Chapter Five
A few weeks later, Liz stared up at the icy-white ceiling in the fertility specialist’s office in Charlotte and tried to make her mind blank. Her mind was not blank. It was essentially NASCAR racing around her brain. Panicking, basically.
“How are you doing?” Brett asked. He was standing nearby, curiously overlooking a little tray of instruments while he kept her company before her procedure.
“I don’t like being the patient,” she said. “I’d rather be the doctor.”
He walked over to her side and took her hand. “You always did hate not being in control. Just relax. Breathe.”
She squeezed his hand. He’d taken the morning off to be here with her, which couldn’t have sat well with Paula, who would be shorthanded at the office. “Thank you for being my moral support. And for pulling a few strings to get an appointment here so quickly.”
“You’re welcome. You okay?”
She nodded, but when she tried to breathe in, it felt like there was an anvil sitting on her chest. Make that a gorilla.
Brett’s eyes went soft with compassion. “You don’t have to do this today. We can cancel. You can take some more time to consider it. Maybe tell your family, too.”
Liz pressed her lips together. Her throat was suddenly parched, her lips dry. And she felt cold. Tears suddenly prickled behind her eyes.
“I can’t tell my family.”
“Why not? You usually tell them everything. There’s no reason to go this alone.”
“My sisters would feel sorry for me, and I don’t want the focus to be on my problems when they’re both so happy with their own pregnancies. And my mom and dad…they wouldn’t understand. They’re very traditional. They’d tell me a baby needs a father and a mother. And that I work too much.”
She looked at him for reassurance, but he looked like maybe he might just agree with them about the work part.
“I’ll tell them if it works,” she said.
“Okay.” He shot her a skeptical look. “I’m afraid to even imagine what that conversation would sound like.”
“This is a donation from an old friend who’s helping me out. It’s not a big deal.”
“A guy you had feelings for.”
“Well, I don’t have feelings anymore. He’ll be gone for good in a little while. It’s all under control.”
Brett sighed. “I know from experience that once you decide on a course there’s no turning back. All I’m saying is maybe you should think this through a little while longer.”
“I want a baby, Brett. More than anything. Knowing the gene pool is worth the little inconveniences that go along with doing that.” She looked at him and frowned. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because I’m remembering how you begged and borrowed and politicked to fund the inner-city women’s clinic back in residency.”
“You helped me write the grants. We did an awesome job. So what?”
He took up her hand. “All I know it that you’re fabulous, and when you decide something, you’re all in. So if that’s how you feel about this, I support you.”
“That means everything to me.” She kissed her best friend on the cheek. “How did I get here, Brett? How did my life go from normal to…weird?”
“Your life’s not weird. You just want what most people want.”
“A baby?”
“More than that, sweetheart. You want love.”
“The fairy tale didn’t work out for me. I decided to make it work out myself. Is that wrong?”
“It’s not wrong,” he said kindly. “Have you spoken to Grant?”
“I passed him in the waiting room. He was about to…give his sample.”
“He looked a bit nervous, actually. I think he’s taking this seriously.”
There was a knock on the door. Liz’s heart somersaulted. The door opened, and a nurse entered, holding a glass test tube. The doctor, a middle-aged woman named Cecilia Watson, following behind her. “We have the sample, and it’s been washed and concentrated,” Dr. Watson said. “How you doing, sugar?”
Liz managed a nod. She was going to do this. She was going to take her chances to become a mother, and she wasn’t going to let fear or doubt stop her.
She gave the doctor and nurse a thumbs-up. A few seconds later Dr. Watson held up a syringe attached to a thin plastic catheter, which would be used to place the sperm right into her uterus. “We’re ready,” she said cheerily.
Liz swallowed hard. Tried to think positive thoughts. A baby. All she’d wanted, and it was now finally in reach.
Only in her mind, she saw a toddler. A little boy, playing in the sandbox, with a mop of thick, dark hair. She called out a name, and the child looked up. A thick-lashed little boy with huge eyes, like his father. But maybe his eyes were brown, because what was the chance of passing on that vivid blue when her eyes were as brown as strong coffee? What would she do when that little child looked like him? And what would she say when he or she asked her one day, “Who is my father? Did you love him?”
Of course Grant wouldn’t be involved. He’d be back in dangerous places, defying death, earning Pulitzers. Being a hero to refugees and admired by people everywhere for his courageous and ballsy reporting. But could she really take being reminded of him every day of her life, without his being there?
She opened her mouth to speak. “I—” But then another knock sounded on the door.
From the exam table, Liz heard the murmuring of voices. “Well, sir, this is against protocol,” the nurse was saying. “You can’t just… Oh my God, you’re Grant Wilbanks, aren’t you?”
“I sure as hell am,” a deep baritone answered. “Now will you please let me in?”
At the sound of his voice, the nurse melted away from the door. Grant stood there, scanning the room, then stalked in, all power and command. Then he was there, next to her. Instinctively, he grabbed her hand, and she took it, wrapped her own around it like he was a paramedic saving her from a roiling stream, a flood, herself.
“You can’t be in here,” the doctor said. “The procedure’s about to begin.” She looked at Liz. “Unless she wants you here.”
“Will you please give us a minute?” Liz asked.
The doctor shot her a worried look. “Take a minute, not more. We’ve got everything ready to go and with a procedure like this, time is of the essence.” But she nodded to the nurse and both of them left the room.
Brett glanced from her to Grant and sent her a questioning look, which she tried to answer with an I’m okay nod before he left, too.
“How are you doing?” Grant asked, those fathomless blue eyes searching hers.
Something about his expression—worried, concerned, maybe a little panicked, too—touched her. Her anxiety ratcheted down a notch with him beside her, even though that made no sense.
“I’m fine,” she said. “No big deal.”
She was such a liar. The tears were already stinging behind her eyes, and only her steely will kept them at bay. At a time when she’d never felt so alone, suddenly having him here gave her an indescribable sense of relief. She continued her death grip.
He bent to plant a kiss on her knuckles. Then another. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the absolute comfort of his touch, this man who stirred way too many complex emotions within her.
“Grant, I-I’m not sure this is the right thing to do,” she said, swallowing hard.
“It’s not like you to say that,” he said. His voice was gentle, soft, and so calming it nearly did make her cry. Damn hormones.
“I’m afraid I can’t do this on my own,” she said. “Maybe it’s not fair to a child to do this on my own.” What if she wasn’t strong enough, tender enough, anything enough?
“Raising a child is really nothing compared to combating polio in Nigeria or delivering a baby in the back of a bus at Disney World.” His lips turned up the slightest bit.
His attempt at humor made her smile. And the fact that he’d remembered the Disney story from when she’d told him a long while ago. “It’s one thing to act in the moment and a whole other thing to raise a child for eighteen years,” she said.
“I have no doubt that you’ll be a fantastic mum.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you for your vote of confidence.”
“Sometimes the best things in life are the scariest, yes?” he said, his beautiful mouth quirking up in a smile. And that smile…it reached his eyes. Lit them up. His frown lines lifted, the near scowl he wore so often disappeared, and he was…wow. A beautiful man.
He reached out and smoothed back her hair, an incredibly tender gesture that took her completely by surprise.
The door opened, everyone returning. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Wilbanks,” the nurse said. “Sorry, I mean Dr. Kingston and Mr. Wilbanks. I mean—” She stumbled on finding the words to define their relationship. Well, good luck with that. God knew, Liz couldn’t even begin to herself.
Grant’s gaze didn’t leave Liz’s face as he suddenly bent his tall frame over the exam table. She closed her eyes as his lips touched her forehead. They were warm and soft, and for a minute she was enveloped by his clean scent, something spicy and wonderful, and she was filled with a strange, spreading warmth that felt so good it made her want to cry for the tenth time that morning.
“Good luck,” he whispered, then got up and left the room.
“I’m so sorry about that, Dr. Kingston,” the nurse said, still seeming embarrassed about the name thing. “I wasn’t sure if I should let him in—”
Yeah, Liz thought. She wasn’t, either.
Sometimes the best things in life are the scariest.
Maybe Grant was right. Knowing that he was all right with this and that he’d cared enough to come be with her calmed her a little, but she still felt terrified. How would she ever know if this was the right thing? How did you ever know if any big decision you ever made in life was the right thing?
You just had faith and plunged in.
“Okay,” she said, looking at the doctor and Brett, who’d walked back in and now stood beside her. “I’m ready to do this.”
…
The next Saturday, Grant had been working in his aunt’s garden, a.k.a. the jungle, for quite some time when Liz walked out of the house wearing a large, floppy sun hat with cut-off jean shorts. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, those gold hoops twinkling in her ears.
He stopped in the heat to wipe his forehead with his forearm and assess her. Even though she was dressed to weed, it horrified him to realize she was quite possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was a natural beauty without fussing, with pretty legs and an amazing smile. Full lips perfect for kissing. And a nice rack. She was a bit pale, though. Too much time indoors.
She was carrying a pitcher and two big plastic cups, and had a pair of bright-yellow garden gloves tucked under her arm. Cute. Great ass, too.
He shook his head to strike the lusty thoughts from his head. To say that things between them were a bit complicated was the underestimation of the century.
Remember the agreement. No involvement. No interference. That was the way she wanted it. His life abroad was waiting. Besides, she needed a less damaged man who could be the husband and father he would not ever be capable of being.
“I see you aren’t taking any chances with sunburn,” he said, inhaling the coconut smell of sunblock. “SPF one hundred?”
“If you’re going to poke fun at me, I’m taking my lemonade back.”
He rested his hands on the garden hoe. “I’m so impressed. You do have culinary skills after all.”
“Look, I was feeling sorry for you, all”—she waved her hand up and down in front of him—“sweaty and everything. But I can see my offer of friendship is falling on deaf ears.”
He was sweaty, so much so he’d taken off his shirt. Judging by the way she was eyeballing his chest, she appeared to be liking what she saw. Quite a lot. And that pleased him inordinately.
She mock-turned to go but he caught her elbow. A mistake, because her skin was so soft he let his touch linger for just a moment too long. Their gazes locked and that same familiar zing vibrated through him.
That day in the doctor’s office, something had changed between them. Something raw and bone-deep that he couldn’t quite explain and didn’t want to think too hard about. All week, she’d waved to him from afar as she came and went, but had otherwise steered clear of interacting. Judging by the way she stepped back and broke eye contact, he sensed she was feeling it, too.
“I’m actually a pretty good cook,” she said. “I just don’t have time. Meals are so…complicated.”
“Cooking isn’t complicated. It’s relaxing and easy. I quite enjoy it.”
She made a face.
Ah yes. She didn’t have time for many things, did she? As far as he could tell, her entire life was work. Not that he himself didn’t keep long, wearying hours. But he seemed able to turn off work and turn on a bit of fun a lot more adeptly than she did. It was a skill he imagined she’d have to learn someday if she was to be a mother.
He could show her that a life with a bit more balance was a lot more fun. It suddenly occurred to him that he was staring at her mouth. Yes, he knew plenty of ways to take her mind off her work, indeed.
Another thought sobered him and rested heavily in the air between them. She might be carrying my child.
He pushed it away. What he’d done was a simple favor, nothing more. It was obvious from the way she’d avoided him all week that she felt the same way. In a few weeks, she’d be nothing but a memory again. That was what he wanted, right?
“How are you feeling today?” he asked. Her surprisingly broad smile struck him right in the gut. She seemed…excited, bubbly, happy.
“You know, Grant,” she said, “I feel great. No matter what happens, I feel that I’ve taken a positive step forward.”
“Bravo,” he said. Silence filled the space between them. He genuinely hoped things would work out for her and she would get the baby she wanted. “Is everything going all right with—your health?” That sounded awful. “What I mean is—”
“I understand what you’re asking.” She poured him some lemonade. “Next week I’ll find out if it worked. Crossing my fingers and toes.”
“Excellent.” Could things possibly get more awkward?
He drained his drink, set down the cup, and returned to tilling the dirt. “Thank you for the lemonade.”
“You’re welcome.” She pointed to a massive patch of weeds. “How about if I start over there?”
“You actually came out here to weed?”
“Well, I’m off today and I saw you out here sweating and probably dying of thirst and thought you could maybe use some help. I thought it might be…fun.”
He lifted a brow. “I wasn’t aware you knew that word.”
She made a face and placed her hands on her hips. “Do you want me to stay, or don’t you?”
“Okay, frankly, yes. I’d love you to stay. And help,” he quickly added.
He walked over and rummaged in a bucket and pulled out some seed packets.
“Here you are. We’re planting sunflowers in the middle, and the zinnias on either side. And these little tomato plants will go a little farther down, in the sunny section.”
Liz laughed as she took the packets.
“And what, pray tell, is so funny?”
“To-mah-toes. You Brits…so proper.” She’d laid out the seed packets and was studying them intently. If she had any idea that the thoughts running through his head were anything but proper…like running his hand up that smooth, shapely leg, of touching that fine, shapely ass, of toppling her onto the sweet, cool grass and kissing her until they forgot all about the past. Started new, with a clean slate.
Well. He’d had her once and he’d blown it, badly. It would be a terrible mistake to suggest such a thing again. Especially in light of their agreement. Muddying those waters would be disastrous.
So Grant decided to be a gentleman. He walked around to where she was kneeling in the grass and bent down beside her. “Can I show you how it’s done?” His shoulder grazed hers and again he felt a stab of longing that made his chest ache. If only things had been different. If only they really could start over. If only he had something more to offer her.
Her eyes grew bright. Clearly, she loved to learn…anything. “Yes. Teach me.”
He frowned. “Didn’t you ever plant seeds as a child?”
“Did you plant seeds as a child?”
“In Boy Scouts.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s what it’s called in Britain, too. What’s your excuse?”
She shrugged. “I always had my nose stuck in a book. My sister Cat’s the one who knows how to garden and cook and decorate and put up wallpaper and all that stuff. I’m clueless around the house.”
“Yes, I’ve rather noticed that.” He’d seen her solitary chair, her lack of decor, her massive mail pile, her bare refrigerator shelves.
He made a shallow tunnel in the dirt that he’d tilled and mixed with peat and fertilizer. “All you have to do is drop the seeds in. Two together, in case one doesn’t germinate, this far apart.”
He had to move away, because she smelled like clean hair and soap and suntan lotion, and he was about to devour her whole, right in the middle of the damn tom-AH-to plants.
“Is that how to do it?” she asked.
Oh, he could show her how to do it, all right. Thought was difficult over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. His dick was rock hard and his pants were tight and the thought of kissing her, tasting the sun and salt on her skin, consumed every thought.
Sweat broke out on his brow. “I believe you’ve got it.” Their hands touched in the dirt, sending a little shock up his arm. He understood that he had to leave, put some distance between them. But just then, in the act of digging another hole, he accidentally flicked some dirt on her forearm.
“Um, excuse me,” she said a little indignantly.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, biting back a grin.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
“My, my. Someone has a bit of a temper.” She looked gorgeous with her eyes narrowed down at him, fake outrage in her eyes.
When she went back to work, he did it again, this time on purpose. And this time it got in her hair.
She shook her head and flicked her hands through her hair to bat it out. “I just washed my hair, Grant. If it lands in there again, I swear…”
Flick again. Jackpot.
She launched herself at him, effectively tackling him to the ground. Then she was in his arms, on top of him, her silky hair loose and tumbling around him, her breasts pushing against him, their legs tangling. They both went still, her face inches above his. Their gazes locked. He could hear nothing except the incessant whooshing of blood in his ears.
If she were any other woman, he wouldn’t have hesitated to have his mouth on her and have her under him in five seconds or less. But he understood the stakes. She was off-limits. He tried desperately to envision her being a surgeon, slicing someone’s abdomen open for an emergency C-section, or catching a newborn like it was a football, anything to get his mind off what was happening between them. But all his imagery failed. He got lost in the depths of her eyes, her lips as they curved into the slightest smile, and the lush softness of her breasts against his chest.
He wanted her on top of him, under him, with him. Naked, as they had been on those warm African nights with the billions of stars twinkling overhead and the hum of cicadas beyond the window. After seconds of paralysis, he curled his hand around her neck and looked into her eyes. That same feeling overflowed within him, that same connection he’d always felt. Only she had the ability to throw him so off-kilter, throw off his common sense.
He understood all the reasons he’d laid out so carefully that she was not someone to get involved with again. But right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Common sense be damned.
He tugged her downward, heard her breath hitch. As their lips finally made contact he saw the fire in her eyes, saw her lips part, saw that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
“Liz,” he whispered, just before his mouth slammed down on hers at last.
She tasted like sweet, tart lemons and heaven. He slid his lips over hers, adjusting the angle of his mouth to cover hers more fully. Then he possessed her, tasting her, sliding his tongue against hers, pleased when she let out the slightest moan. She kissed him back just as eagerly, her tongue dancing with his, wet and hot.
He ran his hands down her beautiful back, warm from the sunny day, settled them on her hips, slid them under her T-shirt on her bare back. How could anything be as soft? Her breath hitched, her hands traveling over his chest, roaming all over him until she wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed herself against him. The kisses got frantic, deeper and faster and wilder, until Grant stopped noticing the clods of dirt pressing into his back.
A sound made him startle. Someone clearing his throat. He clutched Liz protectively and dragged his lips off of hers. Standing in the grass, ten feet away, were an older, balding man and a pregnant blond woman holding a one-eyed dog.
…
“Liz?” her sister Cat said in a tone that questioned Liz’s identity and sanity at the same time. Cat was the only one in the family she’d confided to last year about her affair with Grant and she was praying she’d forgotten. But judging from the disdain Cat had packed into that one word, Liz instantly knew she remembered it all. At least Cat was her nice sister, always with a good word for everyone, kind to pets and children…
“Grant Wilbanks?” Cat said. “Oh, Liz.”
Okay, she took that back. Maybe she wasn’t the nice sister after all.
Before Liz could get up, the dog strained and tugged in Cat’s arms until she finally let him down. He bolted over to Liz, licking her face excitedly and wagging his stumpy tail in glee.
“Gizmo,” she said, scratching him behind the ears, which she happened to know was his own personal crack. The dog automatically went belly up, begging for more.
As she stroked his wiry coat, she wondered why dogs had no trouble asking for exactly what they want, or showing affection to people they love, unlike humans, who always seemed to make everything so complicated.
Grateful for the distraction to take a breath or two, she slid her gaze over to Grant, who stood there quietly, looking completely unfazed. Even shirtless and in shorts, he looked commanding. Not a hair out of place, his rippled muscles unashamedly catching the sunlight. The only evidence of their—er, indiscretion—was the slight turn-up of one side of his mouth.
A smile. He was amused by this…this disaster.
Liz tried to get it together in light of the fact that her dad thought God-knew-what and he’d think even worse when she told him she and Grant weren’t even involved. That she was making out in the grass with someone because…well, because she couldn’t help it. That would go over well. Her father was still standing there with his mouth open, and she still had dirt clumps on her shorts, which she brushed briskly off.
If only she could stop shaking. If only she could keep her heart from tripping, her words from stumbling. Her hat was gone and she was certain her hair was a disaster. There was a grass stain on her shirt.
She lassoed in every nerve to force her composure, and the effort seemed harder than her worst day in the OR. “Grant, meet my dad and my sister, Cat. And of course you’ve already heard of Gizmo.” On hearing his name, Gizmo jumped up and down, eager for more affection. Liz stroked the dog’s head, and he rubbed up against her leg in a pet me more, more, more move.
She had no idea why he’d zeroed in on her as The Chosen One, but he sure as hell was doing a hard marketing push for adoption. She reckoned an outsider always recognized a kindred spirit.
Cat, God love her, was the first to extend her hand to Grant. “Hi,” she said cheerily, even if her real feelings toward him were probably anything but. “We talked before on the phone. When Gizmo went AWOL the other week.”
“A pleasure,” Grant said, taking her hand. He said it in that deep, velvety, British way. Liz half expected him to kiss Cat’s hand. Instead, he offered his hand to Liz’s father.
“Mr. Kingston. Great to meet you.”
“Please, call me Henry, son,” her dad said, offering a hearty handshake and a smile. Liz shot her dad a grateful look. Henry Kingston gave everyone a fair chance, and he liked everybody until there was a good reason not to. Her father didn’t go wild over Grant’s famous face or embarrass him with exclamations about not being able to believe who he was. Her dad was always impressed by character, not fame.
“Anyway,” Cat said, “Dad came over for a visit and we decided to walk over and invite you out. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a nice family dinner and we haven’t seen you in ages.”
Her dad nodded. “We’re worried you’re working too much, sweetheart. Can you come out with us tomorrow night? Just to O’Reilly’s.” The local pub. They had the best turkey Reubens, the fattest, most savory fries, and the coldest Angry Orchard on tap for miles.
“Sure, I’m off all weekend,” Liz said. “I’d love to come.” It had been a while since she’d been together with her whole family. She had to admit, lately she’d been avoiding her sisters. But being maybe-pregnant gave her hope that she’d have her own brand of happily ever after, even if it didn’t include a man. Someday soon she hoped to share her own news.
Her father turned to Grant without hesitation. “Of course you’ll join us, too, won’t you, son? A…friend of Liz’s is always welcome.”
The little pause before “friend” brought a quick blush to Liz’s cheeks, and she was not a blusher. She’d have to take her father aside later and explain that this was all a mistake. It wasn’t too late to fix this, regardless of the fact that he’d just seen his daughter tonguing a guy she did not intend to get involved with again.
Things had just gotten a little out of hand. The whole thing had been poor judgment. Her father would understand.
Maybe.
Grant would never accept the invitation to go out with her family. He didn’t want involvement, just as she didn’t. Those kisses were…a huge mistake. One that she’d make certain would not happen again.
Liz was certain they were both on the same page about this. “Grant’s too busy working, Dad. He’s here to do a documentary, and he’s helping get Dottie’s house ready to go up on the market. He barely has a minute to spare. Besides—” She telegraphed him a meaningful glance. “Didn’t you say you’d take a look at my broken light switches later when you had a chance?”
Grant tossed out a wide, blindsiding smile. God, when the man smiled…well. There were no words. A sudden rush of heat spread all through her stomach, into her limbs and everywhere in between, leading to a pulse-skittering, knee-knocking reaction she could barely hide.
“Now, now, Liz,” Grant said. “Of course I’m busy and of course I’ll check your light switches, but I’d be delighted to join you for dinner. I’d love to meet your family.”
Liz’s jaw dropped.
“Your mother will be eager to meet your boyfriend,” her dad said.
“Oh, he’s not—” The words my boyfriend faded from her tongue. Okay, so she didn’t want her father to think she was randomly fooling around with someone who was not her boyfriend. In the middle of Dottie’s garden, no less. “He’s not…available tomorrow night, are you, Grant?”
“Actually, I’ve just freed my schedule.” He said it the British way. Shed-ule. Which sounded very sexy, far more so than the harsher American version. He looked mildly amused and also pleased that he was irritating her, which made her want to give him a good swift kick in the shins. Or higher.
“Great,” her father said, giving Grant a pat on the back. “We’ll see you two tomorrow, then. I’ve got to get back home. I promised your mother I’d cut back the hedges this afternoon.”
“So, Liz,” Cat said. “About the dog.”
Liz held up her hands. “Cat, I love the dog, but it would be unfair of me to keep him. We’ve been through this before.”
“I thought you were going to talk to Paula about setting some decent hours,” her father said, frowning.
“I am, Dad, but with being so new, I was trying to bide my time.”
“You’re always trying to give two hundred percent,” her dad said. “But sometimes giving one hundred makes for a saner life.”
Her dad had slowed down a lot after he’d had a stroke a few years ago. Cut his hours, took more time to enjoy life. So his words of wisdom held weight. But he was pushing sixty, not at the start of his career. He was also the owner of his own company, so he could call his own shots.
“What do you say, Liz?” Cat said. “I think you two are made for each other. Quit denying it.”
Oh, the dog. She was talking about the dog, who’d fallen asleep near her feet and was softly snoring.
“I’m kind of in a bind,” Cat said.
“What do you mean?” Liz asked, steeling herself for her softhearted sister’s hard sell.
“He’s been at the shelter almost a month, and I try to take him home as much as I can because he cries all night if we leave him in a crate. Preston’s been really patient about the three dogs, but a fourth is going to totally tip him over the edge. If I can’t find him an owner, his number’s up, Liz.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I wish we had the funds to be a no-kill shelter, but it’s a busy time of year and there are so many dogs and cats needing homes.”
“They’re going to put him down?” Liz said. “That’s unacceptable.” She walked over and took the leash from her sister. “Fine. I’ll take him. Temporarily anyway. If you promise to watch him while I’m on call.”
Cat did a little handclap. “Oh, wonderful. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
“Right,” Liz said. “I’ll take him for now. Until we find someone who can give him the love and time he deserves. Okay?”
“Okay. I promise I’ll keep looking for an alternative. Thanks so much.”
She hugged her sister, grateful for her steering the subject away from her garden tryst.
Before her sister pulled away, she mouthed, “call me,” to which Liz responded with a subtle nod. Before her sister got pregnant, they used to talk a lot. But the past few months, all the talk involved baby plans—and Liz understood that, she didn’t blame either of her sisters for being ecstatically happy—but it had been a lot to bear. She began working more and meeting up with her family less and less.
She kissed her dad good-bye and waved them off, watching them disappear down her tiny driveway and walk together down the quaint, old street.
Grant, however, made no move to go. Neither did Gizmo, who was still passed out in the shade at her feet.
“What?” he asked innocently. “I don’t suppose you’d care to continue where we left off?”
She smacked him on the arm. “Are you out of your mind? Why did you say yes?” She crossed her arms. “You cannot come to dinner with my family. What were you thinking?”
He gave her a formidable frown. “They seemed so excited to have you come to dinner. I wanted to be certain you didn’t miss the opportunity to spend time with them.”
“Okay, Mr. Judgey. Maybe you think I’ve been avoiding my family, but I certainly don’t need you to twist my arm to do the right thing. And I definitely don’t need you to come with me.”
He moved his big body closer and stabbed her in the chest with his finger. “I was saving your arse.”
She snorted. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Your father saw me with my tongue down your throat. As a gentleman, I had to accept his invitation. To say otherwise would be to dishonor you.”
Liz threw up her hands in frustration. “Are you from the nineteen hundreds? What are you talking about?”
“What precisely were you going to tell him? That the man whose tonsils you were examining was merely your latest fuck?”
All the blood drained from her face. Liz felt it, like water swirling down a drain, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She recovered enough to poke him back in his big, hard chest. “How dare you insinuate that I sleep around indiscriminately. And it’s none of your damn business who I sleep with.” Even if the last person she’d slept with happened to be him. Though she’d never tell him so.
“But the point is, do you want it to be your father’s business? Unfortunately, he cannot unsee what he saw.”
“I’ll tell him it was an accident. A mistake. Because it was!” A whopper of one. Even though those kisses had shaken her to her soul.
“What are you going to tell them about me if you’re pregnant?”
“I’m going to tell them the truth. If I’m pregnant, I’ll tell them you were my donor. There’s no reason to hide it.”
“Except they’ve seen us kissing.”
She had a headache from stress and from trying to figure this out. “I’m going to take a shower. And feed my dog. I-I’ll see you later.” Ugh. Unbelievable. He’d gotten himself invited to dinner with her entire family. Worse, her dad would go home and tell her mom they were dating and soon the whole family would know. She had no idea how she was going to handle that. So she said good-bye and walked with her dog back to her house.
She’d gotten caught kissing a man in the garden. Her ex-lover, whose baby she might be carrying. That certainly wasn’t messed up at all.
She looked down at the dog, who stared up at her adoringly with his one eye. “Want a turkey sandwich? That’s all I’ve got until I can get to the grocery store.”
His stumpy tail wagged. His eager expression said that would be just great in lieu of dog food, as long as it was served with a heaping dose of affection. Liz bent down and dropped a kiss on the dog’s forehead, to which he responded with a big lick encompassing her lips and nose.
She laughed and petted him down his soft back. “For once I’ve got a non-judgey guy who doesn’t care how messed up my life is right now.” She recognized that as being the gift it was. And judging by the way Gizmo ambled into the house, his toenails clicking happily against her wood floors, walked over to her one chair and jumped up, she had a feeling he was here to stay.
Somehow that seemed so much less complicated than Grant having dinner with her family.