Last night, something had ignited between them, but had been born from panic and emotional desperation. This morning was different. In the early morning daylight, she could no longer ignore their history, and pretend that it wasn’t a stupid idea to give into temptation.
“Good morning.” She turned away from him, casting about for her robe. It was hanging on the back of her door. Close enough to reach if she were a contortionist, but too far for a mere mortal. Moving quickly, she stepped out of bed and grabbed for it, but to Abby’s chagrin, the sleeves got tangled and she had to take precious seconds – standing naked – to sort them, before she could step into the robe and cinch it around her waist. A quick peek through her dark hair showed Gray was watching her, appraising. Thinking.
She looked away, nervous, swallowed, then quietly opened the door.
A glimpse at the kitchen clock showed it was still early – not even seven. Charlotte would likely sleep another hour at least. With any luck, Grayson would stay in her room. Abby desperately needed some alone time to piece her thoughts back together.
She flicked on the coffee machine, pressing in a pod and waiting for the thermostat to reach temperature then pushed the button, capturing the precious charcoal coloured liquid in her favourite mug. She was aware of him before she saw him. Even before she heard him. It was almost as though the air around them changed when they were together, sparking and charging so that every breath seemed to arc with an electrical force of its own.
“That smells good.”
She spun, lifting a finger to her lips. “Charlotte is a dream baby, but she needs her sleep. If you wake her up prematurely, she’ll whine all day.”
He lifted his brows, striding towards the kitchen and pulling out a stool. She hooked another mug into the machine without being asked, made him a black coffee, just like hers.
“You had a c-section?”
The question caught her off guard. She scanned his face, not understanding how he could know, before she remembered the scar that ran from one side of her body to the other.
“Yes.”
She couldn’t say why she bristled, only that the question made her feel exposed and anxious. It had been one of the worst days of her life – she didn’t relish reliving those memories.
“Planned?”
“No.”
He frowned, appraising her. When she slid the coffee cup across the bench, he captured it before she could release her hand, so their fingers brushed and a shockwave of awareness rocked her to the core.
“Max had a caesarian, but she knew from about thirty weeks that it would be necessary.”
It took her a moment to remember his twin sister, and then to think of how to respond to his gentle statement. “Were there difficulties in her pregnancy?”
“Towards the end, yes. She was on bed rest – and hated it.” His laugh was softly indulgent and a familiar emotion sparked inside Abby. Jealousy. She remembered feeling this in the past, whenever he’d spoken of his sister with such undisguised affection and warmth. Their closeness was that of siblings, so it wasn’t as if Abby wished he viewed her in the same way, but she realised Max was the only person Gray ever spoke of with such easy and obvious caring.
“How about you?” He sipped his coffee with an air of casual nonchalance that she just knew was forced. Casual demeanor notwithstanding, this was an interrogation. “What was your pregnancy like?”
She tightened, wondering why she was resisting answering his question. “It was straightforward,” she murmured eventually, taking a healthy drink of her own scalding coffee.
“Were you ill?”
“Some morning sickness in the first trimester. Sore lower back. Sensitive nipples.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “Forgetfulness and exhaustion. All the usual symptoms, but none of them dramatic enough to interfere with my life. I worked up until a day before I went into labour.”
A frown flashed on his face. “Working — as a waitress?”
“For the most part. For the last month or so Chantelle, my boss, found administrative work for me. Bookings, rosters, ordering, that kind of thing. I was pretty waddly by then. People seemed uncomfortable letting me wait on them,” she grimaced self-deprecatingly.
His expression could best be described as glowering, but he kept his voice neutral. “When did you go into labour?”
“About a week before my due date.”
He frowned. “Did you have anyone with you?”
She bit down on her lip. “My mom was booked to come in a few days’ time. But Angie, my downstairs neighbor, checked in on me. She’s amazing. She looks after Charlotte when I’m working.”
His lips flattened into a tight line, and though he made not a sound, she felt his disapproval and sighed. “Is there a problem with that?”
His eyes narrowed.