She’d also taken perverse pleasure in naming somewhere that his jeans and plaid cotton would be entirely inappropriate. Why had she done that? Did she really need to be in control so much?
She didn’t like the answer that came a little too quickly to her mind.
“That sounds great. I’ll call and make a reservation and then text with a time I’ll pick you up, how does that sound?”
He was being too agreeable. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a bit on the fancy side. We can do something a little more casual. Could you hand me my pants, please?”
She held out her hand and waggled her fingers.
He picked up her pants and handed them over. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled them on, hopping down and sucking in as best she could so he wouldn’t see her fighting with the button.
“Fancy’s fine. I haven’t had Italian in a while. It sounds good.”
He went to the door and held it open for her. She swept through, stopping at the desk to make her next appointment. To her surprise, Chris asked the receptionist to give him an appointment card as well, and he tucked it into his wallet.
Once outside the office, Lizzie kept her voice low. “You don’t have to come every time, you know.”
“I know that. But I’d like to know when they are, just the same. Elevator or stairs?”
“Stairs. I plan on eating well tonight.”
“You are eating for two after all.”
She rolled her eyes.
They didn’t talk as they went down the stairs, and once outside she realized they were parked in different rows.
“Marinelli’s, right? That’s what you said?”
“Yes.”
“And give me your address again. In case I get lost. I’ll put it in my GPS.”
She gave him the street address and he nodded. “Right. See you tonight then. I’ll text the time.”
“Chris?” He’d started to walk away and she found herself missing his company already. That was foolish. Having him around was the exception, not the rule. And yet she found that most days she felt very strange and isolated, going through the pregnancy alone. “Thanks for coming today. I’m glad you were there.”
His eyes warmed. “I’m glad I was, too. See you soon, Liz.”
He’d called her Liz, not Lizzie, she realized, and coming from Chris it sounded nearly like an endearment. She’d always been Lizzie and it was fine, but sometimes she longed for something a bit more grown up. That was why she’d told him her name was Elizabeth the first night, using the long version. She liked his shortened version just as well, she found.
He walked away and she took in the view of faded back pockets and broad shoulders.
Hooo boy, she sure was in trouble. Because things between them were far from over. And tap-dancing around this was like running through a pasture full of cow patties. She was pretty sure that sooner or later, she was going to step in it.
Chapter Seven
The text message said that he’d pick her up at six-thirty, and at six o’clock she was still deliberating on what to wear. In a very strange way this felt like a first date—she and Chris seemed determined to do everything backwards. Currently four dresses were draped over her bedspread and she was staring critically in the mirror at the small pouch t
hat had formed just below her waistline. She put her hands on it, dressed in only her underwear, and marveled again that a life thrived beneath her fingers. A life with a beating heart that had been loud and clear just this afternoon.
It had been amazing and it had been terrifying. With each passing day she was getting more used to the idea of being a mom. More...excited. Not only was it a new and unexpected feeling, she’d been thinking about her own mother more often. She imagined that the emotions she was feeling now—a special kind of love—would only increase when the baby was born.
How could a mother just walk away from that? How could she not come back, as if her kids didn’t matter?
Lizzie couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. And yet deep down she knew it happened because she’d seen it. She’d lived it. She wondered what had changed in her mom to make her want to leave her family behind. The only thing she could come up with was postpartum depression, though she’d never breathed a word of her suspicion to her siblings. It seemed the topic of Delia Baron was a no-go zone. Now that Lizzie was expecting her own baby, she was starting to be afraid that maybe it would happen to her, too—and she had no one to talk to about it.
She checked her watch and saw that it was nearly six-fifteen. She had to choose a dress and get it over with. In the end she went with a black jersey wrap style, the stretch of the fabric comfortable, the black slimming and the folds of the skirt a good camouflage for the pod at her middle. The deep V of the neckline looked better than usual, thanks to another pregnancy symptom that had resulted in better cleavage. She paired the dress with a smart pair of black heels and fastened a string of pearls around her neck. There. A little bit sexy, a little bit classy. Entirely appropriate for dinner.