And now Daisy was in a similar position, pregnant when she finally had a stable career and a job she loved. A baby would definitely change all that, and she’d have to figure out how to make it all work, even if it was one of the scariest things she’d ever have to do. But she knew for certain that any child of hers would never be made to feel as though they were anything less than wanted and loved.
As for Aiden . . . she knew he’d step up, because that’s the kind of man he was, and she’d let him be a part of this child’s life in any way he wanted. But other than that, any other obligations would stop there. She wasn’t part of the package, and she didn’t expect to be. Just because she was pregnant didn’t change the fact that they were both jaded by love when it came to relationships, and she preferred keeping her heart out of the equation, because Aiden was most likely going to be in this child’s life, hence her life, for years to come. Keeping him squarely in the friend zone was her safest bet to make sure they could co-parent effectively, if that’s what he decided he wanted to do.
Even though it all still felt surreal, she gave herself one night to come to terms with the new life growing in her belly, as well as ride the wave of a dozen different emotions that came with that knowledge. There was panic over the future and her job and how she was going to juggle everything, and fear that she didn’t have the first clue how to be a mom. There was a glimmer of excitement, and eventually she knew there would be complete acceptance, because there was no changing the fact that she was pregnant.
By midmorning, she was ready to share the news. Aiden had a right to know first, before anyone else, and she picked up her cell phone and texted him, even as nerves danced in her belly. Heck, for all she knew, that could be flutters from the baby.
Hey . . . I’d really like to talk to you if you’re around today or this evening. Not on the phone but in person, and preferably somewhere private.
This wasn’t news she wanted to break to him at the office or in a crowded restaurant, and she hit send and waited for his reply, which came a few minutes later.
Okay . . . would you like to come to my place around five? I can make us dinner and we can talk about whatever you need to.
She smiled at his sw
eet offer to make dinner, and a part of her wished it was under different circumstances. Sure. That sounds good. Text me your address?
That came through next, and she followed up with, I’ll see you soon.
And since she had a few hours to kill, and she now knew the source of her exhaustion, she listened to her body’s demands and went back to bed to take a guilt-free nap.
* * *
Aiden wasn’t a chef by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew how to make a great baked ziti thanks to his mom’s recipe. While that casserole was in the oven, he made a salad with Italian dressing and slathered garlic butter on slices of French bread to put in the broiler right before he served dinner.
He was expecting Daisy any minute, and he was stupidly nervous, like a teenager who’d finally scored a night with the girl he’d had a crush on for forever, and he hadn’t felt that way about anyone since, well, high school. This wasn’t a date, that much he knew, but it was the first time a woman had come over to his place for dinner . . . and not for just sex, which had previously been the only reason he’d invited a woman over. There would be no messing around with Daisy since they were friends, but the whole dinner thing just felt . . . like a date. But it wasn’t, even if he wished that it were.
God, he was such an idiot.
Daisy had asked to come to his place because she wanted to see him about something that clearly wasn’t work related—because otherwise, she would have talked to him at the office. He was pretty sure her visit had to do with her doctor’s appointment yesterday. It was the only thing that made sense, but he’d spent the afternoon wondering and worrying about what might be wrong with her, and he didn’t like the worst-case scenarios that filled his head. He’d been through some pretty bad stuff with his mother, and a part of him was uneasy about hearing what Daisy had to say.
Whatever it was, whatever she was going through, he’d be there for her. No questions asked. Because that’s what friends did.
He’d just taken the ziti out of the oven when a knock sounded on the front door of the single-story home he’d bought a few years ago. The place wasn’t overly huge, but it was a nice size, with three bedrooms, one of which he’d turned into an office, and a spacious backyard. As he was single and believed he’d always stay that way, the house suited him perfectly.
Heading through the adjoining living room, he opened the door, and damn if his heart didn’t give a happy little jolt at seeing Daisy, who looked surprisingly more rested than she had in weeks, standing on his front porch. He could tell that she was still tired, but he was encouraged by the slight pink coloring on her cheeks, which was an improvement over how pale she’d looked last week.
Huh. He thought maybe she was just fine, that all the exhaustion and other stuff he’d witnessed lately had been caused by the stress she’d put on herself for the Darlington campaign . . . until she gave him a strained smile that dispelled his hopeful assumption. As did the glimmer of vulnerability he caught in her gaze. Nope, something was definitely wrong, and it took major effort for him not to demand to know everything right now instead of being casual and patient about the situation, as well as giving her the time and space to tell him her news when she was ready.
Because that’s what goddamn friends did.
“Hey. Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her pass by.
A light, powdery scent filled his senses as she walked in, reminding him of the night they’d spent together—the feminine perfume that dusted her skin, and the floral way her hair smelled when he’d buried his face in the soft, flowing strands. Hell, what didn’t make him think of that night with her?
She was dressed in a pair of black leggings, a long, loose-fitting shirt that fell to mid-thigh, and sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, and she had minimal makeup on her face, if any at all, and he had to admit that he liked her looking so fresh and natural—instead of so prim and proper and buttoned up in the suits she wore for work.
And Jesus, he wanted to kiss her so fucking badly he ached with the wanting of it. Temptation nudged him to frame her face in his hands and just do it, while the rational side of his brain chanted, Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, don’t fucking touch her. She’s not yours to touch.
Once she was inside, he closed the door as she turned around to face him, and he forced himself to not touch her. “I just took dinner out of the oven, but we can talk before we eat if you want.”
She thought for a moment as her hand absently drifted to her stomach, as if she was contemplating how hungry she was. “Actually, whatever you made smells pretty good and I haven’t eaten since lunch. So, I’d love to have dinner, then talk if that’s okay?”
“Sure.” He was on her timeline tonight. He didn’t want to pressure her . . . but on the other hand, he was dying to know what she wanted to discuss. He wanted to be put out of his anxious misery.
He led the way into the spacious kitchen, and she followed, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the recent remodel he’d had done—the new granite countertops, the cherrywood cabinets, all upgraded appliances, and an added built-in island in the middle of the room.
She ran a hand over the smooth countertops while he slid the baking sheet with the garlic bread into the broiler. “Wow, this kitchen is bigger than my entire studio apartment,” she said, her tone light and teasing, just how he liked it best.