“Good morning.” He felt completely out of his depth.
She tried to smile back, but it didn’t quite make it. “I’d offer you coffee, but I don’t have any in the house. I can’t stand the smell of the stuff these days.”
“That’s okay.” He finished folding the blanket and put it on the end of the sofa. Smells, too? Clearly he wasn’t familiar with the ins and outs of pregnancy.
“Do you want some breakfast? I’m fairly well stocked. There’s cereal or eggs or oatmeal. Bread for toast.”
“What are you having?”
“Some buttered toast.”
“That works for me. What can I do?”
She shrugged. “Nothing, really.”
He went into the kitchen anyway and took the loaf of bread from her hands. He slid two pieces into the toaster. “Where’s your butter and a knife?”
Wordlessly she got out two plates, a knife and two glasses. “Apple juice okay? I can’t seem to handle the acid in the orange in the morning.”
“Apple’s fine,” he answered, marveling at the peculiarities of pregnancy once more. He was so over his head and unsure of how to proceed. Never mind he still had to get back to his place so he could head to his mom and dad’s. He hadn’t wanted to give them much information last night when he’d called to say he wouldn’t be arriving for a few days. Some news was better delivered in person—and after he and Lizzie had made a plan of some sort.
The toast popped and he buttered it, but as he was putting it on a plate Lizzie disappeared again, this time into the downstairs half bath. The slammed door didn’t do much to muffle the sounds coming from within.
He ate the two pieces of toast that were prepared, not really noticing the taste. It was only a few minutes when Lizzie came back out, her smile a little easier now.
“I should be good now,” she said hopefully. “I find I’m only really sick first thing in the morning. I guess I didn’t get it all out the first time.” She blushed a little and Chris thought she looked adorable. “Is there any more toast?”
“How can you think about eating?” He stared at her.
She laughed a bit. “Actually, it’s normally better if I can eat a little first. The empty stomach is the worst for the nausea.”
“Any other things I should be aware of?” he asked, plopping two more slices of bread into the slots.
Lizzie handed him a glass of juice. “Well, I get sleepy and tend to nap and not always at the best time. I’ve also had to start wearing less fitted clothing, because I’m not showing yet but my waist seems to be getting bigger all of a sudden.”
Changes. So many of them.
“How’d things go with your dad last night?” He handed her the hot toast. Lizzie had barely spoken to him on the drive home, and then when they’d arrived she’d made sure he had bedding before she went up to her room. The dark circles were still slightly visible under her eyes. Without asking, he’d understood that seeing her dad in the hospital bed and the long day had taken a toll.
Lizzie perched on a bar stool and nibbled. “It was rough. He looked so gray, and he was awake but very groggy from the anesthetic and pain meds. He’s usually up and giving orders, you know?”
“So what happens now?”
“I suppose I go back to the hospital today and see how he’s doing, and then take you back to San Antonio.”
“Don’t you think we should talk about what we’re going to do?”
She took a bigger bite of toast, chewed, swallowed. It was almost as if the bite bought her time to think. To deliberate how to put her next words. “Well, I don’t actually need you to ‘do’ anything. It’s not like we’re...well...”
Her gaze met his and his pulse jumped again. He frowned. The problem was he kept having these reactions to her and he didn’t want to. It muddied the waters too much. Plus there was the baby to think about. They needed to set the boundaries of their relationship now so there was no confusion later. “How do you see me participating?” He finished his toast and put his plate in the sink.
“I don’t know, to be honest,” she replied. “Financially I’m okay. I guess I was just thinking you needed to know and not much beyond that.”
That she didn’t need his money was a slight relief but it also didn’t sit well. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t help support his own kid? Certainly not the man his father raised. And his mom and dad were already perplexed about his choice to leave the company for a year to pursue rodeo. A waste of time, they’d called it. Impractical.
He set his teeth. Why did it always come down to doing the things that other people wanted him to do rather than what he wanted?
Erica’s parting words echoed in his ears. “You’re not who I thought you were,” she’d accused. “I thought you were stable, reliable, going somewhere. And all you can think about is playing with your damned horses.”