A Mummy For His Baby. Molly Evans
pocket. “Let me check on Chloe first. She’s still at the sitter’s.” After a short conversation, he nodded. “Good to go.”
“I’d love to meet her some time.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will. I have her in the office sometimes.”
“Great. Babies are such fun.”
“Says someone who hasn’t had a child yet.”
“Are you telling me I have a skewed perspective?” With a grin, she parked her hands on her hips.
“Yes.”
The grin was returned, and she could see some of the pain of this morning had eased. This banter was fun.
“I dare you to make that statement again after you’ve been up three nights straight with a teething infant.”
“Oh, no, thanks. Not accepting that challenge.”
In minutes they had poured the still steaming stew into bowls, buttered bread, and sliced some cheese to go with it.
“Sorry, I don’t have any wine. It doesn’t go with my medications.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m not much of a drinker.”
He scooped some of the stew into his mouth and closed his eyes.
“Oh, my God, that’s good. She could open her own restaurant and just serve this. She’d make a fortune.” His brows shot up. “Hey, maybe you could talk her into opening her own diner or something? Then she’d be too busy to run your life.”
“I like the way you think.” Aurora laughed again and relaxed a little more.
Watching him enjoy the stew—a simple meal in her new place—stirred good feelings.
Forbidden feelings—especially after that comment about having her own baby. That had been her lifelong dream, to have a family, but it wasn’t meant to be apparently.
Recalling how Beau’s wife had tragically died after giving birth reminded her that having a family wasn’t without risk. And as she sat there in the small apartment, across from Beau, she wondered if the risks were worth it.
There was only one way to find out.
MAYBE COMING HOME hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Though returning to her childhood home had been a temporary plan, she liked how it felt right now. Cathy would be off for at least six weeks, so she had that long to think about things and maybe come up with another plan.
“What are you thinking about?” Beau set his spoon down and placed his hand over hers on the table. “You look so intense, so sad.”
“I was just thinking how far we’ve come since high school.”
She squeezed his hand and enjoyed the warmth of it in hers. Of course they’d touched. Many times. But now, in the closeness of the little apartment, things seemed different somehow. More grown up. More intimate than she’d imagined.
“You’re right.” He nodded and kept hold of her hand. “We’ve come a long way for sure. Sometimes I look back at who I was then and can’t believe I was such a self-centered, immature jerk.”
“Oh, Beau!” She leaned back in her chair with a laugh. “You were not.” No way. At least not the way she remembered it.
“Seriously?” Doubt shone in his eyes. “You don’t know half the things I did back then. I thought I was such hot stuff, that I could have any girl I wanted. Cheerleaders. Homecoming queens. Any girl I set my eyes on.” He shook his head and drew his mouth to the side. “I was an idiot. All ego. No brains. Not like you.”
“I certainly wasn’t all brains—and you weren’t all ego.” Amusement shot through her. “Maybe a little. If you were so bad I could never have been your friend, you know.” She lifted one shoulder.
“Really?” Beau’s brows shot upward. “How do you figure that, Miss Academic Student of the Year?”
“Oh, that was a silly thing. A fluke, really. I was so shy and introverted in high school I could barely talk to guys, let alone be friends with one.” A light pink colored her neck. “Or ever think of going out with a jock.”
She leaned closer, conspiratorially.
“I did have a secret crush on you, though. You were totally into the hot babes, and never looked at me like that, so I got over it.” Or so she’d thought. Until now. Until she’d looked into those green eyes again.
“You... What? Now that’s a surprise.” He crossed his arms over his chest and a curious expression showed on his face. His brows came together and an intensity showed in his eyes, as if she’d just told him some deep, dark secret. “You thought I was out of reach, yet you picked me to be friends with? That’s odd.”
“No, actually...” she said with a laugh, and pointed at him with her spoon. “You picked me. Don’t you remember?”
“No. Refresh my memory.”
“In Mrs. Dixon’s typing class.” A memory and a laugh bubbled up inside her as she recalled him trying to squeeze his bulk behind the small desk the computers had been set on.
“No way. I don’t remember that. All I remember is struggling to get my fingers on the keyboard and not totally screw things up.”
“Yes—you said if I helped you with typing you’d get me into all the football games the rest of the season for free.”
“I did?”
Surprise showed clearly on his face. He didn’t remember.
That tidbit disappointed her. He obviously hadn’t had the same sort of feelings for her that she’d had for him. This reinforced that she’d been right to keep her feelings to herself. Pining after him would only have brought her heartache.
“Yes, you did.”
“I don’t remember it that way at all.”
“No? Well, that’s exactly how it was.”
That particular memory was clearly etched in her mind. How embarrassed she’d been when he’d talked to her—then how thrilled she’d been that he’d talked to her! All for naught, as it turned out.
“Nothing is exactly anything—let alone memories so old. I think you’re yanking my chain.” He narrowed his eyes playfully at her, trying to discern the truth.
“You’re right, Beau. Nothing is ever exact or perfect, the way we thought it would be when we were kids.”
She had to admit that. Nothing in her life had been that way. Not ever. And it was one of the reasons she’d left town so soon after nursing school. She’d wanted—needed—something in her life to be perfect, and she’d known she’d never get it here. At the time, that was how her mind had worked. Now she wasn’t so sure there was a perfect anything out there.
At the time she’d thought her happiness had lain out there. Somewhere. Somewhere else. Somewhere new, different, exotic. Someplace where she knew she’d fit in. Where no one knew her past or had preconceived notions of what she should be. No one would try to make her fit into a mold they’d developed for her. Where she could live and be herself, with no one to please except herself.
Beau leaned back and patted his abdomen again. “Nothing’s perfect except for this stew. I’d be tempted to stay with your mother just for her cooking.”
With his words the tension in her eased and she relaxed.
“I know. She is a great cook, but it doesn’t come without strings.”
Yet another reason she’d had to leave her mother’s home as soon as she could. But despite