Circle of Friends, Part 3

by Susan Mallery

  “Actually he’s not a complete stranger,” Noelle said smugly. “She’s seen him naked.”

  “There is that,” Crissy said. “What do you want?”

  Rachel sighed. “I don’t know. Carter and I have agreed to get to know each other and then figure things out. And don’t forget, the marriage was his mother’s idea, not his. He never mentioned it at all.”

  “What would you have said if he had?” Noelle asked.

  “I don’t know that, either,” she admitted. She thought about her conversation with Carter. “Do I dress like a nun?”

  Noelle had been drinking her water and now she choked as she tried not to spit. “What?”

  “My clothes. I try to dress low-key for the kids. Plus I need things that are washable. But do I dress... I don’t know...too conservative?”

  Crissy eyed her short-sleeved blouse and long skirt. “You’re not on the fashion cutting edge, but you always look nice. Who said you dressed like a nun?”

  Rachel shrugged.

  “Carter,” Crissy said knowingly.

  “He didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Rachel told her. “He was talking about finding me attractive, even though I dress like a nun.”

  “She’s defending him,” Noelle said conversationally. “That’s step one.”

  “It’s not step anything,” Rachel said. “I’m explaining.”

  “Oooh, step two,” Crissy teased. Then her smile faded. “Look, you have to do what feels right for you, Rachel. Whether it’s your clothes or your job or your baby. It is your baby, so don’t let anyone else make the decisions for you.”

  “It’s also Carter’s baby,” Noelle said gently. “He sounds like a man who wants to be a father.”

  “He is,” Rachel said, more confused than ever. “Plus there’s his whole family. They seem really nice.”

  The kind of family she remembered hers being. Could she be a part of that now? Under these circumstances?

  “Carter said we should take our time,” Rachel told him. “We’re going to meet and talk and figure it all out.”

  “Sounds like a sensible plan to me,” Crissy said. “Just don’t be rash.”

  “I don’t do rash,” Rachel said.

  “All evidence to the contrary,” Crissy said, with a pointed glance at Rachel’s midsection.

  “Okay. Just that one time. My point is, in one way or another I’ve been on my own since I was twelve. I know how to take care of myself.”

  “Maybe that’s not the issue,” Noelle said. “Now there’s going to be someone else.”

  “A baby,” Rachel murmured. “I’m still having trouble dealing with that. I don’t feel pregnant.”

  “I didn’t for a long time, either,” Noelle said, “but I wasn’t talking about the baby. I meant there was going to be Carter.”

  “But he’s not in my life.”

  “If you’re going to have a baby together,” Crissy told her, “then I would say he is. Permanently.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RACHEL PACED NERVOUSLY the last twenty minutes before Carter was due to arrive. Despite his promise for them to just “talk,” she couldn’t help remembering what had happened the last time he’d been here. Even worse, she couldn’t seem to twist that remembering in such a way that she felt bad about it.

  Okay, yes, the pregnancy had her totally freaked, and given the chance to magically undo the moment of conception, she was fairly sure she would. But she couldn’t help breathing just a little faster every time she recalled what she’d felt like when he’d touched her. Which meant she would have to be extra careful tonight and make sure there wasn’t a repeat of those events. Things between them were complicated enough without adding that to the mix.

  She glanced around at the dining alcove in her apartment. She’d set the table three different ways and had finally settled on the more casual place mats and paper napkins. This wasn’t a date, after all. Just friends getting together to discuss some issues. Only she and Carter weren’t friends and a baby counted for more than just an “issue.”

  She’d worked herself into such a frenzy that she was actually grateful when she heard footsteps on the balcony.

  “Hi,” she said, pulling open the front before he could knock.

  “Hi, yourself.” Carter smiled, then stepped inside. “I’d forgotten your thing for plants.”

  “It’s a hobby,” she admitted, motioning to the hanging baskets and overflowing tiered plant stands in the living room.

  He handed her a picnic basket. “Dinner,” he said. “I hope you like pasta.”

  “Sure. Who doesn’t?”

  He looked good. Normally she liked guys who were the more button-down-collar type, with short hair and loafers. Carter’s shaggy dark blond hair hung nearly to his shoulders. He wore his faded red shirt outside his battered jeans and while he’d put on loafers, they were old and he wasn’t wearing socks.

  She should have been disapproving or at least unimpressed. Instead she found herself wanting to run her hands up and down his chest to see if the shirt was really as soft as it looked and he was as...

  She hurried into the kitchen. Danger, she thought as she set the basket on the narrow counter. She had to keep her mind from wandering. She had to be smart and careful and...something else she couldn’t remember right now.

  She opened the basket and stared at the stacked glass containers inside. “What is all this?”

  Carter moved close and peered over her shoulder. “Ravioli, extra sauce, salad, dressing, garlic bread and something for dessert. I can’t tell what it is.”

  “You don’t know what you made?”

  He looked at her and grinned. “I didn’t cook any of this. My sisters make regular contributions to my refrigerator. Word got out that we were having dinner together tonight and this appeared. I only dragged it along.”

  “Interesting system,” she said, thinking it would be pretty nice to find dinner waiting for her when she got home after a long day.

  “I like it. I never know what’s for dinner, but then I enjoy surprises.”

  Even mine? Except she didn’t ask the question—mostly because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  “There are instructions,” he said, reaching around her and pulling a piece of paper out of the basket.

  She was aware of how close they were standing and the way his forearm almost brushed against her waist.

  He handed her a typed sheet and for a second she couldn’t unclog her brain enough to read. Then she blinked and the words came into focus.

  “Ravioli on the stove with the extra sauce,” she said, telling herself it was a good thing that he moved back and refusing to feel disappointed that he hadn’t spun her in his arms and kissed her. “Garlic bread in the oven. Salad and dressing in the refrigerator along with the dessert. Oh, it’s tiramisu. Did one of your sisters really make it?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’ve never had it homemade before. I can’t wait.”

  “Merry will be delighted to know she’s made a good impression.”

  He gave her a smile that made her insides quiver. Okay, she had to get a grip. She was reacting to his superficial good looks and some chemistry. But there were things that were much more important than that. Such as who Carter was as a man. She should focus on the insides and ignore the pretty package.

  She put the food away, started the oven to preheat it, then asked if he’d like something to drink.

  “I got a six-pack of that beer you were drinking at the bar,” she said. “Would you like a bottle?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  She collected it and a bottle of water for herself, then led the way back into her small living room. As they sat on the sofa, Rachel did her best to ignore the fact that these cushi
ons had been the scene of the crime less than a month ago.

  “Your sisters must live close to you,” she said. “If they’re bringing over food.”

  He leaned back and took a drink of his beer. “Too close. In a weak moment I bought a house on the same street as my mom and sisters. I like the free food delivery, but they’re always dropping in, as you saw. I would like to be a little farther away, but right now moving would take too much time.”

  “Still, so much family nearby is nice.”

  He studied her with his dark eyes. “What happened to your family?”

  She smoothed the front of her khakis. “My parents and my brother were killed in a car accident when I was twelve. There were no other relatives.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning toward her. “What happened to you? Where did you go?”

  “Into foster care.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t awful. The people who took me in were actually pretty nice. I grew up, finished high school and then went to college.”

  “You make it sound easy,” he told her. “It can’t have been. In one second, everything changed for you.”

  She still had nightmares about those days after the accident. About being all alone and knowing nothing would ever feel right again. She remembered vowing she would never, ever feel that much pain again and so far she’d managed to keep her word. She had friends, of course, but no one she couldn’t imagine living without.

  “It was hard,” she admitted. “If I’d had grandparents or aunts or uncles, I think it would have been better. Some family to care about me.”

  “Now you take care of other people’s children.”

  She smiled. “I know—it’s not hard to figure out why I went into teaching. I wanted to be there for my kids.”

  “How long have you been teaching?”

  People usually asked more questions about her loss. She sensed that Carter wanted more information and she appreciated his sensitivity in changing the subject. “This is my fourth year. I love everything about it. Even the messes. I asked the principal about starting a small garden in the spring and she okayed a nice open area near the play yard. That will be fun.”

  He glanced at the tangle of plants on the coffee table. “Just don’t bring anything home. You’re already at risk of becoming a pod person.”

  She laughed. “My plants know I love them. They’d never hurt me.”

  “You say that now, but wait until you wake up with a thorn growing out of your neck and stalks instead of arms.”

  “I’m not worried. What about you? Tell me about your work.”

  “I can’t believe you’re interested in carburetors and timing belts. You’re too much a girl.”

  “Excuse me?” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you saying because of my gender, I’m not into cars?”

  “Are you?”

  “Well, no, but I could be if I wanted.”

  “Sure you could. So are you seeing anyone?”

  The shift in subject startled her. “You mean like a guy?”

  “I’m comfortable with your relationship with the plants.”

  She fought against the need to spring to her feet and glare down at him. “I wouldn’t have slept with you if I’d been seeing someone else. How can you even ask? Are you seeing someone else?”

  “I told you, I was off women until you came along and tempted me. It’s not an unreasonable question.”

  “It is to me. I’m not that kind of person.”

  She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Gee, wow—talk about a moral code. She wasn’t the kind of woman to sleep with one man while dating another, but she would bring a guy home from a bar and have sex with him.

  “I’ve never done anything like that before,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have... ”

  Carter slid across the sofa and touched her arm. “Hey, no beating yourself up. It’s not allowed. Sometimes things happen and we deal with them. That’s what we’re doing right now. Dealing.”

  “But you think I’m awful.”

  “I don’t. I think you got swept away, just like I did. Of course, I blame you for that.”

  She made a sound that was both a laugh and something way too close to a sob. No tears, she thought. Not over this. She preferred to save her crying for something more tragic. While she didn’t know how she felt about being pregnant by a man she barely knew, no one had died. They would get through this.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He moved back to his side of the sofa, which was both good and bad. She liked having him close and touching her. Of course that would only lead to trouble.

  “So we get to know each other,” he said. “Then we make some decisions about how we’re going to handle the baby.”

  “I agree.” She picked up her bottle of water and looked at him. “You never proposed.”

  His reaction was almost comical. His whole body stiffened. His eyes darted from side to side and he looked ready to bolt.

  “Did you want me to?”

  She was impressed by how calm he sounded as he asked the question, and she did her best to hide her smile.

  “It is traditional,” she pointed out.

  His gaze narrowed. “You’re screwing with me.”

  She felt the corners of her mouth turn up. “Maybe a little.”

  He grinned. “I like that in a woman.”

  * * *

  BY THE TIME they finished dinner, there was a whole lot more that he liked about Rachel. She was smart, and she was funny. She held her own when he pushed back and yet he could make her blush without trying.

  “I would have expected lots of dance trophies all around the place,” he said when they’d cleared the table and returned to the living room. “Didn’t you say it was your secret passion?”

  “It was. I had big plans to be a professional ballerina. If that didn’t work out, I was willing to go be on Broadway.”

  “I’m sure New York theater was delighted to be your backup plan.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I know. The arrogance of youth. Eventually I figured out I wasn’t going to be a professional dancer, so I switched dreams.”

  There was something in the way she said the words that told him the decision hadn’t been an easy one. “You kept on dancing, though.”

  “Sure. I take a couple of classes every week. More in the summer. I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to keep them up.” She touched her stomach as she spoke.

  He eyed her belly and wondered when she would start showing. All his sisters had kids, but he’d never paid much attention to their pregnancies except to hope they had boys—which they never did.

  “Any symptoms?” he asked.

  “Aside from panic? Not yet. I’ll be making a doctor’s appointment to find out what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I know to avoid alcohol and medications. Neither is really a problem for me. Aside from that, I’m in the dark.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You’re a guy. That’s expected. Shouldn’t I have some maternal instincts that are activated just by me being pregnant?”

  “Maybe they wait for the baby to be born.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I hope so, because otherwise, I’m pretty clueless.”

  “There’s time.”

  “That’s what I tell myself.”

  He looked around at the bright colors on the wall and the little touches like candles and bowls of stuff that smelled. “Your place is nice.”

  “Thanks. I like to decorate. Your house was nice, too. I only saw the living room, but it wasn’t bachelor pad central.”

  “My sisters,” he said by way of explanation. “They meddled.”

  She smiled. “In some cultures, that would be call
ed helping.”

  “Yeah, well, in some cultures they’d ask first. But I didn’t mind too much. They had some good ideas. I did most of the work myself. I remodeled the kitchen and did all the painting.”

  “Really? You know how to do that kind of thing?”

  He nodded. “My mom worried about me growing up without a father and with only sisters in the house so she was always sending me off to spend the weekend with my friends and their dads. I learned to do basic carpentry, change oil in a car, ride a motorcycle. I don’t think she was too excited about that last one.”

  “Not many mothers would be. But that was good of her, to take care of you that way.”

  “She’s all right.” He wasn’t going to have a discussion about how much he loved his mother. That was too twisted for the already complicated situation. Time to get back to the one thing that had been on his mind since before dinner.

  He leaned toward Rachel. He knew she’d been kidding before, but he wasn’t sure if she’d been hinting. “Did you want to get married, Rachel?”

  Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “No. It’s okay. No proposals are required. Really.”

  That was a relief. “So what do you want to do?”

  She bit her lower lip, which probably meant she was confused. Most of him got that. But the real male part of him interpreted that little movement as an invitation. Sort of a “come kiss me” kind of invitation.

  He wanted her. Even knowing she was pregnant didn’t change that. He wanted to touch her and taste her and claim her. That single night together had been a good start, but there were so many things they hadn’t done.

  “What we’re doing. Talking. Figuring it out without making any rash decisions.”

  “I can avoid rash,” he said.

  She smiled. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. Not my thing.”

  “Is it the fidelity issue? Being with just one woman?”

  “I’ve only ever been with one woman at a time,” he said. “Never cheated.”

  He’d never wanted to. It wasn’t as if he needed more women in his life.