ELEVEN
“If you don’t give me that file,” Darcy warned, leaning over her small desk toward the pilfering grandmother-in-the-making/woman-of-steel who happened to be Jeff’s mother, “I’m—I’m—I’m not going baby clothes shopping with you this weekend.”
Gail looked down at the manila folder she’d swiped from Darcy’s hold and then looked back. “You said fifteen more minutes. That was over an hour ago.”
She had. But after two weeks of taking it easy, Darcy’s energy was back up. She’d regained a few pounds. And she’d found a satisfaction and meaning in the work she was doing she’d never had before. So on days like today, when the hormones ran rampant and her mood was a bit off, the work was her best distraction. And she didn’t want to give it up. Besides, there was a benefit coming up to raise funds for a series of summer programs for at-risk youth. She wasn’t ready to call it a day. Which meant she’d have to play hardball with Gail. “That little boutique we drove by Sunday...with the Frog Prince–themed window... I know you know the one. I know you want to go.”
Gail got a sort of fevered look in her eyes. Baby clothes were this Superwoman’s Kryptonite, and while Darcy mostly didn’t like to exploit the weakness...she knew Gail would respect her for it in the end.
The file flopped back onto her desk.
“Fine. You win. But I was hoping to talk you into joining me for dinner with the girls tonight.”
The invitation wasn’t totally unexpected. Gail had offered to include her in her plans more than a handful of times over the past few weeks, but Darcy had yet to take her up on it. And when she made her excuse tonight, Gail didn’t push but left with her usual, friendly “next time, then.”
By the time Darcy found a good stopping place and turned off her desk lamp, the house was empty, the sky beyond the window glass already dark. Picking at a dinner her stomach wasn’t interested in, she finished her book on pregnancy and motherhood. She watched five minutes worth of drivel on TV before turning it off in an impatient huff and setting out to walk the halls of the house, again.
When she reached the second floor, she turned toward her rooms but stopped instead at the first door on the left. Jeff’s room. Normally she kept walking but tonight, she was at a loose end. As always, the door was open. And as always she experienced a tug of curiosity about the space within, and what it might tell her about the man who’d called it his.
Scanning the room, her eyes snared on the built-in shelves behind a desk. The rows of trophies and medals: baseball, tennis, swimming, football, track. The evidence of Jeff’s achievements. It made her smile to think what he must have been like as a kid.
Gail had told her he’d been into mischief almost as much as he’d been out of it, but never in a way that was hurtful or destructive. She’d called him a rule bender. A perpetual charmer.
Traits apparently carried over into adulthood.
And if ever there was a man who made a bit of trouble look like fun, it was Jeff.
Pushing back from the doorframe she returned to her room. But her ping-ponging thoughts wouldn’t still. Would she have a little boy or a girl? Was Jeff hoping for one over the other? What would labor feel like? Would Jeff be there? Would he stay cool? Hold her hand? Tell her not to be scared?
One question after another, and they kept circling back to Jeff.
How often would she see him? What would he do if they disagreed?
What kind of father would he be? She thought about the trophies and ribbons, and how nothing short of first place earned a spot on his wall of fame. Would he be as successful in parenting as he was in what appeared to be every other area of his life? Would he go it alone or hire in help? Marry in help?
Not the woman he’d been dating when she first came to him. Gail had mentioned they’d broken the relationship off already. But a man like Jeff—she closed her eyes trying to stop her train of thought, but already her mind had found the deep rumble of his laugh, the heavy cut of his jaw and the feel of his untamed hair between her fingers.
The weight of his body over hers.
The heat of his kiss.
Her eyes popped open. Because closed, well, obviously that wasn’t helping. And as tempting as it was to recall their night together in exacting, vivid detail—it was a mistake. When she thought about Jeff now, it should be in the context of his role as co-parent to their child. Nothing else.
Which was fine. She was realistic enough to understand the enormity of the gulf between their worlds. She was okay with it.
Like she’d be okay when Jeff found the next woman to get serious about. Mostly. Though even as she thought it, some little piece of her rejected the idea of him with another woman. Not because she wanted him for herself.
No.
Just because...well...well...an irritated growl left her throat. It didn’t matter why and she didn’t need to justify anything.
What was wrong with her today?
Turning to happier thoughts, she tried to imagine Jeff’s youth, wondering whether he would describe himself the same way his mother had? What he thought life would be like for their child—if he’d want to do things the way his parents had done with him, or if he’d like to see things happen differently for his own son or daughter.
She glanced at the phone and, experiencing a pull even greater than the one outside Jeff’s room, wondered if they talked, if he’d make her laugh again, the way no one else seemed capable of doing.
* * *
Jeff met Charlie’s knowing eyes across the table where the two of them had set up for the call in his office. It was time for a break.
“Why don’t we take thirty so everyone can grab a bite,” Jeff suggested, pushing back from the table himself. “And we’ll pick up here when we get back.”
Charlie went to grab a few files from his desk and Jeff was left in the quiet of his office alone. Shoulder propped at his favorite window, he was scrolling through his messages, rereading the one line updates from his mom when the little black-and-white, fifteen-week ultrasound image popped up on his screen signaling a call from the very woman all his extra hours at work were supposed to keep him from thinking about—but weren’t.
“Hi, Jeff. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. What’s going on?” He closed his eyes. “Everything okay with the baby?”
His baby. Their baby.
The little troublemaker wreaking havoc on his mother’s system and scaring the living hell out Jeff with the fragility of his existence alone.
“Oh, yes. Sorry, I should probably text before I call so you know not to worry,” she said, the words sounding almost amused. Playful.
He liked it, and found himself relaxing.
“What’s up?”
“I was just wondering if maybe you had time to talk awhile.”
He scanned the conference table. “I’m heading back into a call here in the next few minutes.”
“Oh, of course, it definitely doesn’t need to be now. You know, just sometime. I could come by your office. Or meet you after work—you’re so busy, the evening would probably be better. But maybe not, because it’s late and you’re still working and I don’t want to—you know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s not hugely important or anything—”
“Darcy,” he cut her off, her fluster in trying not to inconvenience him somehow pushing a smile to his mouth. “Of course I’ll make time. What is it you wanted to talk about?”
A sigh filtered through the line, and the sultry quality of it curled around his senses, rubbing soft against the places he’d been trying to ignore.
“I was just thinking this little guy is going to have a very different experience growing up than I did. And, I don’t know,” she continued softly. “I was hoping maybe you’d tell me more about what it was like for you. What you’d like it to be like for him.”
Right. More information exchange, because that was the only reason she’d be calling. The only reason he wanted her to call. They’d agreed and for good reason. So yeah.
“How about this,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll get in touch tomorrow to set up a block of time when we can talk. Also if there’s anything in particular you’ve got questions about or have on your mind, you can email me and I’ll try to get a response back to you by the next morning. Okay?”
“Um. Sure. Sounds great, Jeff,” she answered simply, but something had changed in her tone. There was no emotional inflection evident whatsoever. “Have a good night.”
“You, too.” He stared at the phone, suddenly on alert. Because he’d heard that total absence of anything in her voice before. In Vegas. When her impassive facade was hiding something she didn’t want seen.
Charlie walked back into the office and within a few keystrokes had a modified timeline up on the big screen. He glanced at Jeff. “Want to go over this before we pick up?”
* * *
Yellow. Box mix. Cake.
The mouthwatering revelation had struck Darcy like a lightning bolt shortly after talking to Jeff.
There’d been a heaviness in her chest after their call because, inexplicably, she’d gotten it in her head that talking to him might snap her out of this strange funk. But she didn’t feel any better. If anything she’d hung up feeling more adrift than she had before.
But what did she really expect. While Jeff definitely made her health and well-being a priority, the guy was busy. He had a life. Commitments to his corporation, his friends and whatever it was he did to fill his time when he wasn’t checking in to make sure her blood pressure was where it should be.
So she’d hung up and sat at the side of her bed, wishing she could muster some enthusiasm for anything. Hating the way she’d lost her appetite completely and how nothing sounded good to her. It had been a full-on pity party the likes of which she never indulged. And then, in a flash, inspiration.
Cake.
Followed by something even more shocking still.
Hunger... Craving.
Next thing, she’d been rifling through the pantry, nearly bursting into tears at the discovery of one single cardboard box in the very back, and the tub of fudge frosting beside it.
Some forty minutes later she was staring down two eight-inch rounds, fresh from the oven, mentally calculating how long before they’d be cool enough to frost and eat. Too long.
“God,” she half moaned, recognizing the near breathless desperation in her own voice. “I want you so bad.”
The sound of a throat clearing behind her had her jumping back, one hand moving instinctively toward her belly, the other going to her chest.
“Jeff,” she gasped at seeing him in the doorway, tie askew, suit jacket flipped over one arm, shirt a perfect cut for his broad shoulders, looking rugged and powerful and thoroughly entertained with an amused smile tilting his lips. “I thought you had a call. What are you doing here?”
Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he nodded toward the counter. “Looking for some cake?”