“Fine.” He grinned, moving into the kitchen and pressing a button on the kettle. It stoked to life quietly, just the lights running around the base showing that it was operational.
Imogen yawned, smothering it with the back of her hand and then smiling at him in a mix of self-consciousness and apology. “Sorry. I’m so tired lately. I think it’s a pregnancy thing.”
He nodded. “I’m sure. When did you find out?”
“About the baby?” She perched on the edge of a stool, crossing her ankles. “A couple of weeks ago.”
“It must have been a shock.”
“Yeah, you can say that again. I mean, we did use protection. Even though we were… umm… you know. Together a few times.” Her cheeks warmed and she dipped her
head forward to hide the tell-tale blush. “I don’t understand how it happened.”
He was quiet, but his eyes scanned her face, taking in every aspect of her appearance, studying her thoughtfully. “Why did you realize? What tipped you off?”
“Everything.” She shook her head slowly. “I mean, at first I had no clue what the symptoms meant. I was really queasy out of nowhere. All my favourite foods made me feel like I wanted to be sick. I was tired. And I had back ache. But they were all easy to explain away. I’d been really busy, helping out at the pub more than usual, and I just presumed I’d eaten something a bit off or whatever.” She ran her finger along the marble bench top, studying her nail. “Then I got an email from a friend who’d just fallen pregnant and something clicked in my mind. I counted back the dates, did a test and voila. Pregnant.”
“Pregnant,” he said, almost with disbelief. As if rousing himself from a dream, he shook his head and pulled two mugs from a cupboard then dropped tea bags into each and sloshed boiling water over the top. He handed one to her as the colour still bled from the bag, making swirly ink marks in the clear liquid.
“Look, Theo,” she said quietly. “I know this is a lot to take in. And maybe we should both just take a week or two to get used to the idea before we make any big decisions about the future. We both have lives, and I think we can be great parents without jumping the gun and deciding to live together. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I feel like it could be really fraught with problems.”
“Such as?” He sipped from his cup then replaced it on the bench, his face inscrutable.
“Well, we don’t know each other that well, as you pointed out.” Liar, her brain criticized, thinking of all the little things she did know about him. The scar on his chest. The way he laughed when she kissed his elbow. The way he’d moaned as he’d thrust into her. She forced those images from her mind and tried to recall what she had been attempting to communicate. “What if we don’t click?”
“Click?” He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know. Click. Like, like each other.”
“Then we’re mature adults who will work around it. Our child is what matters here.”
“Right. But I’ve always felt children are better and happier when raised by happy parents – even if they’re separate parents.” She gnawed on her lip, her mind running over the possibilities. “Why don’t I just stay in Swan on Green another six months or so? We can get to know each other slowly, then, if you still feel the same, I’ll move to London. To an apartment near here. But my own apartment.”
“No.”
“No?” She curled her fingers around her tea to hide the way they were shaking. “What do you mean, ‘no’? That’s a reasonable suggestion. Aren’t you at least going to think about it?”
“I told you, I want to look after you while you’re pregnant.” He walked around the bench, coming to stand right in front of her. “If you find me unbearable to live with, then I’ll buy you a place near me and pack your bags for you. But I promise, I’m not so bad.” His voice was gruff, resonating with a depth that was making her stomach flip-flop. “We owe it to the baby to give it a try.”
He put a hand on her arm and the butterflies were back, swirling through Imogen like leaves in the breeze. She shivered involuntarily, lifting her eyes to his face. “And what if things between us get complicated?”
“Complicated? You mean like two virtual-strangers having a baby together?”
“No. I mean like falling-back-into-bed together complicated.” Surprised by her bullishness, she refused to back down. Her face was tense, her chin tilted angrily, her eyes full of strength. “We did that once before, remember? How do we know it’s not going to happen again?”
“Because you’re off-limits,” he said softly, and, Imogen chose to believe, with a hint of regret. “You’re no longer a desirable woman to me – though I can see how I found you so before. You’re the mother of my child, and I want to wrap you in cotton wool and take care of you. I want to get you tea when you’re thirsty and rub your feet when they’re sore. I want to hold your hand when you’re scared and put together nursery furniture for you.”
He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, something in his face showing reluctance. “I want to support you and help you and make your life easier. Whatever we shared, that one night; that’s in the past. I promise you, Imogen, I’m not going to be looking for opportunities to get you into my bed, or to climb into yours.”
Disappointment was sharp in her chest; unmistakable too. She smiled to hide it, but it was there, raw and thick.
“I don’t need a knight in shining armour. I can take care of myself.”
He tilted his head forward and for one perfect, hopeful second, she thought he might actually kiss her. But then he grinned, and whispered into her ear. “You are woman; I hear you roar.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Just a little bit,” he promised. “I know you can take care of yourself. But let me. This is my responsibility too.”