by Moss, Brooke
“Yes, and when I find out who it is, guy or girl, I’m going to drive to that cow’s house, and—”
My doorbell rang and I jumped so high I dropped the phone. “Marisol? You still there?”
“Was that your doorbell?”
Scrambling to put the phone back up to my ear, I peered through the crack in my curtains and gasped. Loudly. There, on my doorstep, was Fletcher. “Um, I gotta go.”
“You’re hanging up on me?” She demanded. “I’m in need, here.”
I looked down at my nightgown and grimaced. I looked like Ma on Little House on the Prairie, minus the night bonnet. “I’ll call you right back.”
“What!? You’ve got to be kidding me! You’re—”
I didn’t hear any of the Spanish words she’d started to yell, because my thumb slipped and I hung up.
“Be right there!” I called, looking down at my reflection in the mirror. I looked horrible.
The doorbell rang again. Moving quickly was definitely out, as I’d fallen asleep sometime between the seventh and eighth month, then woken up a slovenly animal with two left hooves. Once I was on my feet, I shuffled towards the bedroom. There was a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt on my bed, and at least if I were wearing those, I wouldn’t look eighty-three years old.
The doorbell rang a third time, and I skidded to a stop.
“Lexie?” A muffled voice called. “I’m sorry it’s so late. It’s me, Fletcher.” He cleared his throat. “Fletcher Haybee.”
Stifling a giggle, I yanked a cardigan off of the back of a chair and tugged it on over my nightgown. I unlocked the chain and swung open the door. “I know who it is.”
A smile slowly spread across his face. “Lexie.”
“Fletcher.” I leaned against the doorjamb and pulled my sweater around my body tightly. It was clear he’d had had a rough evening. His face was covered from even more whiskers than usual, and there were circles under his eyes. “I was on the phone with Marisol.”
His mouth pulled into a line. “She left my place a while ago.”
I drew in a breath, then released it slowly. “She’s upset.”
“Yeah.” A line appeared between his eyebrows. “I screwed up. Hurt two women who didn’t deserve to be hurt.”
I raised an eyebrow at them. “Two?”
He shuffled on the welcome mat. “Can I come in?”
Stepping aside, I took inventory of my tiny apartment. The deep red walls were covered with silver frames filled with black and white food photography, and my charcoal grey couch was covered in a discarded red fleece blanket. Fortunately there were only a couple of lamps on, so the empty ice cream cartons and several discarded dirty socks lying around were hardly noticeable.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” I brushed some cookie crumbs off of the front of my nightgown. “I look terrible.”
Fletcher shook his head. “You’re beautiful.”
My heart raced. Hell, it didn’t just race. It performed the Indianapolis 500 inside of my chest. “Thank you.”
He turned in a circle, taking everything in. Suddenly I was very aware of the fact that I had a bookshelf filled with vintage cookbooks and collectible Elvis figurines. And next to that, there were my AC/DC figurines and autographed Steven Tyler picture. I was a geek, and there was no denying it. If he went into my bedroom and saw my extensive tee shirt collection, the veil would drop completely.
“This place is so you.” He leaned close to a framed photograph of Julia Child on the wall. “Eclectic. Like you.”
I fanned my face. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
He faced me. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, Fletcher, you—”
“You were right.” Fletcher put his hands in his pockets and started pacing. There wasn’t much room in my living room to do it effectively, so he looked like he was turning in circles. “I didn’t break things off with Marisol sooner because she worked on paper.”
I must have looked like I was ready to throw a lamp at him, because he stopped and held his hands out. “Just hear me out. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I meant Marisol wears expensive clothes and drives a BMW. She gets her nails done, and gets a spray tan once a week, even though she’s Hispanic. She acts every other doctor’s wife I’ve ever met since medical school.”
I frowned. “Candace doesn’t do that.”
He shook his head. “But most of them do. Marisol looked the part. She was single, available, and walked the walk.”
A lump started growing in my throat. “You’re not scoring any points with me.”
“I mean she fit the bill.” Fletcher exclaimed. “And, more importantly, she wasn’t my patient.”
“Oh.”
“The woman I’m crazy about is about to have a baby. A baby I was responsible for delivering.” His shoulders sagged, and he looked down. “Do you understand how unethical my dating you would be? I would have lost the respect of my staff, not to mention Brian and Candace. They told me you’d been through so much. That you deserved to finally have some happiness in your life after being hurt so badly. Once they told me that, I…”
He raked a hand through his blonde hair, setting it on end. “I promised myself I would forget about all of the feelings I had for you. I would pretend I wasn’t having a heart attack whenever you walked into the room. If I just gave it some time, and tried harder with Marisol, or, hell, anyone else, eventually my feelings would go away.”
“I felt the same,” I confessed. “I thought it was hormones. I thought it was some pregnancy-induced crush. I kept thinking that if I just stayed away from you, my feelings would disappear, and everything would go back to normal.”
“What the hell is normal, anyway?” His green eyes bored into mine.
“Look at you.” I gestured to his faded jeans and open leather coat. “You’re gorgeous and smart. You’re a doctor, for Pete’s sake, and don’t even get me started on how amazing Martha is. You’re supposed to have the hot wife on your arm. Marisol is exactly that. I’m just me.”
Fletcher took a step closer to me. “But I like just you.”
I looked down at my nightgown. “I look terrible. I—”
“You look beautiful to me. You always do.”
I gestured over my shoulder at my open closet just beyond the bedroom door. “I wear jeans and tee shirts, unless I’m meeting a client. And even then, I carry casual clothes in my car, so I can change as soon as the meeting’s over.”
Fletcher’s eyes locked on mine. “I graduated from medical school wearing a Beastie Boys tee shirt. My ex was furious.”
I didn’t look away. “I don’t like to cook. When I get home after work, all I want to do is put my feet up and watch the DVR, so I eat frozen dinners and ice cream.”
He didn’t look away, either. “I like to cook. Martha bought me a pink apron that says Kiss the Cook for Christmas last year, and I wear it. Often.”
“I wear my hair short because when it grows past my chin I look like Carrot Top.”
“I use more hair products than most women because I have so many cowlicks on my head. When I first get out of the shower, I look like Buckwheat.”
I stifled a giggle. “I drink coffee with a straw because I don’t want to stain my teeth.”
“I used to be anti-gun before I had a daughter.” A smile tickled the corners of his mouth.
“I can’t tan. I’ve tried, and all that happens is I burn, then I peel, then I’m as white as I was when I started. Marisol and Candace tease me because I’m so white, I’m practically translucent.”
He smiled widely and pointed to a row of three perfectly straight, white teeth on the upper right side of his mouth. “You see these teeth here? They’re a bridge. I knocked the originals out trying to learn how to skateboard in college. I fell and cracked myself in the face with the board. I never tried skating again after that, but I still have the board hanging in my office because it looks cool.”
A flurry of butterflies cropped u
p in my stomach. I think I loved him even more. “My mother’s certifiably insane. Her house is filled with dolls that watch your every move, and I’m pretty sure she has full on conversations with them when nobody else is there.”
“My mother owns the DVD of every Denzel Washington movie ever made, and says if she dies, she wants to come back for one day as Denzel’s wife.”
I grinned. “I never learned how to swim.”
“I’ll teach you.” He took another step towards me. “I spent hours playing Dungeons and Dragons as a kid.”
“My ex husband said I was frigid.”
“My ex wife said I was immature.”
Suddenly the room was uncomfortably warm. Damn these pregnancy hot flashes, or maybe it was just the fact that we were headed into uncomfortable territory. But I had to keep going. He deserved to know it all.
“He’s the father,” I said hoarsely, putting my hands on my belly. “The biological father, I mean.”
Fletcher’s lips pulled into a line. “I wondered after your response at the birthday party.” He sucked in a pull of air and released it slowly. “Are you two still involved?”
“No. Absolutely not.” Shaking my head, tears flooded my eyes. “I can’t stand him. We can’t stand each other. He wants nothing to do with me, or the baby, and I’m glad. It was one of those late night, pity party, too much to drink sort of things I wish I could take back. Except that…” I looked down at my middle as the baby shifted within. “Then I wouldn’t have this little guy. And I don’t think I could live without my baby.”
Fletcher’s eyes warmed. “I think you’re going to be a great mother. Sometimes the best things come out of our worst mistakes.”
“You’re a great father.” The tears won, and spilled over. “Martha is amazing. She’s witty and sweet and creative. She’s the kind of kid I hope my baby will grow up to be like.”
He beamed, and it was lovely to see. His blue eyes reflected the light from a nearby lamp, and the weight of his gaze covered my skin in warm goose bumps. “I’m so sorry I got us into this mess.”
“I know,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself to hide my trembling. “I’m just sorry I met you at such a weird time in my life. I’m sorry I’m so huge and pregnant, and I’m—”
“Shh.” Fletcher put his finger on my lips. “Don’t apologize. Not to me. You’re perfect.” Fletcher stepped closer, and we were barely a half-inch apart. The heat coming off his body made my head swim. “I want to be with you, Lexie Baump. I want it to be you, me, Martha and your baby. All together. I want us all to become a family. I want the American dream, or nuclear family, or whatever the hell you want to call it. I want it all with you.”
I should have said something, but I couldn’t. This was happening. I mean, really happening. I opened my mouth, then closed it.
Blank. My mind was blank.
He cringed. “Do you want those things, too?”
Nodding, I croaked my reply. “Yes.”
His hands went to the wall behind me, trapping me between his arms. His nose traced a line across my forehead, then down my temple. I could hear his baited breath, his heart beating—or maybe that was mine—and my eyes fluttered shut.
“I want—”
I didn’t let Fletcher finish. My hands went to the sides of his face and my lips were on his in an instant, and we clicked into place like puzzle pieces once again. His hands slid down the wall to my waist, which he grasped. Pulling me against his body, his hands trembled with a fervency that rattled my ribs, and set off an electrical buzz inside of my head.
Fletcher tilted his head to the side, deepening his kiss and tickling the edge of my teeth with his tongue. I snaked my hands down his chest, gripping the worn cotton in white-knuckled fists and yanking him even closer. Earning an appreciative growl, I dragged his full lower lip between my teeth before pulling back to gaze into his deep pools of azure.
“I’m lightheaded,” I whispered.
“I want you,” he replied.
“Okay.” I brought his mouth back to mine, arching my back. For a moment, I didn’t care I was hugely pregnant. I didn’t care that I’d already washed all of my makeup off, or that my legs felt like hairbrush bristles. All that I cared about was that Fletcher was here with me.
I may as well have been the hottest woman in the world. Fletcher’s heavy-lidded gaze told me that in his eyes I was.
His lips traced an invisible line down my neck to my collarbone, where one of his hands stroked a fiery line across the skin at the neckline of my nightgown. One of the buttons popped open, and his mouth came down on the newly exposed skin, setting fireworks off in my head and making my gasp. The second button opened, and his hand pressed against my heart, feeling the thrum of my heartbeat through my flesh.
“Lex.”
“Don’t talk.” I dragged my nails down the front of his shirt and tugged the hem upward. Fletcher’s breath caught.
His lips brushed mine again, just a whisper of touch, sending shockwaves down my spine. When his fingers grazed down my side, lightly tickling the flesh, my toes curled inside of my socks. I opened my mouth to speak, all of my language skills evaporating into thin air, leaving me with just one word.
“Bedroom.”
Blinking, Fletcher’s neck straightened and he faced me with a bewildered expression. His lips, still slick from our kiss, parted. “Lexie.”
I leaned forward to kiss him again.
His hands grasped my shoulders. Holding me at arm’s length, he stepped back from my body. “No. Stop. Slow down.”
My jaw dropped. “Huh?”
He brushed a strand of hair back from my face, and cupped my cheeks. “I can’t do it this way.”
The baby kicked me in the bladder, and I was suddenly reminded of the circumstances. Eight months pregnant. Flannel nightgown. Hairy legs. No makeup. “Oh,” I mumbled, tugging the sweater closed over my partially unbuttoned nightgown.
“Hey,” Fletcher put a finger underneath my chin. “Look at me.”
“No, it’s okay. I totally get it, I mean, look.” I forced a laugh that came out entirely to loud. “It’s cool. I swear.”
“Wait. Hold on.” Fletcher pulled me against his chest when I tried to duck out of his grip. “Lexie, look at me.” I looked up and he smiled warmly. “Believe me, I want to.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead and my heart squeezed in response. “I want to be beautiful for you,” I told him.
“You already are.” He rested his forehead against mine. “But this isn’t how I want this to happen.”
This time my laugh was genuine. “This isn’t one of those vampire movies, Fletcher. You don’t have to be virtuous. I know I’m super pregnant, and it’s probably not such a turn on.”
“It’s not that.” He leaned in and pressed another kiss to my lips. “It’s just that I want something substantial. I want to get to know you, and—”
“You’ve given me a pap smear. How much more do you want to get to know me?”
“Not funny.” Fletcher’s face reddened. “I mean, I want to do this properly. I want to take you on a date.”
I giggled. Being around Fletcher made me feel like an excited teenager being hit on by the quarterback of the football team. Or, rather, a pregnant teenager. “Okay. A date, then.”
He grinned, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes made an appearance. “Awesome.”
I touched his lips lightly with my own. “Where are we going for this date? Judging by my size right now, a buffet would be lovely.”
“Stop it.” He shuddered—yes, shuddered—when I kissed him. He laced his fingers with mine, and walked me over to my couch. “I don’t know where we’re going yet. But I’ll figure it out. We’ll go on the date of the century in a couple of weeks.” He sat down and pulled me onto his lap.
“A couple of weeks? Why so long?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I would make it that long before our first date. Why didn’t he just ask me to walk on hot coals while he w
as at it?
“My brother is flying in tomorrow help me move into the new house and spend some time with Martha.” Fletcher stroked his fingers up and down my leg as we sat there, and I almost forgot that I was probably squishing his legs. Almost. “And then next weekend we’re all headed to Arizona for a family reunion. We do it every few years.”
I nodded. “Sounds like fun.”
“I wish I could buy you a ticket to go with us. My mother would love you. But it’s too dangerous to fly this late in your pregnancy. Doctor’s orders.” He touched his finger on the end of my nose, making my stomach whirl. “Plus, I want to keep you to myself for a while. Maybe I’ll come over with some Chinese takeout while my brother is here.”
“Mmm, sounds awesome.” I closed my eyes and pressed my face into his hand, drawing in his scent. “That constitutes a first date, doesn’t it?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Nope. You deserve more.”
I pouted. “When will you get back from Arizona?”
“Two weeks.” His hand curled around the back of my neck, pulling me down for another kiss. We pulled apart with a smack and he winked at me. “I traded a month of on-call time with Dr. Javornik to do it, but I haven’t seen my brother in over a year. This will be our first time together with the whole family in three. I’ll try to sneak away while my brother is here, so I can see you, but the minute I get back, it’s you and me.”
I nodded and brought my mouth to his again. I had no idea how I was going to get through the next two weeks. Now that I had Fletcher, I didn’t want to let him go.
Plus, that buffet didn’t sound half bad.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Lex, someone’s here to see you.”
Marisol’s eyes were narrowed, and I immediately thought Fletcher had come into Eats & Treats to see me. He’d already surprised me with ice cream late the other night, leaving Martha home with his brother while he snuck away to see me.
Marisol still didn’t know he and I were together, but that hadn’t stopped me from tiptoeing around her for the last week. I was extra careful not to mention his name, even though he was in my thoughts—and his name was on the tip of my tongue—all the time.
