Page 26 of Doctor Daddies

My heart sinks. Shit—I’ve encountered a few cases of the illness over the years at work, and it’s not something anyone, let alone a kid like him, should have to deal with.

“Fuck, I had no idea,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Maybe you could help me out in future if I need any medical advice,” she replies. “But he’ll be okay. He just needs time to get used to new places, that’s all.”

“Well, if that ever changes?—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” she assures me with a smile. “You have my word.”

We pull up outside the clinic, and I check my watch. “Half an hour till your appointment. You want to get a coffee or something, have it in my office?”

She hesitates. It’s clear she’s not entirely sold on the idea of being alone with me, perhaps all too aware of what I saw the other day when she was with James. But then, seemingly willing to brush it aside, she shrugs.

“You know what, that sounds great,” she agrees. “I only get a coffee a day now that I’m pregnant, might as well make it a good one, huh?”

We make our way over to the coffee shop on the other side of the street, and I get our drinks for us; a black coffee for me, a caramel soy latte for her

“You didn’t want to go for something more interesting?” she teases me as we cross the road once more and head inside the clinic.

“This is plenty interesting for me,” I reply. I take a sip of the coffee, the bitter flavor spreading over my tongue. “I don’t need all that extra stuff. I actually like the taste of coffee.”

“Well, I do need it all,” she replies playfully, tossing her hair over one shoulder as though it should have been obvious. “And it’s way better with all of that, anyway.”

“I’ll let you keep believing that.”

I push open the door to my office and let her go in ahead of me, trying not to let my gaze linger on the curve of her ass beneath her skirt. I just can’t see her like that, it’s too dangerous. No matter what happened between her and James, I can’t assume that she’s interested in Cole and me. A lot has changed over the six years since we last saw each other, and it’s not right to just guess at the interest she might or might not have in the rest of us.

She slumps down into her seat, lifting her coffee to her lips and taking a long sip.

“Mm, that’s so good.” She sighs. “So, how long till my appointment did you say it was?”

I tap onto my computer, and let out a sigh when I see the time. “Looks like they’ve pushed it back another half hour,” I reply apologetically. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while longer.”

“I’ll just have to make do,” she replies, and she flashes me a grin over the top of her cup.

It feels like some of the tension between us is finally starting to ease, and I force myself to try and relax slightly. This woman is going to be the mother of my children; the least I can do is try to get along with her, no matter what else might be going through my mind.

She traces her finger around the side of her cup for a moment, and then, finally, she speaks once more. “The apartment really is amazing,” she tells me. “And I can’t thank you guys enough for getting me set up with it. I never thought I would be able to have a place like this one, but it’s perfect. It really is.”

“Glad we could help,” I reply, and I mean it. I’m just pleased that we’re able to do what we can to make life a little easier for her.

“I mean, having an extra bedroom is already enough,” she adds. “But that kitchen? I could hardly open my arms out in the last one, I was constantly tripping over things and burning myself, but this…” She shakes her head. “I think it might actually give me the reason to learn to cook that I’ve been looking for all these years,” she says, smiling.

I chuckle. “I could teach you, if you like,” I offer. “I’m not bad myself.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d have time to learn to cook,” she says, gesturing around. “I mean, what with getting this place off the ground and everything. And you could probably afford a private chef, if you wanted someone to keep on top of that stuff for you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I agree. “But when we were first getting started, cooking was my way to unwind. Spend an evening cooking a good meal for myself after I had worked all day, that was the idea.”

“I love that,” she says, tipping her head to the side. “You know, I might take you up on those lessons. I need to learn some recipes that I can make for Lewis that won’t cause a flare. I know I should be cooking at home more—it’s way easier to tell what goes into food when you’re making it yourself, but I didn’t want to try a new recipe and spend all that money on ingredients if he wasn’t even going to be able to enjoy it, you know…?”

She stops herself in her tracks.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I know you don’t want to hear about all of his stuff?—”