaring in his head and he was very shaky for a few minutes, so his wife brought him in.’
Iona frowned again. ‘Shaky?’
‘Yes—she said he was shaking all over. I assume it was from the pain.’
‘Don’t assume,’ she said, red flags appearing all over the place. ‘Ask. Follow up. When did this start?’
‘About half an hour ago, I think, or a bit more. I’ve done some basic neuro obs and his strength is fine.’
‘Right, where is he?’
She went in, introduced herself, skipped the basic neurological strength tests and made him close his eyes and touch the tip of his nose with his index finger, first right, then left.
And he missed with the left.
‘OK, it’s just a precaution, but I’d like you to have a CT scan. I’ll go and arrange it now.’
‘A CT? Really? For a headache?’ Tim asked, following her to the desk.
‘Or a stroke,’ she said quietly, and picked up the phone. ‘Hi, I need an urgent CT on a query CVA, but he’s coming up to the hour and he’s got some neurological deficit. Can we send him down now?’
She put the phone down, and Tim looked shocked. ‘But he’s too young. He’s only thirty-seven.’
‘Nobody’s ever too young. Let’s just see what the CT comes up with.’
* * *
She was right. He had a clot in his right parietal lobe and another in the cerebellum, and was immediately whisked into the stroke unit for treatment with anticoagulants.
Tim, predictably, was shaken. ‘I thought he just had a headache. His wife said it was a migraine—’
‘Is she a doctor?’
‘No—no, she’s not. And I’m not sure I am, either.’
Iona sighed. ‘Yes, you are, Tim. You just need to question everything, take nothing at face value and don’t overlook the obvious. His wife said he was shaking. You should have asked what kind of shaking, because when she demonstrated it to me, it looked like a Parkinsonian tremor and that can be symptomatic of a brain injury. It’s OK, I picked up on it and no harm was done, so go and get a coffee, take a break, and come back and find me. We’ll work together. OK?’
He nodded, and she watched him go and let out a quiet sigh.
‘Trouble in paradise?’ Jenny asked, and she nodded.
‘Tim misdiagnosed a stroke patient. It’s OK, I picked it up in time. He’s in the stroke unit.’
‘Well done. So how was the wedding?’
She smiled wryly. ‘OK, thanks. I went with a...friend, in the end,’ she said, wondering if she would have picked up on that slight hesitation, but the red phone rang and Jenny answered it, and she escaped without any further interrogation.
Not that Jenny would really have interrogated her, but somehow she didn’t want the fact that Joe had gone with her to come out, because without a doubt it would unleash a barrage of questions she didn’t want to answer. She wasn’t even sure she could answer them.
Not until she knew him better, and she suddenly realised how much she wanted that. She’d gone from thinking he was arrogant to friend to arch enemy and back to friend in the course of less than forty-eight hours, and next weekend when she’d see him again seemed a long, long way away.
* * *
The course was tough.
Tough, challenging and utterly fascinating. Or it should have been, but for some reason he couldn’t get Iona out of his mind. Iona, and her hunt for the elusive donor.
He wondered how her week was going, and if she’d looked at any more donor sites. If so, she hadn’t contacted him, and he wondered if it was because she was still feeling hurt and insulted and didn’t want to talk to him.
He wouldn’t blame her. What an idiot. If he’d only engaged his heart instead of his mouth, he would have realised she could never have done anything that devious, but no, he’d gone straight in with all guns blazing like an arrogant idiot. Serve him right if she didn’t want to speak to him again—far less ask him to be her sperm donor. Although he’d got that message, loud and clear, and so had half of East Anglia.
Damn Elizabeth for making him even consider it. There was no way—
He dragged his attention back to the lecture, forced himself to concentrate and put Iona and her surrogacy project firmly out of his mind.
* * *
The week came and went without a word from him, but then again because she’d been letting the dust settle she hadn’t contacted him, either. Which meant he didn’t have her phone number, she realised, because although he’d given her his, she hadn’t reciprocated.
Oh, well. It was too late to ring him at ten on a Friday night, and he might be driving, or even coming back tomorrow. Or he might have been back days ago. She had no idea how long the course had been, he hadn’t said, but he should be home by tomorrow. She’d call him then before her night shift and ask—just casually—how the course had gone.
Except when it came to it she didn’t, because he’d said call if she needed to talk about the donor thing, and that wasn’t it at all. She just wanted to hear his voice.
So she didn’t call him.
And then she was in Majors on Saturday night and a patient came in with sudden acute abdominal pain, and was crippled by it. Appendix was the obvious, but she’d had it removed some years before, and she was post-menopausal so it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy, and when Iona had listened to her heart, the beat had been slightly irregular. Atrial fibrillation? Maybe, which meant she might have a clot that had been thrown out of the heart and lodged in her mesenteric artery, and that could be fatal.
She was about to arrange an urgent CT when she heard Joe’s voice outside Resus, and stuck her head round the door.
‘Hi. I don’t suppose you’ve got a minute to chat about a patient, have you?’
‘Sure. What’s up?’
She ran through the symptoms, and he nodded. ‘So what are you thinking? Acute mesenteric ischaemia from a thrombosis?’
‘Maybe, and if it is I don’t want to miss it.’
‘No, absolutely not,’ he murmured. ‘CT?’
‘I was about to call them when I heard your voice.’
‘Let’s do that now, then, if the scanner’s free, and I’ll take her straight to IR and sort it if you’re right.’
‘Call me when you have the answer.’
He grinned. ‘That would be easier if I had your number,’ he said, and so she rang him and heard his phone buzz in his pocket.
‘OK, got it. Phone CT and tell them I’m on my way.’
‘I’ll get you a porter.’
‘I’m sure I can manage. I’m not too posh to push,’ he said with another wry grin.
‘I thought that was elective Caesareans?’ she retorted, and he chuckled and wheeled the patient out, taking the nurse and the notes with him.
* * *
‘Good spot,’ he said when he rang her twenty-five minutes later. ‘She’s just being wheeled into the IR suite. What time do you finish?’
‘Seven thirty.’
‘Me, too, technically speaking, although we both know how that goes. How do you fancy breakfast? I had a food delivery on Friday, including dry-cured bacon and massively squashy bread rolls.’
‘Ooh, now... Are you offering me a bacon buttie?’ she asked, her heart beating just a little faster.
‘Of course.’
‘Well, it’s a rhetorical question then, isn’t it?’ she said with a laugh. ‘Call me when you’re done. I’ll drive over.’
‘I will,’ he promised, and she could hear the smile in his voice and feel its echo in her lips.
* * *
‘Wow. I had no idea the doors opened onto a veranda. That’s fabulous!’
‘It is. I love it. I sit out here whenever I can—which isn’t nearly often enough, because I’m normally shut away in the study, working.’
‘Can’t you work out here?’ she asked, peering through the doors, but he shook his head.
‘Look at it. Would you do any work if you were out there?’
She laughed and turned away. ‘I guess the view would be a bit of a distraction.’
‘Not to mention the wildlife. The hazel tree’s covered in nuts and the other day a squirrel carrying one ran from end to end of the veranda, practically over my feet. Then it dug up the lawn to bury it.’
She smiled. ‘How cheeky. How are the muntjacs?’
‘Noisy,’ he said drily, ‘but I prefer them to endless traffic noise and screaming sirens on emergency vehicles.’
She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table to watch him while he cooked. ‘I’m guessing that was London?’
‘And Manchester, where I was last week. The hotel was triple glazed but I could still hear it, just a dull roar in the background. Not to mention the doors slamming all night on the corridor. I don’t know why people can’t shut them quietly.’
He flipped the bacon under the grill and grabbed a couple of mugs from the shelf over the cooker. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Oh—tea, please. I’ve had so much coffee overnight I’m wired.’
‘Am I keeping you up?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I need to wind down. This is perfect. So, how was the course, apart from noisy?’
‘Good. Here, slit these open and butter them, the bacon’s nearly done,’ he added, sliding the rolls and a knife across the table. ‘It was about advances in IR procedures for stroke patients. Direct access thrombolisation of the clots.’
‘I had a stroke patient last week. A thirty-seven-year-old. Your course would have come in handy.’
‘It would. I could have thrombolised him in IR, which I probably wouldn’t have done before this week.’
‘I’ll bear you in mind if I have another one. This guy nearly slipped through the net, but I rescued him from Tim, who was about to send him home on codeine.’
‘Oh, dear,’ he sighed, pulling a face. ‘Well done, you, though. Another good spot.’
‘Yes. This diagnosis thing is almost getting to be a habit,’ she said lightly, and he winced.
‘Was I patronising again?’
‘Only slightly. I’ll forgive you.’
He gave a wry laugh and stirred the tea. ‘Is he OK, your patient?’
‘I hope so, because we caught it within the hour so hopefully he’ll be fine. No long-lasting neurological deficit, with any luck. You ought to look up his notes, see if you could have done anything.’
‘Yes, I will. Good idea.’ He put two mugs of tea and a plate piled with bacon down on the dining table and eyed the doors. ‘Outside or in? It’s chilly, but it’s going to be a gorgeous day.’
‘Out,’ she said promptly. ‘I want to meet your cheeky squirrel.’
* * *
They ate their bacon rolls on the wicker sofa outside, but the squirrel didn’t show. It was still worth it, worth grabbing every moment before the Indian summer ended, and he loved it. Loved the veranda, loved the garden, loved the tranquillity after the chaos of London and his divorce.
And sharing it with Iona just made it better.
‘This weather’s just gorgeous,’ she murmured from beside him, her feet propped on the edge of the coffee table next to his, nursing her tea in her hands. ‘I can’t believe it’s mid-September.’
‘I know, it’s crazy. July and August were awful, but on the plus side I got the wall down and the doors in and the bedrooms decorated in July before the new carpets went down and I started my job.’
She turned her head and studied his face, her eyes thoughtful as if she was trying to read his mind. ‘So how come you’re doing all this work to your aunt’s house?’
He shrugged. ‘Good question. I suppose because it’ll make it easier for her to let when I get a consultancy elsewhere, and ultimately it’ll come to me, anyway, so I don’t mind the investment. I’m her only surviving relative apart from my father, and she doesn’t think he needs it. They’re in a purpose-built house and he had hefty compensation for the accident, so she’s probably right. And anyway, after Natalie’s asset-stripping efforts, I think she feels sorry for me.’
She laughed. ‘Lucky you. I’m struggling to save a deposit so I’m sharing a two-bedroomed rented flat in that converted Victorian heap. And I don’t have a garden, so I’m jealous.’
He frowned. ‘No access to it, or a balcony or anything?’
‘No. It’s the top floor, so technically I could say I live in a penthouse flat, but in reality it’s an attic,’ she said, her eyes crinkling in a rueful smile. ‘I do have roof lights that open up to make a kind of balcony, but it’s not big enough to sit there really. You ought to come and see it. I should cook for you—make a change from supermarket ready meals or the pub. Assuming we’re still friends, that is?’
Her eyes were wary now, and he shook his head slowly and sighed, the memory of their argument still all too fresh in his mind. ‘That’s down to you, Iona, I was the one out of order, but I really hope so. Am I forgiven yet?’
A slow, teasing smile dawned on her face, lighting her eyes and bringing him an element of relief. ‘Oh, I think so. You’ve made me bacon butties, so it would be churlish not to. And anyway,’ she added, the smile fading, ‘I’m blaming it on your ex.’
‘Yeah, and I still do, but I’m nearly thirty-five, Iona. It’s time I got over myself and stopped using her as an excuse for being suspicious about everyone’s motives.’
‘That’s easy to say, not so easy to do. I don’t want a relationship ever again, not one built on false promises and lies at any rate, and how can you possibly know until it happens? And how can you trust anyone after that? I thought Dan loved me in the way I loved him, but clearly he didn’t, or he wouldn’t have been shagging the stripper right before our wedding.’
‘Or the umpteenth lover eighteen months after the wedding, in your own bed,’ he said grimly. ‘Believe me, I know exactly where you’re coming from. I have no urge to get myself tied down to anyone ever again—despite my aunt’s best efforts.’
She blinked at that, and laughed. ‘Is she trying to set you up with one of the carers in the home?’
He chuckled and shook his head. ‘No. But she wants to meet you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘She knows about me?’
‘Yes. I told her about you,’ he admitted, ‘about you wanting to have a baby for Isla. And, yes, I know I said I’d keep it to myself, but I was worried about you, and she’s a doctor. She understands confidentiality, she understands childlessness, and anyway, who would she tell?’
‘That’s OK, I’m fine with that,’ she said, to his relief. ‘So what did she say?’
‘She said she thought you were immensely brave. So do I, or I would if I wasn’t afraid you’d get badly hurt.’
She sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Joe, I know what I’m doing, and why I’m doing it. I’m not stupid, I understand the implications, but it really won’t be my baby. It’ll be exactly the same as carrying Isla’s embryo and a donor’s. If I can ever find one, that is. I did what you said, by the way. I looked again at all the sites, read all the profiles, scoured the information given.’
‘And?’
She looked back at him, then looked away again. ‘There’s nobody who springs out. Nobody who sounds right.’
‘Isn’t that for Isla and Steve to decide?’
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose it is, but they’ve got the same problem I have, they can’t seem to find anyone that fits what they’re looking for, nobody who shouts “Me!” regardless of what they look like. They’ve even talked about going to one of the sites where you get to meet the donors, but they’re unregulated so that’s not a goer, and—I know I’m dragging my heels on this, but I have so many reservations about it. Just the idea of a stranger’s baby growing in my body unsettles me,’ she confessed.
‘If it was Steve’s, it would have been a bit weird, but he’s a lovely guy and I could have coped with it because it would have been giving them essentially their own baby, but that didn’t work and—I don’t know. Some random stranger’s semen, regardless of how well screened, just makes me shudder,’ she added, pulling a face, and he gave a wry laugh.
‘Yeah, I can understand that it might, but if you’re going to do this, there isn’t really any other way apart from IVF. Have you considered trying that with Steve’s sperm as the AI didn’t work?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I think Isla found it quite gruelling and all the embryos failed anyway, so they decided it wouldn’t be fair to put me through IVF, and when the AI failed with me as well, the clinic thought it must be something to do with Steve so they suggested a sperm donor. And I hit a brick wall, and I don’t know what to do or how to tell them.’
‘I’m not surprised, it’s a big decision.’
‘I know. I just need to get over myself. Or find a donor I like the sound of, but there’s only so much that information can tell you and they never seem to say enough.’
‘No, I’m sure, but the profiles are hard to write. What on earth do you say about yourself that doesn’t make you sound arrogant?’
‘What did you say about yourself, when you did it?’
‘Oh—I can’t remember, I just know it was difficult.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve got a copy of it somewhere, I’ll find it for you.’
He scooped up the plates and mugs, refilled the kettle and went into the study, rummaging through the filing cabinet.
‘So is this where you hide out?’ she asked from right behind him, making him jump.
‘Are you trying to scare the pants off me?’ he said with a laugh. ‘Yes, it’s where I hide out. I keep the blind down so I’m not distracted, and it turns it into a gloomy hole but it helps me concentrate. Here we go.’
He pulled the profile out of the file and handed it to her. ‘Bear in mind I was only twenty and probably fairly full of myself.’
She took it from his hand, headed outside onto the veranda and sat down to read it, and he made more tea and went back to her.
‘Well?’
‘Well, you’d definitely make the short list. You give good, decent reasons for wanting to do it, you share lots of information about yourself, you aren’t arrogant about your academic success or stunning good looks or physical attributes—’
‘Stunning good looks? Physical attributes?’ he said, preening himself a little, and she shot him a dirty look that would have worked better if she hadn’t been laughing.
‘Stop fishing. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant some of them are, and you aren’t. You almost don’t say enough to sell yourself.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he said with a chuckle, and took it away from her. ‘Drink your tea, and then I’m going to take you home. I need sleep.’
* * *
He didn’t sleep.
He couldn’t, because still, as it had been all week, Iona’s dilemma was playing on his mind, and so was the fact that Isla had asked her about him and said he’d be perfect.
Not that she really knew anything about him, of course, so he was sure it hadn’t in any way been a serious suggestion, but—what if it had been? What if she really did mean it?
He didn’t want to do it again, but as Elizabeth had said, this was different, because he’d met Steve and Isla and could maybe even have a relationship with the child. And that was tugging at him in a way he hadn’t expected.
Then there was the question of Iona, who’d made it quite clear what she thought of his sperm—although she’d said he’d be on the short list. Would she baulk at carrying his child?
He shut his eyes and turned over, thumping the pillow. Not his child. Just as none of the others out there were his child.
Which reminded him exactly why he wasn’t going to do it again. Ever.
Not even for Iona. Assuming she’d have him.
He gave up trying to sleep, pulled on his clothes and went down to the study, and there on the desk waiting to be filed was his donor profile.
He went back upstairs, changed into shorts and trainers, plugged his ear buds into his phone and went for a ten mile run.
* * *
She didn’t see him again for over a week, and then on Tuesday he sent her a text and asked if she was busy after her shift, because he wanted to discuss something. And he had food in his fridge. The last was a PS, and made her smile.
She rang him, got his answer-machine and left a message saying she’d come at seven and supper would be lovely, and then she spent the rest of her shift wondering what he wanted to talk about. Not the sperm donor thing, she knew that with absolute certainty, but what?
Was he going to suggest they have a relationship? No, he’d been clear about that. Never again. So—a no-strings affair?
No, she thought, squashing the little leap of hope. Not even he would be that premeditated. Pity...
Maybe it was work related? Something about referrals, perhaps? But then he’d do it at work. So—what, then?
She left work late, had the fastest shower on record and got to his house just after seven. He gave her a hug, then led her into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
‘What do you want to drink? I’ve got juice, squash, cola, sparkling water, pomegranate and elderflower cordial, or I can make tea or coffee?’
‘Fizzy water with a splash of cordial,’ she said, dropping her bag on the table and propping herself up against the sink. ‘Got any nibbles? I’m starving.’
He handed her a bag of olive breadsticks and a pot of hummus, then picked up their drinks and went out to the veranda to watch the last rays of the sunset.
‘So what is it, then?’ she asked, settling herself at the table and ripping the top off the hummus, and he gave a wry laugh.
‘Am I that transparent?’
She crunched on a breadstick. ‘Well, I haven’t heard anything from you for days, and then you text me and say you want to discuss something—not did I fancy supper or you’d had an interesting case or anything like that. So it must be something else—or am I reading you wrong?’ she added, studying his face.
He sighed, turned to meet her eyes and shook his head. ‘Not really. I just wondered how you were getting on with the donor sites.’
‘Oh, that.’ She stifled her disappointment and blew on her coffee, watching the way the froth moved, creasing the pattern in the chocolate sprinkles. ‘I don’t know, Joe,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve still got this mental block about the stranger thing, and I’m going to have to tell Isla and Steve because I just don’t think I can do it this way.’
‘What if it was a friend?’ he asked, his voice low, measured. Laden with meaning?
She turned her head slowly and met his eyes again, searching them in the twilight. His gaze was steady, serious. Did he...?
‘I thought you said...?’
‘I know, I did, but—do you think Isla was serious? About me?’
He did mean that. ‘I’m sure she was. I didn’t really think so at the time, but she’s mentioned it again, and I told her about our row in the layby and the lorry driver because I thought she’d laugh, but she was gutted that she’d caused a rift between us.’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a rift, it was me being overly defensive and running scared, feeling I’d been tricked when I thought I’d gone to the wedding to help you out of a fix that I could understand and empathise with. And I know you didn’t trick me, I know you wouldn’t do that, to me or to anyone. And the more I know you, the more I realise what a fool I was. I can’t believe I was that stupid or that unkind.’
‘So—have you seriously changed your mind about doing it again? Because you were so emphatic—’
‘Not as emphatic as you. “I don’t want your bloody sperm” is pretty emphatic,’ he said drily. ‘And maybe you meant it, but when you read my profile you said you’d put me on the shortlist, so I thought it was worth asking if you’d even contemplate carrying my baby for them, because it certainly didn’t sound like it in the layby.’
Carry his baby? Her heart gave a sudden little hitch. ‘I didn’t mean it—not like that. I just meant I wouldn’t ask you because I realised after we talked about it that you’d say no, so I never really even considered it after that, but now it seems you’ve changed your mind, so if you’re asking me how I feel about that, then, yes, of course I would, because I know you’re a really decent human being and you care about people. So the answer is, yes, I would happily carry a baby if you were the father—even if you are a bit of an idiot at times and inclined to be arrogant and patronising,’ she added, smiling to soften it, ‘but hey. Nobody’s perfect.’
He gave a soft huff of laughter. ‘Thanks—I think.’
She smiled fleetingly, then snapped a breadstick in half and dipped it in the hummus, trying to take in what he’d said and what the implications were. ‘So why the change of heart? You’ve been so against me doing this, spent hours trying to convince me I was making a huge mistake, and now apparently you want to be part of it? What made you think again?’
He sighed and took a breadstick from her and dunked it in the hummus. ‘I don’t know. Your desperation? Or, as my aunt said, because this would be different to what I did before, and it might be my only chance of having a child whose life I could have some feedback about, or maybe some involvement in? Not contact necessarily, but the odd photo, progress reports, snippets of information, that sort of thing.’
But she wasn’t listening any more, she was stuck on ‘only chance’ because it sounded so sad, and so empty. ‘Why your only chance? Did she really hurt you that badly?’
He met her eyes fleetingly and looked away, but not before she’d seen the desolation in them. ‘You really need to ask that, after what you’ve been through and what I told you? I’m not putting myself in harm’s way again, Iona. I was devastated when I caught Natalie with that guy, and to learn that he wasn’t the first—no way. I’m happy to have an affair with someone who doesn’t expect anything else of me, but anything that could remotely be called a relationship is definitely off limits. And I wouldn’t want to have a child of my own if I wasn’t in a strong, solid relationship with a woman I could trust absolutely, and I can’t trust anyone, because I can’t trust my own judgement—and I know you can understand that, you said it yourself the other day.
‘And besides, I don’t have time. I need to be able to work, to concentrate on my studies, to secure a consultancy. That’s as far ahead as I’m looking at the moment, and there’s no way a child features in that. So my aunt could be right. It might be my only chance to have a child and follow its progress, however remotely. And if Isla and Steve were happy with that and you felt OK with it, then—I don’t know. Maybe we could meet up, get to know each other better, find out if we think it could work for us all, with any of us able to walk away if we didn’t feel it could.’
She stared at him, speechless, almost overwhelmed at what he’d just said. Then she put her breadstick down, leant over and hugged him. Hard.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll talk to them—ask them how they feel. They’re actually coming down this weekend. How about coming to mine? They’ll be staying with me because my flatmate, Libby, is away for the weekend. I could cook for us.’
‘Is it big enough, or do you all want to come to me? They can see more of me, then, find out how I live, what I’m really like. You could all stay, if you wanted to. I’ve got plenty of room and we’d have more privacy.’
‘How can you cook for four in that kitchen?’
He smiled. ‘Easy. I told you, the pub does takeaways. Or we could go to the pub—neutral territory, public place, no awkward questions, just friends having a meal and a chat.’ He stood up. ‘Think about it. Don’t say anything to them today, just think about it and talk to me again before you speak to them. You never know, you might decide you meant what you yelled at me in the layby.’
But his eyes were smiling, and he bent and brushed her cheek with his lips before he turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving her there in turmoil, because she’d just realised that the slender hope she’d been cherishing that this might blossom into something more intimate between them had been nixed by this new development.
Sure, she was delighted for Steve and Isla, but it meant putting her own needs on the back burner, and for the first time ever, she felt a tiny twinge of resentment.
No. That was just selfish. She’d been fantasising about a bit of fun, a bit of hot sex and lazy Sunday mornings, and he’d offered her something else altogether, something much more fundamental, and possibly even more intimate.
The chance to have a child for Isla. How could she put anything above that?