quiet, but she was conscious. And he couldn’t find any of her vitals out of whack. So he relied on his training to tell him she was okay when his heart was telling him to call 911 and ask for backup.
Deciding upon a compromise, he said, “As soon as you feel up to moving, I’ll take you to the hospital and get you checked out.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be okay.” She closed her eyes, but only for a moment. “This isn’t serious, Mike. Besides, it was my own fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday at lunch, and I really should have grabbed a snack on our way out the door.”
He hoped she wasn’t dieting; she didn’t need to lose weight. She was in great shape. And even if she could stand to lose a couple of pounds, she ought to know that starvation wasn’t the way to go.
“I got a little light-headed and—” she shrugged her shoulders “—I passed out.”
She could say that again.
He watched the color slowly creep back into her face. “Why haven’t you been eating?”
“I was tired when I got home from work last night and decided to stretch out on the sofa and watch a little television before fixing dinner. The next thing I knew, it was morning.” She slowly sat up and leaned her back against the counter. “And when I woke up, I…Well, I just got busy. That’s all.”
And then he’d dragged her shopping for pet supplies. Great.
By this time, Fred Baxter came running to their side, his breathing heavy and more labored than a short, indoor jog should have caused. “Oh my goodness! Simone. What happened?”
“I fainted,” she said. “I’m sure it was caused by low blood sugar.”
“I’ve got some orange juice in the back room,” Millie said. “And a granola bar.”
“That would help.” Simone slowly sat up, then ran a hand through her hair. “Thank you.”
As Millie hurried through the store, Mike said, “You’re going to need to eat more than juice and a snack. I’ll take you across the street to the deli so you can order lunch.”
And for once, when it came to Simone, he wasn’t going to sit back and let her call the shots.
Minutes after Fred had loaded their purchases into Mike’s Jeep and returned the key, Simone allowed Mike to lead her across the street to Prudy’s Menu. The small bakery/deli specialized in scrumptious desserts, gourmet coffees and teas, as well as homemade breads, soups and sandwiches.
They sat at one of the green bistro tables that graced the street-front patio of the eatery. An umbrella shaded them and their place settings from the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves of several old maples that grew along Lexington Avenue.
The waitress had just given them water and taken their orders.
“Are you feeling better now?” Mike asked.
“I’m still a little shaky, but it’s passing.” Simone offered him a smile she hoped was convincing.
She wasn’t used to being coddled or taken care of. Even as a kid, when she’d actually been sick, she’d had to fend for herself. So she’d gotten accustomed to being alone when she was under the weather and, to be honest, actually preferred it that way. For a woman who dispensed endless doses of TLC for a living, she was uneasy being on the receiving end.
Of course, now that she’d had a granola bar to eat and some juice to sip, she was almost back to normal—at least, physically. Emotionally, not so much. The news of her pregnancy was still a little unsettling.
Giving the baby up might not be easy, but it would be for the best.
“Are you too cold?” he asked. “Or too warm? We can go back inside if you’d be more comfortable.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand over the top of his. “I’m fine. And I’ll be even better when the waitress brings my soup. Besides, we have to sit outside because of Wags.”
“You’re right, but I’ll bet Millie and Fred would have watched the puppy for us.”
Simone peered under the table, where Wags was tethered to a chair leg by a new red collar and leash. He was so content to be greedily chomping on a little rawhide bone that he didn’t even glance up at her. “Look how happy he is.”
Mike’s gaze remained on her. “If it gets too warm for you out here, if the sun is too bright, let me know and I’ll take him across the street so we can go inside.”
“The temperature is perfect. And besides, the fresh air will help clear my head.” She offered him another don’t-worry-about-me smile, then scanned the small patio, where only one other group of diners—an elderly man and two women—sat.
There hadn’t been many people wanting to eat outdoors during the winter months, so it was nice to see the weather changing. And while she knew a cold spell could still strike at any time, she preferred to think that spring was here to stay.
Apparently, Belle, Prudy’s daughter who was now running the eatery, agreed, because there were several pots of red geraniums gracing the patio that hadn’t been there the last time Simone had stopped in for a bite to eat.
When the waitress brought their lunch—a turkey sandwich and vegetable soup for her and a pastrami on rye for Mike—Simone dug in.
The fainting spell was probably a combination of pregnancy hormones as well as a low blood sugar level from not eating, but she would talk to the doctor to make sure. There was no reason to take any unnecessary chances or to jeopardize the baby’s health. From now on, she would put the child’s best interests above her own.
Simone didn’t need a psychiatric evaluation to tell her the baby would be much better off with another mom. She’d wished a hundred times over that her mother would have had the courage to do the right thing when faced with an unwanted, unplanned pregnancy. Susan Garner would have done herself and Simone a huge favor by signing over maternal rights at birth, but that hadn’t happened.
And now, ironically, Simone was faced with the same decision. And while that decision might have come quickly, it wasn’t being made easily.
Would the baby look like Mike, with his black hair and green eyes? Or would it look more like her?
She could hardly imagine.
Had her mother been faced with those same questions when she’d been pregnant?
Maybe even more so, under the circumstances. And she suspected that when handed a baby who favored her father, Susan Garner had recoiled emotionally.
Genetics could be a real bitch sometimes.
When Simone had taken her second bite of the sandwich, she glanced up to catch Mike studying her. His hair, as black as a young raven’s wing, was spiked in a style that suited him. And his eyes, as green as a blade of new grass, were intense and quick.
He
