"Do vending-machine snacks count as proper food?" he asked, trying to tease his way back into their normal routine. The separation had been hell—he had no intention of returning to that empty existence, no matter what he had to do to convince Vicki.
She gave him an arch look and broke a couple of eggs into a bowl. "I hope you're joking."
Caleb knew how to cook. Forced by circumstance, he'd learned to do so as a young child, feeding both himself and his younger sister when his parents became too caught up in themselves. But from the first day of their marriage, Vicki had taken over the kitchen and he'd let her. It had always been one of his secret pleasures that his wife cared enough about him to ensure he ate properly. No one else had ever bothered.
Which was why it had hurt so much when she'd stopped.
Taking the coffee, along with the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon she passed over, he tried out a smile. "Aren't you joining me?" Breakfast was one of the few meals they'd managed to share regularly. He wondered what she'd do if she knew that he'd skipped breakfast while living at the hotel, unable to bear her absence. Not that he had any intention of telling her.
She made a face. "I think I'll wait an hour or so."
"You okay, sweetheart?"
Her lips curved into a smile that sucker punched him with its beauty. "Just a tiny bit of morning sickness that's actually hitting in the morning, for once."
"Doesn't it always?" He was fascinated by the life growing inside of her, hoped she wouldn't shut him out of the experience the way she'd shut him out of her bed.
She shook her head. "No. It comes and goes on its own schedule. But I'm lucky—I haven't really had it bad at all. Eat or you'll be late."
Obeying, he watched her move around the kitchen dressed in jeans and a sea-green cardigan that looked so touchable, he wondered if she'd worn it to torment him. His hands itched to mold themselves over her slender frame. Her three-month-old pregnancy wasn't yet visible and she looked much as she'd done when they'd married, but as he'd learned last night, things had changed.
"Toast." She plucked two pieces out of the toaster, buttered them and handed them over.
As he took them, his gaze fell on a pale pink envelope sitting on the far end of the counter next to the fruit bowl. "What's that?"
"A card from Mother."
He eyed her carefully. "What does it say?"
"Only that she might be visiting Auckland in a week or two to catch up with me. Eat." She waved a hand at him and walked over to put the envelope in the back pocket of her jeans.
Caleb wondered if she really felt as carefree as she was making out. Danica Wentworth's infrequent interruptions of Vicki's life tended to leave his wife distraught. He'd tried to broach the subject with her more than once, but she'd backed away with alacrity that spoke of such deep pain, he'd never pursued it. In truth, part of him worried that if he pushed her on this point, she might push back, and there were things about his childhood he wanted no one to know.
But that same childhood had also given him the tools to understand her wariness. What child would want to remember the woman who'd abandoned her to pursue a lover? Though that man had gone on to marry another, Danica remained in a relationship with him to this day—she'd never left him like she'd left her four-year-old daughter. Worse, she had entrusted Vicki to her ex-husband's mother, Ada, a woman about as maternal as a gutter snake.
Vicki shot him a curious look when he continued to stare at her. "What?"
"Nothing." Nothing that he could put into words.
He ached to walk over and wrap her in his arms, to show her what he felt. It seemed as though he'd spent eternity aching to hold his wife. But always he stopped, knowing that she wouldn't welcome such advances. That moment in his office yesterday had been an aberration. She'd been upset and vulnerable and he'd acted on instinct.
"Are you going to court today?" She eyed his black suit and to his surprise, came over to fix the collar of his shirt. The woman-scent of her went straight to his heart.
He nodded, trying not to look as stunned as he felt. Vicki never touched him unless he initiated contact. "The Dixon-McDonald case."
Her eyes met his and she dropped her hands, as if startled by her own actions. "Two companies fighting it out over a patent, right?" A soft blush shading her cheeks, she walked around the counter and picked up the carafe to refill his coffee. "Think you guys will win?"
He was further surprised by her knowledge of the case. "Callaghan & Associates always win." He grinned despite feeling strangely off balance. Vicki was … different.
Though she refused to meet his gaze, she laughed. "What's the firm doing involved in a patent case? I thought that was pretty specialized."
God, he'd missed her laugh. It made him realize how long it had been since he'd heard it—months before his move to the hotel. "When did you start keeping track of my files?" His tone was conversational but in his gut, guilt churned. Why hadn't he noticed the extent of her unhappiness before now? Even when she'd rocked their world by asking him for a divorce, he hadn't woken up to that fact. Why the hell not? Had he been so wrapped up in work he'd forgotten the woman he'd promised to love, honor and cherish?
Finally, she raised her head. "Since always."
"But you've never talked to me about any of them before." Never talked about the firm he'd built with blood, sweat and tears, though it had been an integral part of their life. "Even when you held dinner parties for my clients, you asked barely enough to ensure things ran smoothly."
"I…" She paused and then took a deep breath. "I guess I didn't want to sound stupid. It's not like I have legal or corporate training. And you never seemed to want to discuss your work when you came home. I thought maybe it had something to do with confidentiality."
His head spun at the uncertainty in her tone. "You couldn't sound stupid if you tried. Attorney-client privilege doesn't stop us discussing things in general terms like we just did. I never talked about work because I thought you weren't interested." And why exactly had he thought that?
The answer remained frustratingly out of reach, but he understood enough to fix this mistake. "The reason we got involved is that the client followed Marsha Henrikkson—" he named one of his newer associates "—when she switched to our firm. She's a qualified patent attorney."
Vicki beamed at him.
"What?" he asked, rocked by his own pleasure at having made his wife smile. Sunlight shimmered off the wooden counter and suddenly, bittersweet shards of memory cut into him. He remembered sanding this counter and looking up to find Vicki smiling at him from the other side. Back then he'd been full of hope for their future, still cocky enough to laughingly grab his wife and tumble her to the floor.
"Nothing." Continuing to smile, she asked, "Do you want more toast?"
Memory and reality converged in her happiness. "No, this will hold me." He took a last sip of coffee and stood, wishing he didn't have an early appointment. The two of them hadn't been this easy with each other for far too long. "I'll call if I'm going to be late."
"Fine."
He caught the edge in her tone. "What does that mean?" If blunt questions were what it would take for him to get to know this intriguing woman who'd shown him more fire and passion in one day than she had during the rest of their marriage, he'd ask a thousand of them.
Her jaw firmed. "You're always late, Caleb. I can't remember the last time we had dinner together when it wasn't a work function."
He'd never thought she cared one way or the other if he was around. After all, she could hardly bear it when he reached for her and if he was with her, he wanted to touch her. Her dislike of intimacy with him had half destroyed him, but she was still the only woman he wanted as his wife. "You want me home for dinner?"
"Of course I want you home for dinner!" Frown lines marred her forehead. "You're my husband."
The decision was easy. "I'll be home."
Another unexpected smile lit up her features, erasing the frown. "Really?"
"Promise." He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and taste the sunshine sparkling on her lips.
She stepped closer. "I'll wait for you."
He wished she'd touch him, hug him, anything. But Vicki had never taken that sort of action and eventually, he'd learned to withhold his own inherently physical nature, learned not to ask for things she could never give him.
Even if it shredded his soul.
* * *
Vicki watched Caleb get into his dark sedan and drive away. No matter how well she thought she knew him, he could always surprise her. The way he'd agreed to come home early without any hesitation had been a shock, given his dedication to his work.