He leaned in, bracing his elbows on the wobbly table and staring at her intently. “There’s something incredibly sexy about the way you eat.” She snorted, but he held up a finger to halt her protest. “You forget, I’ve seen it. Lots of times. You make birthday cake look like there’s an orgy going on in your mouth. Burnt hot dogs, creamy potato salad…Nothing is safe. You break cookies into tiny chunks before you eat them…like the bear claw.” His blue gaze grew soft and hazy. “Your lips closing around your fingers, a fork, a spoon…” He huffed and shook his head. A sheepish grin chased the clouds from his eyes. “Hell, you practically made love to the rubber chicken they served at Sean and Tracy’s rehearsal dinner. That’s when I knew I had to avoid you at all costs.”
“For fear that I’d devour you?”
He reached across the table, the tips of his fingers skimming across her knuckles before coming to rest on the checkered cloth mere millimeters from hers. “Something like that.”
Energy flowed from him, warm and tempting. She stared at the tiny gap, half-expecting to see sparks arcing between them. Her blood sang in her veins, but she refused to close the gap. Awareness prickled the nape of her neck. She blinked, a Jeannie-like effort to vanquish the pesky space between them, but she couldn’t make the move. Clearing the lump of lust from her throat, she met his gaze. “It’s a good thing we’re just here to talk, then.”
Tom sighed and sat back, those dangerous fingertips trailing over the oh-so-lucky red and white cloth. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pen and a small pad. “Tell me about the process.”
Her jaw dropped as he flipped to a blank page and uncapped the pen. “You’re going to take notes? Is this a deposition?”
“I think better when I write things down.”
“There’s nothing for you to think about.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. Those warm indigo eyes turned cool and remote. “Fine.” He capped the pen and pushed the pad aside. “Are the salads here good? I’ve never bothered with them.”
“Was that supposed to be a segue?”
“I’m making polite conversation.”
Pushing her hair back from her face, a growl of frustration escaped her. “I don’t know why you think you can pry into my life. It’s not like we’re friends, Tom. We never have been. As a matter of fact, until last Saturday night, I don’t think you ever said more than ten words to me.”
“And that’s my fault?” He sat up, stuffing the pad and pen back into his jacket pocket. “You never talked to me either, Maggie. Why is that?”
“Probably for the same reason.”
“You thought I was off-limits?”
“Why would you think
I
was off-limits?” she asked.
“Well, you were off-limits to me.”
Maggie yanked her napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table. “Who set the damn limits?”
He lurched from his chair before she could rise. “Oh no. Uh-uh. You are not walking out on me.”
“Walking out?” Nodding toward the rear of the restaurant, she gathered her purse, and stood. “I was going to the ladies room.” Maggie cocked her head, studying him as he sank back into his seat. “Do women walk out on you a lot?”
“Enough,” he grumbled.
Clutching her bag to her chest, she peered down at the top of his bowed head. Without thinking, she ran her hand over his crown. The tip of her index finger swirled his cowlick, freeing it from the protective seal of hair product.
Tom glanced up from under thick lashes. “I’d like us to be friends.”
A wry smile curved her lips. “Friends, huh? Sounds like you’re trying to negotiate some benefits too.”
“You
gonna
climb out the bathroom window?”
Her smile grew when he tipped his head back and the cowlick bobbed. “Order me some Chianti and a side of tiramisu. I’ll be back.”
****
Tom held his tongue when she reached for another piece of garlic bread. In truth, he would have given her the whole basket if it meant she’d stay right where she was, laughing, talking, and relaxing for the first time since she sank her teeth into his
danish
Sunday morning. Crumbs trickled to her top. The memory of slivered almonds licked from her warm skin assaulted his psyche. He fought back the urge to lunge across the table and lap them up with his tongue. Reaching for the last slice of bread, he realized he’d lost the thread of the conversation.
“So I said, ‘Sure, come on by and bring your monkey. I’ve always wanted a threesome with two of the hairiest beasts in the world’ and that was that,” she concluded with an emphatic nod.
His head jerked up. “Huh?”
“Am I boring you already?”
“Distracting,” he corrected. “Distracting me.” He nodded to the bits of crust clinging to her celery green sweater. “You have, uh…I’m having a flashback.”
“Oh.” She glanced down and immediately swiped at the crumbs, a pink flush creeping high in her cheeks. She flashed a quick smile, but it failed to cover her discomfiture. “Sorry to trigger the post-traumatic stress.”
“That was the best morning I’ve had in years. At least, until my mom called.”
The embarrassment that colored her cheeks morphed into a pleased blush. “How were the gutters?”
“Clogged.”
“And your mom? How is she?”
“The same as she’s always been.”
Maggie quickly dissected the remainder of the garlic bread, plucking off bite-sized pieces and slipping them between those lush lips. “Have you told her the golden boy is considering becoming a father outside of the sacrament of Holy Matrimony?”
Tom quirked an eyebrow. “I never tip my hand before a negotiation is complete.” He wiped his mouth and set the napkin aside. “Can we talk about it?”
Her green eyes glowed, wary and watchful. She abandoned the bread in favor of toying with the stem of her wine glass. “Fine. Give me your pitch.”
“I’m not a salesman, I’m an attorney. We argue our case.”
“Okay, counselor. Give me your opening argument.”
Tom nudged his plate aside and reached for her hand, smiling when she invested little resistance. “You don’t have to do this alone, Maggie.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and he took advantage of the opportunity her silence afforded. “We can be friends. Hell, Maggie, I’ve laughed more with you this week than I’ve laughed in a year. I like you.”
She met his gaze and those grass green eyes pierced him. “I like you too. More than I think I should.”
He nodded once. “I understand.” When she raised an eyebrow, he laughed. “I do understand. I think maybe we both might have been a little wrong about each other.”
“Or totally right.”
“Possibly. But you have to admit, we seem to fit fairly well together. That is, when you’re not letting your temper get the best of you.”
“My temper?”
“The red hair….”
Her eyes flashed and her jaw dropped in indignation. He could almost see the angry retort on the tip of her tongue. She caught it at the last second, withdrawing her hand and swirling the dregs of her wine as she raised the glass to her lips. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
She sounded cool and prim, but flames licked her cheeks. “I’m sure you don’t,” he murmured. Retreating into casual flirtation, he dropped a broad wink. “You pack a wallop, Maggie.” Her indelicate snort only made his smile widen.
Temper flashed again, but she reined it in. “Get to the point.”
“Shared parenting, co-parenting, whatever you want to call it.” She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to stop her. “Hear me out.”
She sank back in her chair. The play of emotion across her face ran the gamut from annoyed to agitated. Figuring that was the best he could hope for at the moment, he plunged ahead. “I’d pay half of all your out-of-pocket medical expenses during the pregnancy, monthly child support after the baby is born, and half of all the expenses for the child—medical, dental, education…everything.”
“Like a divorce without the pesky marriage,” she muttered. She twisted her fingers together and asked in a taut voice, “And you’d want…?”
“You’d have full custody, Maggie.” He toyed with the edge of his napkin, worrying a loose thread with his thumbnail. “I’d like to have regular visitation, of course. The norm would call for every other weekend, but since you work Saturdays and I don’t, I was thinking Saturdays could be mine. Maybe we can split Sunday, or make a point of doing something together on Sundays…The three of us…I don’t know.” He waved the thought away. “We can work that out. I’d want one night during the week, too. Maybe Thursday, since you work later on Thursdays….”
“You researched my hours? Have you had me investigated too?”
“Should I?” The smart-ass retort slipped out before he could stop it. He shook his head. “They’re on the door, Maggie. Your website and the ad in the
Yellow Pages,
too,” he pointed out. He dragged a hand over his face, tugging at his cheeks. “Wow. You really do think the worst of me, don’t you?”
Maggie averted her gaze. “I don’t know you. Not really…”
“You wouldn’t know a donor at all,” he pointed out. The stubborn jut of her chin pulled him back from the brink. Tom abandoned the napkin and reached across the table, offering his hand palm-up.
“Get to know me, Maggie,” he coaxed. “I’m not a bad guy, no matter what you think you know. I take good care of my mother. I love my brother, my uncle, and my niece and nephews. Even my sister-in-law, although I think she’s lost her mind…” His fingers twitched, curling toward his palm. “I like dogs. And cats. Fred even liked me. I think…”
He wanted to fidget. To wriggle in his seat like his six-year-old nephew. She just stared at him, not saying a word. Tom figured she’d make an awesome mother. After all, she already had the penetrating stare down pat.
“Why did you think I was off-limits?”
The question winged him, making his head spin. “Huh?”
“You said I was off limits.” Maggie circled her hand, urging him to take the leap with her. “Why?”
Tom blinked. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Just…because, Maggie.”
“Are you six?”
Rolling his eyes, Tom growled his frustration as he straightened in his seat. “Come on.” When she crossed her arms over her chest, he sighed. “Because we were looking for different things, okay? You…You’re the kind of girl who wants to get married, join the PTA, and drive a minivan.”
She didn’t bother refuting his assessment. “And what’s changed?”
“You’re willing to have a baby without getting married.”
Maggie shook her head, disbelief etched into the tiny furrow between her brows. “You’re really that anti-marriage?”
“Yes.”
His simple answer seemed to give her a jolt. The sinking sensation in his stomach said he’d blown it. He gripped the table, prepared to brace the remains of their first and last supper together when she bolted. Instead, she blinked the confusion from her eyes, folded her forearms on the checked tablecloth, and fixed him with a steady stare.
“So, how do you think this would work?”
The soft-spoken question made him jump. The quiver in her voice made him ache. The overwhelming urge to touch her prickled his skin. He released his hold on the table and flexed his fingers, beckoning to her. Until his fingers closed around hers, he hadn’t realized how much he needed to hold onto her to steady his own nerves. “I’m not really sure.” He flashed a nervous smile. “The only thing I know is that I’m scared as hell.”
A bubble of laughter burst from her lips. “Me, too.”
“A part of me can’t believe I’m even thinking about this, but Maggie…” He waited until their gazes met and held. “Maggie, it feels right.”
“I know,” she breathed. “I’ve wanted to have a baby since…forever, but even though I’d discussed with my doctor and the clinic it didn’t feel real. Not until I told you. That was the first time I actually said it out loud.”
He cradled her hand between his palms, holding her there with him. “You know what I’m feeling, then. It’s like getting hit by a bus, or a train, or a damn asteroid…”
Maggie’s eyes widened. Her lips parted, and the pink tip of her tongue darted out to wet them. “I know.” She stared at their clasped hands. “So, what do you think we should do?”