So much was going on inside her, both physically and emotionally. She struggled for words. Knew she had to find them.
She was the professional. Jamie was paying for her services, yes, but he was, in essence, a client. One not associated with the clinic for legal purposes, but still a client.
It was up to her to take charge.
“What time did you want to meet for dinner?”
Not quite the business discussion she’d thought to have. But that’s why they were having dinner. To discuss business.
“March 14 is good.” Jamie dropped to the chair in front of her desk. “You won’t be heavily pregnant during the heat of the summer.”
She nodded. Had already figured that into the plan before she’d been impregnated. And said, “March 14 is a bit long to wait for dinner.”
He grinned. “Dinner can be whenever you want. This might be way too soon, but I’ve been thinking all afternoon about what Dr. Miller said about the actual birth,” he said then. “We’ll need to schedule classes, depending on which way we go.” He was like an eager student as he looked over at her. She could almost see his mind racing. There was nothing personal in the look. He was just all in with the news he’d received.
Her heart warmed as she sat, too. And while she didn’t have long, with another appointment due in fifteen minutes, she figured it was better to have this part of the discussion in her office. With a desk between them. Not in some restaurant where the staff mistook them for a couple.
“Obviously you have all the say on this one,” he was saying, sitting forward with knees spread and his elbows on the arms of his chair.
Forcing her gaze away from his face, his chest, she shook her head. Looked at a gestational calendar on her desk. She kept it on hand for discussions with clients, but had pulled it out that afternoon to remind herself, in a businesslike manner, what lay ahead for her now that she knew her body was going to produce a child.
“You have a say, too,” she said. “Some things are slightly riskier than others. Like home birthing, which I’m going to say right now is not my preference, unless you and Emily had some reason for wanting it that way. I know that a lot of couples are doing the bathtub birthing process, with good results, but since I’m not going to be bonding with the baby...”
She wasn’t thinking about her body naked. She was merely discussing a human function.
“Of course not,” he said immediately, clasping his hands. “I’m seriously fine with whatever you think. I didn’t realize, until Dr. Miller said so, that more women are actually choosing C-section births...”
“Again, I’d rather not,” she said. “If it’s necessary for my health or that of the baby then, of course, but if not...”
She’d rather not have to deal with the recovery time. Or carry a scar as a reminder for the rest of her life. Although, to be reminded of the gift she was giving someone else shouldn’t be a bad thing. With Ryder she’d pushed him out and had been up and moving around within hours. Had been home the next day.
“So, I guess, if all goes normally, we’ve decided on natural childbirth,” he said, cocking his head slightly as he looked over at her.
She was going to have his baby. And he’d be there. Witnessing one of the most intimate moments of her life. Coaching her through the process.
Something happened when her gaze met his. Something electric. Warm. Compelling.
And not at all appropriate.
* * *
Jamie didn’t want to leave her office. Not even for the hour and a half before they met up again at a restaurant on Main Street.
They’d just embarked on a collaborative venture that was changing his whole world. They were creating life—him with his embryos and her with the capability of turning a microscopic piece of genetics into a human being. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the news. He just knew that she was a major component of it.
And knew that she’d always be a significant part of his child’s life. Whether she ever wanted contact or not. She was the birth mother.
The child wouldn’t exist without her. That mattered.
He called his Realtor. Told him to put in a full price offer on the home he’d found. A two-story in a quiet, gated neighborhood with a big yard, it was across the street from the ocean. He didn’t call Tom.
Not yet.
He went for a run, instead. To work off some of the excess energy coursing through him. Late afternoon in June wasn’t the best time to be running on the beach. Dodging kids and buckets and half-buried plastic shovels made the activity a challenge. He welcomed every obstacle. Every child in his path. That father half lying in the sand, covered with the raspy granules, next to his toddler, building a mound, would be him in a couple of years. The one dodging waves with a grade-schooler—him, too. His feet plodded in the sand as sweat trickled down his bare back and into the waistband of the black swimsuit he’d put on.
For two years he’d been coasting. That stopped that day. The next stage of his life was upon him. Opening a future filled with new activity. New adventures.
New challenges.