I spend most of my days lying around the house by myself. Mr. Scott is a workaholic, and his work schedule keeps him on the go most of the time. I haven’t really spent a lot of time with him since that morning several days ago. He’s usually getting ready for work when I wake up, but after getting a few weird looks from him when I came downstairs in my sleep-ruffled t-shirt, I’ve tried to avoid coming down before he’s had his coffee and is ready to leave. Most nights, he doesn’t come home until after I’ve gone to bed. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but it sure feels that way.

Abbi calls to check on me every day, and with the way I’ve been feeling lately, I’m glad she does. Even though we haven’t had it confirmed by Dr. Carter yet, I know I’m pregnant. I can feel it in the way that my body aches and the sense of something being off. You know, that feeling you get before you catch the flu. Your body sends the messages,, and they’re easy to pick up on if you just listen.

I browse through the online store for some sketching supplies and finalize my purchase with an eager click. I pay extra for the overnight shipping so they’ll get here as soon as possible. Boredom has started to set in, and I can’t stand being idle for so long. I’ve tried watching TV, but it all seems to be the same thing on a constant loop of redundancy.

I need something to keep my thoughts in a positive light, or else I’ll start to focus in on the way that Mr. Scott acts as if I don’t exist. And if I’m being honest, that hurts a little.

I had hoped we could be friends throughout this process, but his eagerness to remain distant and aloof is a clear message that the feeling is not mutual.

I know it’s still early, but I feel lonely. Even though I’ve lived the better part of my life without companionship, I had hoped to develop friendships in my new life that could help me forge a happier existence.

So far, I’m failing miserably.

* * *

It's been five days since she arrived at my home and disrupted my life. After I left the office this afternoon, I found myself dialing my occasional hookup. I hadn't wanted to call her, but day after day, my eyes seem to wander to the woman inhabiting my home.

Ms. Murphy is rough around the edges but completely transparent. I know she’s seeking a connection with me during the surrogacy process. I can see that she’s desperate for some form of companionship. Her sad eyes don’t lie. She’s lonely … but I’m not the man to fill that void. Even when she romps around the house in pajamas and oversized t-shirts as if she'd lived there for years on end. I can’t allow myself to succumb to any type of familiarity. It must remain strictly business between us.

It’s those thoughts that drove me to call Jackie. Thoughts of going home and seeing her living in a home that I had only shared with Sophia. I needed a moment where I could shut down my mind and escape the chaos of my thoughts.

Hence, Jackie.

My evening with her was nice enough. But I didn’t get the same satisfaction I used to get with a physical release. No, it felt cheapened by the fact that my mind was elsewhere. Thinking of someone else while I used her body with a harsh disconnect that she didn’t deserve. Crossing a line into a territory that I swore to myself I would avoid.

But my mind strayed … and when I looked down at Jackie and could only see the face of the woman living at my house … a sense of wrongness swept through my veins instead of pleasure.

Guilt. Self-loathing. Disgust.

I felt it as acutely as if it were a blade plunging through my chest.

Afterward, I grabbed my clothes and quickly dressed while Jackie took a shower. There were no words after or promises to meet again.

I just left.

The ride home was torturous. My mind a tumultuous mix of emotions that I couldn’t decipher. I knew it wasn’t rational to think of myself as committed to this woman while she carried my child. I knew it was ridiculous to feel as if I had betrayed her when we had no relationship––beyond that of a business agreement.

But still, it gnawed at my insides with the bluntness of a dull razor. It left me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Two feelings that I had long fought to keep at bay.

I shake my head to rid myself of the forlorn thoughts as I head into the house, tossing my keys and phone down on the table beneath the coat rack and sliding my shoes off.

A rustling sound coming from the sunroom has me heading in that direction before I can give it a second thought.

When I reach the sunroom, I find Ms. Murphy with a pad of paper on her lap, several wads of paper on the floor around her, and a pencil flying over the page at a rapid pace.

My wandering eyes take everything in. With the moonlight shining through the windows, she's silhouetted by its luminescent glow.

She's wearing a large night shirt that rides up her pearlescent thighs and falls just slightly below her right shoulder, leaving her skin bare for my eyes to feast upon. The light dances across her bare thighs like the reflection of light off a smooth lake on a warm summer’s night. The gentle sweep of her bare shoulder is highlighted by the light shining through as she shifts her weight to her left leg. I shake my head, pulling my attention away from the sight of her beautifully bare skin.

She hasn't noticed me yet, so I tiptoe farther in, peeking over her shoulder to see what she's drawing.

A beautiful sketch of the dark night sky and brilliant moon hanging like a pendulum greet my wandering eyes. She pauses, skirting the back of her hand over the corner of the moon, which works to smudge the fine lines and give it a faded appeal.

"Remarkable." The word tumbles over my lips in a whispered rasp. Barely audible but with me standing this close, she gasps and turns around to meet my gaze.

Her hands fly to her chest just as the pad and pencil fall to the floor. She's sitting with her legs folded beneath her, her hair pulled back in a spiky ponytail with bits and pieces hanging loosely around her face, and a dark pencil smudge adorns the tip of her nose.

Before I can think better of it, I reach out, and with the pad of my thumb, I gently brush the smudge from the tip of her pert little nose. The action catches me and her both completely off guard, and I find myself taking several steps back to put some much-needed distance between the two of us.

"Mr. Scott, I'm sorry ...” She takes a shaky breath and lets it out quickly. "I didn't realize you'd be coming home." She stutters nervously and scrambles to pick up the scattered mess on the floor. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was afraid I would be angry with her. But I've given her no reason to fear me. I've been abrasive with her, sure, but I've never raised my voice or given any indication that I would harm her physically in any way. And I never would. Never.

I reach out and touch her shoulder but quickly jerk back my hand. She folds in on herself at the slightest brush of my fingers against her bare shoulder. It's as if she's readying for me to strike her. I've never in my life raised a hand to a woman, and her reaction catches me completely off guard. Startled, my brows furrow in confusion, and my first instinct is to soothe her fears.

I go down on my knees and reach to pull her into my arms. Gently rocking her and whispering comforting words. "I apologize. I didn't mean to scare you. I would never hurt you, Kara. Never." I don't know why it feels natural to call her by her first name, but for some reason, it seems to ease the coiled tension in her body, and she instantly relaxes in my arms. The need to nurture her is overwhelming. I want to soothe whatever it is that has made her feel that I would ever inflict harm upon her.

That gnawing sensation of guilt washes over me again, and I begin to regret the harsh formality in which I've treated her the past couple of days. She gently eases back and out of my arms. Her face a beautiful shade of rose red. I have somehow managed to scare and embarrass her in less than five minutes’ time.

I rise back to my feet and run a hand through my hair. My eyes never meet hers as I try to explain away my actions. "This has been hard on me, and I've taken it out on you. For that, I'm truly sorry. But please know that I would never harm you in any way. I'm a doctor, Ms. Murphy. My very nature is to care and nurture those in need." I release a heavy sigh and turn to leave, but her words halt my steps.

"It's not you. I just ...” She pauses, her eyes casting around the room nervously but never meeting mine. "I had a rough life before I came here. That's all. I'm sorry for the mess. I'll get it cleaned up right away." She scurries around on the floor, picking up the wadded paper and placing it into a small trash basket.

I watch her for a minute, wondering what it is that draws me to her. Why I can’t shake the feeling that I need to take care of her. That she needs more from me than I think I can possibly give, yet I can’t deny that I want to try.

I release a weary sigh. "Don't worry about it. Take all the time you need." I glance one last time over my shoulder, her timid eyes briefly meeting mine.

"Thank you for ... you know." She shrugs.

I nod and head up to my bedroom, completely confused yet intrigued beyond reason. In less than a week, she has wrecked my carefully structured world. And I don't know whether to be pleased about this or angry with myself for allowing it to happen.

I try not to think about it as I take a shower and then climb into bed, all the while knowing that sleep will elude me. Because, no matter how much I want to ignore it, Ms. Murphy has captured my attention on a level that has me terrified to succumb to.