Tamara snuggled into him. ‘Pretty darned good, huh, Dr Maguire?’
‘More than,’ he agreed. ‘I want you to meet someone tomorrow.’
Sitting up, she locked her eyes on him. ‘Who?’
‘My mam. Thought we could have a call. I’d have to check she’s at home, otherwise we’ll try on Sunday. But be warned, Sunday means the whole tribe will probably turn up at her house.’
He could see doubt warring with pleasure in her face. ‘Is this to tell her about the baby?’
‘Yes. She’ll be thrilled.’
‘But you’re not married. Will that be okay?’ Her voice trailed off.
Now was not the time to talk about marriage—not in a pub with too many sets of ears flapping. ‘Mam will be more than happy we’re having a baby. Trust me on this.’
‘I wish my mother would listen long enough to hear my news.’
‘Want to try again over the weekend?’
‘I can, but I guarantee the result will be the same.’ Now that smile had disappeared completely, tugging at his heartstrings.
He wanted to smother this woman with love and affection, give her all the things she’d missed out on for so long. There was that L word again. What was going on in his head? Patience. His new go-to word. Rushing either him or Tam was not the way to do things. ‘Want another sparkling water? Or shall we head home?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Home? Whose?’
As in we don’t live together. Yep, he got it. ‘My apartment’s closer.’ And not filled with objects from your past.
‘I have nothing but the best memories of your apartment.’ Her smile was slow, and teasing, and struck him right under his ribs.
‘Up to making more?’
Tam stood and held her hand out to him. ‘Show me.’
* * *
Memories. Tamara hugged herself as she waited at the finish line the next day for Conor to appear around the far corner. They’d made some amazing ones last night back at Conor’s place. She was stacking up a load lately. All with one central figure.
Conor.
There. Running hard as he aimed for the end of the race, strangers and her cheering him on. His jaw was fixed in a determined way she’d not seen before. Those long athletic legs stretching out, eating up the metres, his strong arms pumping the air. Doing this to keep healthy, to stay alive. She could only hope he didn’t go crazy and overdo the fitness thing now that he was becoming a father. Too much could be as dangerous as too little.
‘Go, Conor,’ she yelled, and jumped up and down. ‘You can do it.’
He wasn’t about to win the race—someone had already done that. He wasn’t even in the first couple of hundred runners home, but he obviously wanted to keep the place he had, and therefore so did she.
As he passed her she waved and shouted, ‘You’re amazing, Conor Maguire.’ She couldn’t run one kilometre, let alone ten, in a good time.
His running shorts and singlet clung to his sweat-drenched skin, outlining every muscle, the wide chest and narrow hips she adored exploring. Not the perfect athlete’s body, but perfect to her. The body that fitted hers, made hers hum. The man who was determined to be a part of her and their baby’s life regardless of any argument she might put up. The man she wanted onside every step of the way with their child. With her. For life.
Memories. Those new ones felt good, right.
She walked towards him. He’d finished, was leaning over, hands on his knees as he took in great lungsful of air. She touched his shoulder, then his head. ‘You’re nuts. You know that, don’t you?’
His eyes were that light blue she adored when he dragged his head up. ‘I figured out halfway through that it would’ve been as energetic to have stayed in bed with you this morning, and a lot more enjoyable.’
‘Good answer.’ She dug into the day pack she’d carried slung over her shoulder all morning and pulled out his towel and water bottle. ‘Here.’
‘I was a bit short on energy today.’ He grinned.
‘That’ll teach you for carrying that rubbish bin out to the roadside this morning.’
‘Nothing to do with the midnight antics in my bedroom, you reckon?’
She stepped back, hands up. ‘I’m not taking the blame for your poor performance. In the race, I mean,’ she added with a laugh.
‘Is that a compliment? Wonders will never cease.’ He shrugged out of the singlet and pulled on a sweatshirt. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘You don’t want to stay for the speeches and prizegiving?’ Not something that would excite her, but she hadn’t been the one to put all the effort into running for the children’s charity.
Conor shook his head. ‘I’d prefer a shower, cold beer and food, and time with you—alone.’
Tenderness spread throughout her. This special treatment was—well, special. She was so not used to it. What if—? No. Conor meant what he’d said, showed her in actions as much as he put it in words. He cared. There was a soft tightening behind her breasts as she slipped her hand into his. ‘Let’s go.’
She was getting used to being this close to him. She felt safe. But her heart was still secure despite that achy nudge. The love factor was still on lock-down.
* * *
Tamara grabbed her phone to see who was calling. The band tightening around her heart relaxed. ‘Morning, Conor.’
She’d missed him from the moment he’d climbed out of her bed midevening last night to go back to his apartment. At her insistence. They’d spent the afternoon doing weekend chores, grocery shopping for each of them, going to the farmers’ market, doing their laundry, and getting on too well. Spooked at how well, Tamara had suggested Conor go back to his place after they’d made love. It was one thing to acknowledge to herself she was happy with the way they were progressing; it was quite another to be reminded of it at every turn, each glance. Too much too soon. She just wasn’t as ready to have Conor full time in her day-to-day life as she’d thought.
‘Hey, Tam, how are you?’
Back to calling her Tam. He can’t have been too peeved at being kicked out of her bed. ‘Couldn’t be better.’ Or was he using that to wind her in as he wished?
Stop it, Tamara Washington. Give the guy a break. He deserves so much better of you than this.
‘What about you?’
‘Bursting with energy.’
‘After that ten k. Impressive.’
‘You forgot to add the rest of my activities.’ There was laughter in his voice. Was Conor happy? With her? To be with her?
‘I haven’t forgotten anything.’ Scary. What really got to her was that it mattered. Conor in her life outside work was beginning to mean something special.
‘Feel like catching the ferry across to Devonport for lunch? The day’s perfect for being out on the water.’
‘That’d be awesome.’ The sky was blue for as far as she could see from her window. ‘The harbour should be calm enough for my stomach.’ It had done its morning ritual hours ago.
‘You worry too much,’ he admonished softly, that brogue tickling her in places best left alone unless he was standing right beside her. ‘You’re usually back to normal in no time at all.’
‘What don’t you notice?’
‘Hard not to when you’re usually scoffing a pastry by nine o’clock.’
‘Stop talking and get around here.’ She pressed ‘off’, feeling a hundred percent happier than before he’d phoned. So simple. One short call and her life was back on track. The new track that involved Conor and the baby and a life.
The one that had had her going through her wardrobe earlier to throw out all the shapeless clothes she’d accumulated. How had she let herself get so down that she hadn’t cared about her looks? No one from her past would believe that. Right from when she’d been a
toddler, clothes had been as important as being her father’s special girl.
Today she sported another pair of capri pants and a blouse from a time when she had dressed well, the surprise being that they still fitted perfectly. But not for long. Her fingers splayed across her stomach. Did maternity wear come with style and flair? Must do, surely?
‘I’m going on a date,’ she sang as she applied eyeliner. A real dinky-die date with a real dinky-die hot man with a body dreams were made of.
Look what usually happened to her dreams.
She shivered, slapped the eyeliner pencil on the counter and tugged the mascara wand out of its tube.