his hands on the counter separating the two rooms. “Am I wrong?”
“I think I’m a peach of a person,” she said.
“If you don’t like grape, I’ll go back to the store and get peach.”
“No. Grape’s my favorite.”
But how gallant of him to make another trip. Her heart gave an odd little skip that she hoped was about her “delicate condition.” The warm, fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach could be nothing more than normal for a pregnant woman. One could hope, anyway.
“What else did you get at the store?” she asked.
“Lots of healthy stuff. Fruit. Vegetables.”
“I don’t like broccoli.” She rested an elbow on the arm of the sofa.
“Then you don’t have to eat any. And in case you weren’t kidding about the cravings, I got pickles and ice cream.”
She’d never been much of an ice cream addict, but suddenly the idea of it made her mouth water. “What kind of ice cream? And please don’t say Rocky Road to complement my difficult personality.”
He grinned. “Cookies and cream.”
“Sounds yummy.”
“I’m sensing symptoms of hunger. What else tempts your appetite?” he asked.
“Peanut butter and banana.”
“Coming right up,” he said without hesitation or editorializing.
She watched him work, pulling out plates, bread, the jar of crunchy peanut butter and the bananas. A warmth trickled through her that had nothing to do with the baby growing inside her. If she had to describe the feeling, the first word that popped into her head was pampered.
And perturbed.
He looked so cute moving around the kitchen making sandwiches. A feast for the eyes as she watched the muscles in his biceps bunch and his broad shoulders square off on the task. She was uneasy because when she’d agreed to temporarily move in with him, her concern had been mostly for the baby but partly about him being exhausted. She’d never considered him hanging around with her and unleashing a siege on her senses.
“How was work?” she asked. Anything to get her mind off this personal turn her thoughts had taken.
“The gladiator is holding his own against the lions and tigers. But his prognosis is still guarded.”
“Why?”
He walked over to her with a plate in each hand before handing her one and setting the other on the coffee table. “Because he’s fragile and anything can happen. Do you want milk with dinner?”
“What are you having?”
“A beer since I’m officially off call.” He rested his hands on lean hips. “But I don’t think you’d better have one.”
“It doesn’t even sound good and probably wouldn’t be the best choice for the baby.” Talk about his work reminded her that he knew better than anyone the need for prenatal caution. That’s why she was here. “Milk it is.”
He nodded, then fetched and delivered the drinks before sitting down beside her. He was staring at the muted movie on TV as he took a bite of the sandwich identical to hers. To his credit, he didn’t choke or spit it out. Also to his credit, he’d put apple slices and baby carrot sticks on each plate.
Cindy stared at her food. “Do you always eat like this?”
“Like what?” He took another bite.
“Peanut butter and banana. Healthy and nutritious.”
“Never had this before. It’s pretty good,” he admitted.
Suddenly she was really curious about his usual habits. “What’s a normal dinner for you?”
“I grab takeout on the way home from the hospital. If forced to cook, it’s a steak on the barbecue.”
“So you’re doing this for me,” she said, indicating the fresh fruit and veggies.
“Yeah.” He crunched on a carrot. “It’s the right thing to do.”
To some men “the right thing” in this situation would be marriage, but he’d never brought it up. Maybe because his wife had died. Was that why he didn’t believe in love? Because it hurt when you lost that special person?
At least he was honest, and that was refreshing after the jerk who’d done nothing but lie to her. And Nathan was a nice man. It was incredibly difficult to work up a heart-healthy amount of resistance to him when he was nice.
“What are you watching?” He took a sip from the long-neck bottle of beer.
“I was channel surfing.” She wasn’t sure why, but she felt the need to explain stumbling onto this old movie. “Came across this Steve McQueen, Natalie Wood picture. Love with the Proper Stranger.”
“What’s it about?”
She took a big bite of her sandwich and savored the flavors mixing together. But the truth was that peanut butter did stick to the roof of your mouth and it took her a minute before she could answer the question. Long enough for the parallel between her life imitating movie art to become clear.
“It’s a chick flick.” That should put an end to his curiosity.
“Steve McQueen usually plays a tough guy. Guns and car chases. Why is he standing in the middle of a crowd holding bells and a banjo with a sign around his neck that says, ‘Better wed than dead’?”
“You don’t really want to know.”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Okay.” She looked at the happy ending silently playing out on seventy-five inches of screen. “They had a one-night stand and she got pregnant.”
“Really?” His expression said that he got the parallel.
“He’s not the marrying kind but asks her anyway because it’s the right thing. And in the olden days it was quite the stigma for a woman to be unmarried and pregnant.”
“I actually know that.”
“She turns down the proposal. Stuff happens and when he gets to know her, he discovers that he can’t live without her, but he’s blown it big time. The bells, banjo and sign are very public, his grand gesture to prove he really wants to be with her. That he loves her. Very romantic.”
“I guess.” He set his empty plate on the coffee table. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“Someone must because romance is a moneymaker at the movies.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Titanic was the highest
