Free Having Nathan's Baby by Fran Louise Page A

wanted to stay another week. The weekend had been so much fun. Hell, I wanted to stay another month. Since when had I not wanted to go back to work? My stomach dipped as I imagined returning to my dry, airless office tomorrow. The stress of my current case mingled with lingering morning sickness; it occurred to me that I hadn’t been ill the previous day. Nathan would be on a plane by ten o’clock that night, flying back to his life at the other side of the continent. I was gripped by a sense of loneliness so strong that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
    I swallowed the emotion back. Damn these hormones. “All set,” I said. I repeated the words in a monotone, unable to meet his eyes as I reached for my light bag. I almost collided with him at the door.
    “What’s going on?” he asked. He had clearly noticed the dip in my mood. His hands clasped my shoulders, his frown heavy.
    I bit down on the emotions again, now welling in my like a tidal wave. “Nothing.” My voice sounding reedy and unconvincing. I took a deep breath. Having a hormone-fuelled meltdown right now would achieve nothing. I wasn’t even sure what was prompting it. “Really, it’s nothing,” I said. I forced a semblance of control into my voice. “I’m fine.”
    His brows lifted.
    “We should get going. I have a ton of things to do tonight,” I added for good measure.
    He kept his hands in place for a second longer. I held my breath, allowing him to search my eyes. I reminded myself who I was; an independent, strong woman who didn’t need a man to hold me up. Leaning on him would be a mistake.
    He seemed to get the message. “Okay, ” he said, but his tone was reluctant. “Let’s get on the road.”
    I felt a mixture of relief and desolation as he turned away and opened the door.
     
    The following week, I slowly morphed back to my usual self. Though tired, I was head-deep in a patent case that was fuelling my motivation. From the first hour back in the office, I was my old distracted and logical self. I was also thankfully too busy to wonder whether or not Nathan was missing me the way I’d been missing him, almost from the second I’d got out of his car outside my apartment block after our weekend in Vermont. Like some kind of love-struck teenager, I’d rushed back up to my apartment, flung myself on my bed and bawled my eyes out. I’d spent a fitful night’s sleep wishing he were there, in my bed. Over and over in my head I’d replayed the safe and loved feelings I’d felt wrapped in his arms that first night in Vermont. Over and over I’d berated myself for the foolish no-sex rule I’d imposed for the rest of the weekend, only belatedly realizing I’d effectively also denied myself any semblance of affection and love. It was almost a relief to be back at work and free of the horrible neediness of it all.
    I missed him, but that was neither here nor there. I’d admitted, to myself at least, that I was in love with Nathan. I’d decided I was having his baby. That didn’t change the fact that we weren’t in a committed relationship, and never had been. How did we go from so many years of respectful distance to … what? I wasn’t even sure what we were moving towards. I wasn’t even sure, in the cold light of day, if I wanted to change the fragile equilibrium in our relationship. We were going to be parents and that was a momentous shift in itself. I was amazed we’d managed to get through the weekend. We had a million things to decide – tiny, important, practical details that had nothing to do with the grief that seemed to be gnawing at my heart, a heart which in turn was permanently swollen with hormone-fuelled emotion. So I put it out of my head and focused instead on work.
    I met Rosalind for lunch the following Friday. Tall and blonde, Rosalind looked like she was walking a runway as she approached the table. I got up and gave her a quick hug.
    “How are you feeling?” She wasted no time in getting to the