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Though John had overall masculine flair in his taste in interior design, a maroon leather couch and chair with glass and chrome tables got her attention, and across the room a surprising floral-upholstered overstuffed chair and ottoman looked beyond inviting.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room that flowed naturally into his kitchen. “You need to rest as often as you can.” He tossed her the newspaper he’d just sorted out of his pile of mail. “Read this while I get cooking.”
“Don’t be so bossy.” At a little after five o’clock she was hungry and more than ready to eat, and decided not to give him a hard time, so she did what she was told and put her feet up, shaking out the newspaper and reading the headlines of the day, all of which were depressing.
She surreptitiously kept track of him while he cooked. He wore khaki slacks that fit in all the right places and a pale blue shirt. He’d removed the tie while he’d shuffled through his mail, and the open-collar look held her interest longer than she’d wanted. But most of all what kept her riveted to watching John was how he genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. She liked discovering that about him.
He ran a tidy kitchen and was very comfortable in it, like cooking was a less sterile version of surgery. She thought of her living arrangement and the tiny outdated appliances she shared. What she’d give to have such a gorgeous modern kitchen at her fingertips. The comfort of the chair and the simple dream of living in a place like John’s soon had her closing her suddenly weary eyes...
“Dinner’s ready!”
Polly sat bolt upright. What time was it? She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She’d taken a forty-minute nap. The hint of garlic, chicken and freshly drained pasta weaving their way from the kitchen and up her nostrils was heavenly. “Give me a sec to wash up, okay?”
“Of course.” He whistled while he set plates and flatware on the bistro-sized table in the corner of the kitchen, and she stopped a couple of moments to enjoy the sight.
The food smelled fantastic and her taste buds went into overdrive, looking forward to the meal as she hurried down the hall to wash her hands.
He hadn’t lied. John Griffin was a darned fine cook. Every mouthful sent jets of pleasure through her gastronomic senses. She could get used to these twice-a-week meals, maybe bargain for a third as time went on. Piecemeal, really, since that was all he was offering in the way of getting involved in the pregnancy. Far be it from her to want to ruin a delicious dinner, but really was that the best the man could offer? She continued to eat with a disappointed outlook.
After a few bites John put his fork down and cast a pressing gaze at her. She wasn’t about to stop eating, but the daunting stare did slow her down a bit.
“I want you to know that I liked you right off. You know, that first week you came to Angel’s. I, or we, did something crazy and out of character, and now we’ve been thrown together in some pretty astounding circumstances.”
She wanted to ask him how long he’d practiced the speech, but decided, as he was finally opening up, not to be a smart-aleck.
He cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m only skirting around the perimeter of our predicament.”
She started to protest his calling her pregnancy a predicament, but when she opened her mouth he raised his voice a pre-emptive notch. “I don’t think any guy would know how to handle it perfectly, but I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m just being honest with you, because I think you deserve it.”
He got up, refilled his water glass, took a long draw and sat back down. “There’s something you need to know about me. Maybe it will explain why I’m not all balloons and bubbles over your pregnancy.”
Sensing his earnestness, she put her fork down and gave him her total attention. “Go ahead, John.”
As if the words strangled and fought in his throat, John’s pained expression made Polly brace for what he was about to say.
“I don’t even know if I told you that I used to be married. Happily married for two years. My wife, Lisa, was a financial adviser.” His voice clogged and he stopped every sentence or two to clear it. “Anyway, we were happy because she’d just found out she was pregnant.”
The heavy foreshadowing made the gourmet meal in Polly’s stomach suddenly feel like a large lump of paper maché. John talked to the table rather than engage her eyes.
“We’d stayed up late, planning, all excited about our baby, how our lives would change.” He had to clear that stubborn lump in his throat again. His nose ran and he wiped it with his paper napkin. Instinctively, the hair on Polly’s arms rose and John’s profile grew blurry.
“We were going to tell my parents over dinner that night. I kissed her goodbye that morning and she went to work on the twenty-second floor of the World Trade Center on September eleventh.”
Chills rolled over Polly’s skin. Tears broke free from her eyes and she realized the implication of that fateful day. She’d been a high-school student at the time, eating breakfast and listening to the kitchen radio when she’d heard the news report. She grabbed John’s knotted fist and squeezed tight. Oh, God, he didn’t need to say one more word. She understood. He’d lost everything he loved and held dear on one historic day.
Polly got up from her seat and circled around John, banding her arms around his chest as she cuddled him from behind. He sat stoic, like the rock of Gibraltar he’d tricked himself into becoming—for survival’s sake, she was sure, she understood that now. Bleeding emotionally for his loss, she stayed with him wrapped in her arms for several long moments as she mulled over their circumstances. She was willing to give him a pass for now, for not committing to their child beyond the neat and tidy logistics of appointments, well-prepared dinners, and finances.
Slowly, as she stood hunched over, holding him, a tiny thought wiggled and snaked its way clear of her emotional landslide on John’s behalf. The thought gained power and implanted itself in the center of her head. That was twelve years ago. Was John determined to keep his life stagnant and take the loss to his grave? More importantly, would Lisa want that for him?
They may have made love under unusual circumstances, but something bigger than both of them had come out of it. They’d made a baby. He could never get his wife or child back, but she and John had made a little life that was growing inside her. A baby with a birth date. March twenty-eighth.
* * *
It was Polly’s turn to clear her thickened throat. “John, please don’t get me wrong, I realize how horrific your loss was. But twelve years have passed, and that’s no excuse for abandoning your responsibility to this child.” She stood straight and placed her hand on her currently flat abdomen, one hand anchored to his shoulder. “This baby needs you now. You’re the father.”
He sat staring at his plate rather than acknowledge her, and when she’d given up on him answering she dropped her hands from his shoulder and her stomach and cleared the dishes from the table.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, belatedly.
“No, this is my way of thanking you for a great meal.” As long as he held onto the past, she’d never have a chance to really get to know him.
John removed the remaining dishes and joined her at the sink. Together they worked in silence, cleaning the kitchen.
“Can you take me home now, please?” she asked, once everything was done.
“Sure.”
Noncommittal seemed to be all the man could offer, and his history explained why, but that definitely wasn’t something she’d settle for, and John really did need to let go of the past.
* * *
John watched Polly from across the kitchen. Her petite frame looked good in anything she wore, which happened to be hospital scrubs. She was right about so many years having gone by, he knew. He couldn’t argue with the logic of being held captive by a time capsule, but the habit had become so deeply rooted into his being that he couldn’t seem to break free. He’d been one of the first responders at the scene and to this day he had flashbacks of treating the injured and mangled, of staring into the faces of the dead, while desperate to find his wife. He’d taken risks amongst the falling debris and rubble searching for Lisa, but it had all been fruitless. She’d died and taken most of him with her. To this day he questioned why he’d lived and she hadn’t.
When Polly had gathered her things, he got his keys and they headed for the elevator.
An hour later, due to heavy traffic conditions, when John dropped Polly off at her century-old building on the Lower East Side, a crazy idea popped into his head. She was the one accusing him of abandoning his responsibility to the child. She’d probably never agree to it but, what the hell, when the time was right, he’d make his pitch.
He’d double-parked and watched while she climbed the stoop stairs and buzzed herself into the building. The thought of her surviving during the long hot summer while being pregnant and living in the ancient brownstone walk-up didn’t sit well. He couldn’t offer his heart to a stranger, but he owed her the common decency of making sure she was comfortable and cared for.
Patience, John, give her some time to realize how hard things will get on her own, then you can make her the offer she can’t refuse.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_3a550072-8519-5b0a-bf8d-a1b5a8fa4083)
FRIDAY MORNING POLLY was measuring out liquid antibiotics at the medicine station for the three-year-old toddler in Room Twelve B when John appeared in her peripheral vision.
He pushed a small brown bag her way. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Your lunch,” he said, already walking away.
“I made my own lunch.”
“Save it for tomorrow. You’ll like this better.”
“How do you know that? Maybe I’ve been craving peanut butter and jelly all day. Maybe I’ve been dreaming about my home-made lunch since breakfast.” When had she reverted to being a contrary teenager again? Could it be the hormones?
He stopped, turned and flashed that slanting smile, his dark eyes reminding her of milk-chocolate chips. Beneath his knee-length doctor’s coat he wore a white shirt and blue silk tie, looking dressier than usual. She inhaled, the savory scent coming from the bag already making her mouth water. Something warm and spicy awaited her, thanks to Dr. Griffin, the father of her baby.
He’d gone out of his way to bring this to her so the least she could do was be grateful.
She mouthed, “Thank you”. He dipped his head and walked away. Truth was, she could easily get used to him catering for her, and wondered how abruptly it would end once she had the baby. She glanced around, noticing Brooke and Rafael giving her odd looks. Oh, man, what must they think? The last thing she needed was to get picked up for the gossip grapevine like that poor Dr. Woods and the neurosurgeon, Dr. Rodriguez. Thank goodness Janetta didn’t work the day shift.
After finishing the obviously home-made minestrone soup with spinach and chicken meatballs, Polly found at the bottom of the lunch bag a large peanut-butter cookie with a note hidden behind it.
Meet me for an early dinner at Giovanni’s tonight? See you there at five.
How could he be so confident she’d come running just because he’d told her to? She went back to work determined to blow him off. Let him sit there and wait for her to show up. She may be pregnant, but she was darned sure not to be taken for granted because of it.
As the afternoon wore on, she prepared a teenage soccer player for surgery on his left knee and right shoulder. She’d given him his pre-op medicine and shot and stayed close by until the transportation clerk could take him to the operating room. As his eyelids grew heavy and he dozed off, she thought about John and his sexy blue silk tie and that off-balance but charming smile. Did she really want to play games with him? He’d asked her to dinner, had seemed sincere enough, and she had no reason not to go, so why stand him up?
The man had been to hell and back over the past twelve years. Here he was getting a little sparkle in his eyes again, and the last thing she should do was give him a hard time. It wasn’t in her nature to play games with men anyway. Besides, in her dating life the guys had always been much better at game-playing than she could ever compete with.
No, after work she’d take her time and freshen up then walk over to Giovanni’s for another dinner with John. Memories of what had happened after the last time they’d eaten there made her lose her step but not stumble. She’d make sure it didn’t happen again, and maybe she’d ask him to drive her home, just to make sure. Besides, lately the fumes in the subway made her feel nauseous.
To her surprise, John was already there, waiting, when she arrived. He’d ordered bottled water instead of Chianti, too, which was sitting on the table. He stood when he saw her, and the smile he gave was definitely genuine. So was the warm feeling inside when she smiled back at him. Without his doctor’s jacket she could see his solid, football-player physique, and it spawned a quick flash of being naked in his arms and near bliss.
“If you like shrimp, I recommend the scampi,” he said, sitting down after she’d shaken the sexy thought from her mind and taken her seat.
“So much for idle conversation. You say dinner. You mean dinner.” She picked up the menu and scanned the specials.
“I’m sorry, is there something you’d like to talk about?”
She screwed up her face. “No. It’s just, well, customary when meeting someone for dinner to start off with small talk like ‘Hi, how was your day?’ or something before getting right down to ordering.”
“Sorry. I have an administrative meeting at seven.”
“On a Friday night?” There went her chance for a ride home. “So why’d you invite me here, then?” If he wanted to get right down to business, so could she.
He poured both of them a glass of the sparkling bottled water then took a drink of his. “I want you to move in with me.”
She almost spit her water right into his face, but instead she swallowed it wrong and coughed. He patted her back, looking concerned. She coughed and hacked for several more seconds, eyes bugging out, feeling embarrassed about how she must look. He looked on, earnestly trying to figure out how to help her. After she settled down she said, “You what?”
“You heard me right. I’ve been thinking about this and as we’re having this baby together, it’s the least I can do.”
That warm something or other she’d felt momentarily when she’d first walked in and seen him smiling at her turned to ice. “The least you can do? Well, how kind of you, sir. Thank you for the magnanimous crumb.” She stood, fully intending to leave. “As far as I’m concerned, you can take that crumb and shove it!” With the room melting down to nothing as her anger overtook every cell in her body, she stomped towards the exit. Before she made it to the street, a big, strong hand grabbed her arm.
“Hold on, hothead.”
She yanked back her arm and kept moving, now outside the restaurant. He followed close behind. “Leave me alone. You’re a jerk.”
He managed to get in front of her, planted both hands on her arms and forced her to stop and look at him. “I know I’m a jerk. I can’t figure out how not to be a jerk or how to handle this thing. Give me a break, will you? I’m trying. I want to do what’s right, okay?”
The fury rumbling through her chest lost strength with each of his sentences. The man was being painfully honest, how refreshing, and she could see it in his tense yet imploring eyes. She blinked then glanced at the darkening sky. She’d made a point to never depend on anyone after the day she’d turned eighteen. Being a child at the mercy of uninterested aunts and uncles had been the most painful part of her life. She couldn’t allow herself to depend on John, though she sure could use his help for a while.
Was it wise to get more deeply involved with someone she barely knew? No. Especially since she’d had a fierce crush on John until everything had gone to hell in a handbasket with this surprise pregnancy.
“Well?” John said, confusion with a touch of impatience in his stare.
“I’m thinking. Can’t you give me a minute?” She glanced at him, reinforcing his jerk status, then went back to staring at the sky. She didn’t know what the heck she wanted from John, yet he was offering to open his home to her. It wasn’t all about herself any more. Nope. She had a baby to think about. Was there anything wrong with testing the waters where John was concerned? She wouldn’t dare get her hopes up or anything, but maybe for a while staying with John in a strictly platonic way could be useful for both her and her baby.
“Okay.”
He lightened his hold. “Okay what? You’ll give me a break?”
“I’ll move in.” Why mess around with pretenses. She was knocked up. He was the father. She hated where she lived, and he’d just offered her a room in his homey condo—a beautiful apartment in a gorgeous part of the city. Why be coy?
“Just like that, you change your mind. You’re ready to move in?”
“Yes. I’ll try it out for a week, see how things go. It will depend on whether or not we’re compatible. In a strictly platonic way. Got it?”
His shocked expression quickly turned to happy, then ricocheted to suspicious. “Whatever you say, dumpling.”
She slowly shook her head. Even if it was a crumb, he’d offered to help, and though she’d been prepared to make it through this pregnancy on her own, she appreciated his gesture, knowing it was way out of his comfort zone. How often in her life had she been invited into a home? Why not take advantage of a win-win situation? A nice place to live. Good food prepared in a kitchen without grease stains everywhere. A roomy bathroom without leaky faucets, mildew, and cracked tile. She could walk to work. Take walks by the East River in the evenings. If she got sick there’d be a doctor in the house.
He tugged on his earlobe, a combination of relief and shock registering on his face. “Okay, then. It’s settled. One week with the option to make it longer, okay?”
“Sweet.”
“Now will you have the scampi?”
Against her will a laugh escaped her lips. “Sure, why not?” He guided her back into the restaurant. “It isn’t every day a girl gets a proposition she can’t refuse, plus a shrimp dinner.”
He ran his hand over his short hair. “Yeah, well, it didn’t come out the way I’d practiced.”
She sputtered another laugh. “You practiced that?”
“Like I said...” He pulled out the chair so she could sit back down.
It did her heart good to see a grown man and skilled orthopedic surgeon, department head like John Griffin fumble and stumble over his words and actions because of her. Maybe she and the baby did mean something to him. Don’t let yourself go there. He’s got a lot of proving to do first.
She sat down and took another sip of water. There was only one way to find out if the man cared about her or not, and under these challenging and unusual circumstances she’d made a snap decision to find out.
By moving in for a week.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, John helped Polly move out of her tiny rented room and managed to fit everything in the trunk and back seat of his car. She’d decided to bring everything so she wouldn’t have to keep running back to the old place for this or that as the need arose. Besides, there wasn’t that much and why leave anything for Mrs. Goldman to snoop through while she was gone?
When she assessed all her worldly belongings, it made her heart feel a little heavier in her chest. The only precious item was a small cherry-wood jewelry box that had belonged to her mother. In it was a delicate gold locket with an enameled cover. It was heart shaped and opened to her mother’s picture on one side and Polly’s on the other. Thinking about her single cherished item from twenty-one years ago made her wonder what object John still treasured from Lisa.
Back at the apartment, she would set the boundaries right off—she intended to stay in his guest room rather than share his bed. Until he could move on from his past, there was no point in trying for a real relationship with John. It kind of hurt her feelings when he didn’t put up a fight about their sleeping arrangements, but she let those thoughts pass.
For a reputed grumpy old department head, John had been polite and helpful the whole weekend, and she began to see the balloon-twisting, cast-signing side of him. The man all the kids on the orthopedic ward adored. He made coffee in the morning and breakfast after that. Before she could offer to make lunch, he beat her to it. Being in his home, he was more relaxed and extremely considerate about making her feel welcome. If only the rest of the staff could see through his shield, but children seemed to have that special gift of looking into the true heart of a person. As for her, she was happy for the new glimpse of him.
On Sunday afternoon John took her on a walking tour of his neighborhood, which was another way of making her feel welcome. Delighted to find a yarn shop, she talked him into letting her go inside. Not in the least bit interested, he waited outside, chatting with a neighbor he’d run into, and she made her purchase quickly, embarrassed to let him see what she’d bought. It was silly, she knew, but she hadn’t knitted in a long time and, well, she was pregnant! She kept the items in a brown bag and his lack of interest made it easy to drop the subject so on they walked through the amazing and upscale neighbourhood of Sutton Place.
They ended the tour on a bench at a small park overlooking the East River. How different this part of town was from the Lower East Side. From a money standpoint, John lived a charmed life, but she knew the whole story—he was alone and hurting. Terribly alone. Even though it seemed he was the one with all the advantages, she knew she could bring something sorely missing into his life. Maybe, with this pregnancy, she could help him experience joy again.
