“Hey.” She looked up to find him watching her, his fork paused midair holding a square of ravioli. “Remember what we said from the beginning. One day at a time and we’ll figure all this out. It’s going to be fine.”
She wished she had his confidence, but his easy manner and earnest eyes had her nearly believing him.
“Now, come on,” he urged. “Relax and eat your dinner. Because there’s tiramisu still to come.” He popped the ravioli into his mouth.
By the end of the meal there was still pasta left on Lizzie’s plate and she sat back, completely full. “I adore tiramisu, but I don’t think I can eat another bite.”
When the waiter came to remove their plates, Chris smiled up at him. “Could we have two orders of tiramisu to go, please?”
“Certainly, sir,” he answered, disappearing once more.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, toying with her napkin.
“It’s my favorite,” Chris shrugged. “And I know you like it, too. Just put it in your fridge. Or, if I know you, you’ll have room once you get home.”
“I doubt it,” she answered, patting her tummy.
“Wanna bet?” He grinned at her. “I noticed that you eat often, but you don’t eat a lot at a time. I did some reading and it said that sometimes eating smaller meals more frequently helps with the nausea.”
She wasn’t sure what was more shocking—the fact that he’d read up on pregnancy or that he’d noticed her eating habits. “The doctor said that should go away in a few more weeks. I have my fingers crossed.”
“I’m sure.”
The waiter came back with their desserts and the bill. Chris tucked a credit card in the leather folder and handed it back. When it had run through, he signed his copy and nodded at Lizzie. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He carried the box of dessert and as they went through the door to the restaurant, his hand rested on the curve of her spine just for a moment until they were outside. The evening had cooled and Lizzie found herself wishing she’d worn a wrap with the dress, but seeing Chris in his suit and tie had fried her brain and she’d forgotten.
“It’s a bit chilly,” he observed. “Are you cold?”
“I’m fine.” They were nearly to the truck but he stopped, handed her the box, and took off his suit coat.
“Here, this should help.” He draped it over her shoulders and took the box back before starting across the last row of the parking lot.
The jacket was still warm from his body as it clung to her shoulders, and the scent of his aftershave surrounded her. Good heavens, he smelled good. Not only that, but without the jacket on she could see how his shoulders were broad in the crisp white shirt and tapered to his narrow waist and hips, tucked into his trousers.
Cowboy Chris was incredibly sexy. She’d found him so that first night, and since then, too, in his plaid shirts and jeans. But he could equally pull off the professional look and she was afraid the attraction she felt for him was in no danger of dying off. Thank goodness he hadn’t clued in to how strongly she reacted to him, or pressed the issue. He hadn’t, not since the kiss that first weekend in her condo.
He opened her door and she hopped in, and when he got in he put the cake on the seat between them.
“So when do you start your new job?” Lizzie curled deeper into the comfort of his jacket. The near-darkness outside along with the softly playing radio made it rather cozy in the cab of the truck.
“Monday. I’ve spent this week getting things in order in San Antonio, and went out to my mom and dad’s for a few days.”
She looked over at him. “Did you tell them?”
He took his eyes off the road for a moment. “No.” He looked straight ahead again, but kept talking. “I wanted to. Nearly did, but you and I hadn’t talked about saying anything to anyone and I didn’t think I should without discussing it with you first. So I just told them I’d been offered this job. They were disappointed at me being farther away, but happy for me.”
They were going to have to say something soon and she knew it. There was only so long she could manage to avoid the topic before people started asking questions. Her declining a drink at a social event, leaving the office for doctor appointments, the few times she’d stood up and been light-headed and had to pause to regain her equilibrium. Carly had stopped by the office once on her way back to Houston and brought coffee. Rather than explain, Lizzie had taken a few stomach-turning sips and then faked her way through the visit.
She just couldn’t imagine what the right time would be. Brock was home and grouchy because he was virtually immobile, and he picked apart her daily reports and added so much input that she knew he didn’t trust her in the job yet.
She sighed—loudly.
“Tired?”
She smiled halfheartedly and laughed a little. “Always.”