young. Caroline seemed to consider that a pretty big deal. He’d felt a little sorry for her over it.
“Can I get you something to drink? A beer? Or a glass of wine?” More relaxed now, John walked over to the wet bar dividing his formal living room from the dining room he’d never used.
“Do you have a diet soda?”
While she perched on the very edge of one end of the sectional couch, he grabbed a glass, filling it with ice. “You look different,” he said, smiling, deciding this might not be such a bad turn of events. Maybe she’d join him for dinner.
They could catch up like old friends, though they hardly knew each other. He could wish her luck with her new scholastic endeavor, and then, if they ever ran into each other in town, they could smile and say hi without some residual awkwardness hanging between them.
Her smile was tenuous. John poured the drink, then carried it over to her, wondering if she’d be able to unclasp the hands in her lap long enough to take hold of it.
“It’s your hair,” he said.
“I…had it shaped. And conditioned.” She took the glass. But not before he noticed how badly her hand was shaking.
He’d never met anyone like her. One minute confident enough to walk up to a total stranger at a political gathering and introduce herself, and then the next, so insecure she barely allowed herself to breathe.
“You left it long, though,” he said, returning to the bar for a can of beer. He didn’t usually drink more than one on any given day, but what the hell. He was still recovering from his vigil with Meri the other night.
“Yeah.” She took a sip. Sort of. He wasn’t sure any liquid actually passed her lips.
“I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“These days so many women keep their hair short.” Meredith had been one of them.
“It’s easier to deal with.”
That was what Meri had said.
“I like it long.”
“Thanks.”
She sipped again. John took a seat and did the same. She watched him openly—yet said nothing.
“Did you want something from me?” he finally asked.
“No!”
Well, that was clear.
“I…just…”
For the first time since she’d arrived, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Frowning, John sat forward. He’d thought dinner would be nice, but not if it was going to get complicated. He just didn’t have what it took to deal with complicated.
Hell, based on the way he’d broken his promise to himself and run back to his memories of Meredith the other night, he didn’t have what it took to deal with living.
“Well, it was nice of you to stop by.” He hadn’t really intended the words but was relieved when he heard them. Yes, better just to end this and get on with the boring evening ahead. There were no surprises in boring.
“John, I’m pregnant.”
He sat back, the half-empty can of beer resting on his lap, loosely cupped by both hands, and looked at the bare wall opposite him. He was mistakenly caught in someone else’s life.
“Did you hear me?” The woman’s voice, though soft, seemed to grate.
“I’m sorry.” He turned to look at her. “What did you say?” The beer can was soothingly cool to the touch. He lifted it, drank. And kept drinking until it was empty.
“I said I’m pregnant.”
Uh-huh. Well. What did he do now? The beer was gone. He crushed the can between his fingers, just to confirm that.
“I, uh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve never been in this position before. I don’t really know what to say.”
Mostly, he didn’t know how to make sure he didn’t feel.
“I had to tell you,” she said. “You have a right to know.”
This was a right?
“Aren’t you going to ask if it’s yours?”
His eyes met hers. Their green depths were as luminous as he remembered them. Her slim, strong, perfectly curved body was pretty impressive, but it was those eyes that had captivated him that cold December night in Kentucky. What, six weeks ago?
“I’m assuming you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
He couldn’t breathe properly. The cords in his neck tightened; his skin was hot. He wanted her out of his house. Now.
He wanted her never to have arrived. He wanted never to have met her.
“I could be lying. Or I could have done this on purpose, to trap you. I orchestrated our meeting, after all. I could’ve had a carefully thought-out plan—you know, the lonely widow trying to get out of a tiny little town that’s suffocating her.”
Some small part of him that was outside, watching the horrific scene unfold, could almost have smiled—if he hadn’t been so terrified.
“Yes.” He looked her straight in the eye. “You could have.”
“I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think you had. You aren’t the artificial type.”
She nodded, her lips tremulous as she lifted the still-full glass with a shaking hand. He hoped she didn’t spill the drink. He didn’t think he was up to standing at the moment, let alone going for paper towels.
He’d never felt so awkward in his own home. Or helpless. Lost, yes. Hopeless, yes. But not this.
There were things he should be saying. He just had no idea what they were. He sat there watching her, drawing a complete blank.
“I’m not here to ask anything from you,” she said, after excruciating seconds had turned into even more excruciating minutes.
He appreciated that. John passed the remains of the beer can back and forth between his palms. Her focus followed the movement.
“I just had to tell you.”
It was the second time she’d said that.
She stood, set the glass on the low, square wood table in front of the sectional. “I guess I’ll go, then. Thanks for seeing me.”
He was suddenly looking at her back.
“Wait!” John didn’t move. He couldn’t.
“What?” Her eyes were wide.
“Can
