Amy Ruttan – Bound By Their Babies: Bound by Their Babies (страница 13)
‘No, thanks for sending me that photo, it’s delicious.’
‘It is, but I had to drag them away. Neither of them wanted to leave. I had to bribe them with feeding the ducks.’
He chuckled. ‘Yeah, the ducks can be quite handy. Well, that’s brilliant. Thanks. So are we all set for Thursday?’
‘Yes—except I need to go home this evening and grab something to wear for my interview that might not be a total disgrace. I can do that after you get home once they’re in bed.’
‘OK. I’ll try not to be late.’
* * *
It was only a flying visit to collect some clothes, because all she’d brought with her was a few pairs of jeans and an armful of tops, and that wasn’t going to impress anyone. Not that she had much at home to choose from that would still fit her since she’d had Zach, but there had to be something.
She parked on the drive, went in and shut the front door, and then stood for a second while the silence closed in around her. She realised it was the first time she’d been alone in the house since Zach was born, and it felt odd. Odd, and strangely unsettling. And, to her surprise, although the house she’d shared with Pete for so long was familiar, it didn’t feel like home. It just felt wrong somehow, so she raided her wardrobe and left without lingering.
‘That was quick. Did you find what you wanted?’ Jake asked her when she got home—home?—and she nodded, going into the sitting room and perching on the arm of the sofa.
‘Yes, I suppose so. It’ll do.’ She frowned at the television. ‘Are you seriously watching Titanic?’
‘Oh, I was just killing time till you got back, really. There’s not much on.’
‘Titanic made you cry.’
‘It made you cry, too, if I remember rightly,’ he reminded her drily.
‘Surely not.’ She peered at the bag beside him. ‘Is that popcorn?’
‘It might be.’
She felt her mouth twitch and bit her lips to trap the smart retort. ‘What flavour?’
‘Wasabi and ginger.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding,’ she said, and his eyes crinkled.
‘I’m not, they do make it, but it’s salted caramel.’
She couldn’t help the laugh. ‘I knew you wouldn’t eat anything that weird. Give me five seconds to change and I’ll be back. I’ll have tea, please—and don’t finish the popcorn!’
She ran upstairs, grinning and ignoring the muttering she left behind, and by the time she was back in her PJs there were two mugs of tea steaming on the coffee table, Titanic paused on the television and Jake with his hand back in the bag of popcorn.
‘Hey, get out of that, we’re sharing, remember?’ she said, dropping down on the sofa beside him and reaching for the bag.
‘Say please.’ He held it out of reach, laughing, and she lunged across him, trying to make a grab for it and digging her elbow into his ribs by accident.
‘Ouch! Get off me!’ He laughed, holding the bag further out of reach, but she made another lunge for it and grabbed it victoriously, and their eyes met and something weird happened.
They froze, eyes locked, and for a paralysing second she thought he was going to kiss her, but then he removed his hand from the bag and looked away, and she retreated hastily into the corner with the popcorn, wondering if her cheeks were as red as they felt, and he picked up the remote without a word and restarted the movie.
* * *
‘Popcorn?’
What, and risk another highly charged wrestling match? He’d only just got his body back under control. But the bag was just there, so he dug into it and took a handful.
‘I hate this bit,’ she said, when the ship started to list and fill with water, and she wriggled up against his side, her hand tucked through his arm as if nothing had happened.
Another layer of torment? He could still feel the warm softness of her body under his hands, feel the silk of her skin, smell the scent of her as she’d squirmed giggling against him.
How was he supposed to feel? To act? She might be just a friend, but she was a beautiful woman. Of course he’d noticed, but apart from that embarrassing blip fifteen years ago he’d spent twenty years ignoring it, keeping the lid firmly on the box.
And she’d either done the same, which he doubted because she frankly wasn’t that good at hiding her feelings, or she’d genuinely felt nothing more for him than friendship. Well, not in that way, anyhow, and even if she did there was no way he was ripping the lid off the box at this point in their relationship, not with so much riding on it.
He felt her head settle on his shoulder, then after a few minutes, as the story came to its inescapable and heartrending end, her grip on his arm tightened reflexively and he heard a tiny, stifled sniff.
‘You’re a softie, do you know that?’ he said, resting his head against hers, and she pulled away and sniffed harder, grabbing the remote from the table and turning the television off.
‘You’re such a hypocrite. You snivelled just as much as me in the cinema.’
‘I was nineteen, and anyway, it’s sad!’
‘You were a softie,’ she told him, swivelling round to look at him. ‘And you still are!’
‘I am not!’
‘So what’s this?’ she asked victoriously, lifting her hand and touching a finger to the outer corner of his eye. She lifted it to her lips, flicking her tongue out to taste it, and he stifled a groan. ‘Tears, Stratton! Actual, real tears! So don’t you go giving me grief!’
She was just there, mere inches away, hands on her hips and laughing at him while her eyes still sparkled with her own tears, and the urge to lean in and kiss that sassy smile off her face nearly finished him.
But not quite.
He took her by the shoulders, eased her away from him and stood up, sending a shower of popcorn crumbs onto the carpet. ‘Right, enough nonsense, it’s time for bed,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve got a long day tomorrow, and we need to rehearse our interview technique in the evening.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. Come on. Bedtime.’
He reached out a hand and hauled her to her feet, then just because he couldn’t help himself he reeled her in and hugged her.
Just briefly, just enough to mess with his dreams, but they were probably going to be X-rated anyway after that wrestling match over the popcorn. Dammit. He let her go, screwed up the empty bag and picked up the mugs as she headed for the stairs.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he said, and flicked off the light and went into the kitchen for a quiet moment alone to gather his ragged composure and have a stern word with his heart, because the tears she’d seen in his eyes had had nothing to do with the film and everything to do with his feelings for a woman he couldn’t allow himself to love.
Not if this job share was going to stand the slightest chance of working.
THEY SPENT WEDNESDAY evening interviewing each other, thinking up all the horrible questions they could be asked and trying to answer them coherently.
How would they divide their time? What if it didn’t work? How about sick leave, holidays—would they cover for each other on an overtime basis? Did they have an agreement to share the tasks equally and equitably? What if one of them wanted out? Medical questions, too, because Nick Jarvis, the husband of Liv who’d delivered Zach, had been grilled by Ben when he’d come back to work here the year before and he’d warned them not to expect Ben to play nice.
‘Enough!’ she said, jumping to her feet and clutching her hair when midnight was looming and her head was ready to explode. ‘If we don’t stop talking about this, I’m going to be awake all night and I won’t be able to string two words together. It’s bad enough that I’m going to look like a bag lady.’
He started to laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Why will you look like a bag lady?’
‘Why? Because none of my decent clothes fit me properly now—and I can’t even remember when I last wore a skirt.’
‘So wear trousers.’
‘I can’t get into them either, they won’t do up because I’ve changed shape and put on weight. The only thing I can get into is a stretchy pencil skirt I had when I was first pregnant, and a jacket that won’t quite meet. And frankly, Jake, that’s not adequate!’
He laughed again, but his eyes were tender and made her feel strange. ‘Em, you’re gorgeous. You couldn’t look like a bag lady if you tried—’
‘Don’t patronise me! I don’t look gorgeous, and I certainly don’t look professional. At the outside I’ll get by.’
‘Hey, you’ll be fine,’ he assured her, serious now. ‘They want to talk to you about the job, not check out your dress sense.’
She growled under her breath. ‘It’s not about them, it’s about me. I need to feel professional and well presented to give me confidence, and I’ve worn nothing but stretchy skinny jeans and baggy tops covered in baby goo for the last nine months!’
‘Oh, Em.’ He laughed softly, and getting to his feet, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her hard. His chest was broad and solid, and the scent of his skin drifted over her, warm and familiar and oddly disturbing.
‘You’ll be great,’ he murmured, his low voice rumbling in his chest beneath her ear and adding to the disturbing sensations. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, you’ll wow them. Now go to bed. I’ll wake you in the morning so you’ve got time to get showered before I have to leave, OK?’