So not Ram Walker, then.
And yet here she was, carrying his baby.
Across the café a young couple sat drinking lattes, gazing dotingly at a baby in a buggy. They looked like a photoshoot for the perfect modern family, and suddenly the cup in her hand felt heavy. Almost as heavy as her heart. For it was a life her child would never enjoy.
Not least because she hadn’t told Ram about the baby.
And nor would she.
Had he shown any sign, any hint that he wanted to be a father, she would have told him the moment she’d found out. But som
e men just weren’t cut out for relationships and commitment, and Ram was one of them.
He’d said so to her face, so it had been easy at first to feel that her silence was justified—especially when she was still struggling not just with the shock of finding out she was pregnant but with nausea and an exhaustion that made getting dressed feel like a tough mission.
Only now, when finally she was in a fit enough state to think, she was almost as overwhelmed with guilt as she had been with nausea.
Evening after evening had been spent silently arguing with herself over whether or not she should tell him about the baby. But with each passing day she’d convinced herself that there really was no point in letting him know.
He’d clearly stated that he didn’t want to be a father, and she knew from the way he lived his life that he wasn’t capable of being one.
She didn’t mean biologically. He clearly could father a child—and had. But what kind of a father would he be? His relationships with women lasted days, not years—not much use for raising a child to adulthood. Their brief affair had given her first-hand experience of his limited attention span. That night in his office she had felt as though he was floating through her veins. But afterwards he’d barely acknowledged the email she’d sent him. Just sent a single sentence thanking her for her services.
Her face felt hot. Was that the real reason why she hadn’t told him about the baby? Her pride? Her ego? A yearning to keep her memories of that night intact and not made ugly by the truth? The truth that he’d never wanted anything more than a one-night stand. Never wanted her or this baby.
She felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes as silently she questioned her motives again. But, no, it wasn’t pride or sentimentality that was stopping her from saying anything.
It was him. It was Ram.
She didn’t need to confront him to know that he wouldn’t want to know about the baby, or be a father, or be in their lives. Whatever connection there had been between them had ended when she’d crept out of his office in the early hours of that morning. Nothing would change that, so why put herself through the misery of having him spell it out in black and white?
She shifted in her seat. So now she was three months pregnant, unmarried, living out of a suitcase—and happy.
It was true that she sometimes got a little freaked out at the thought of being solely responsible for the baby growing inside her. But she knew she could bring a child up on her own—better than if Ram was involved.
Her mum had done it and, besides, Anna and Robbie would be there for her—when she finally got round to telling them.
She felt a twinge of guilt.
Unlike with Ram, she didn’t have any doubts about telling her friends about the baby. Quite the opposite. She wanted them to know. But by the time she’d done a test she’d been in Seattle, struggling with morning sickness. Besides, she wanted to tell her friend face-to-face, not over the—
Her phone rang and, glancing down at the screen, she frowned. It was Anna. Quickly, she answered it.
‘That is so weird. I was literally just thinking about you.’
Anna snorted. ‘Really? What happened? Did you eat some shortbread and finally remember your old pal in Scotland?’
‘I spoke to you three days ago,’ Nola protested.
‘And you said you’d call back. But what happens? Nothing. No text. No email...’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Doing what?’ Anna paused. ‘No, let me guess. Drinking coffee?’
Nola smiled. Since her arrival in Seattle, it was a private joke between them that Nola was drinking coffee every time her friend called.
Tucking the phone under her chin, she smiled. ‘Actually, it’s green tea, and it’s delicious. And the Danish isn’t bad either!’