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“See you,” I say, not even watching him leave as Seb bounds over to me. He bends down low and presses his forehead to mine, breathing in my scent like a starving man. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he murmurs, his eyes flashing between green and hazel. Up close, I can see the little green flecks, and they’re so pretty. “Who was that?”
“My old doctor,” I say, and he grins. I roll my eyes and pat his cheek just as my name is called for food. Seb grabs it, and I lead him over to the seating area.
The only table left open is the one that Dr Thomas was sitting at. Everything has been cleared away, apart from a napkin that’s sticking out from under the little basket of condiments. I tug it out, and my blood runs cold.
Seb snatches it from me before I can read more than just my name, and he growls low.
“Who?”
“Dr Thomas was sitting here,” I whisper, and Seb gives one firm nod. “Is… is everything okay?”
He reaches over the table and cups my cheek. “I won’t let it be anything but.”
He cuts my sandwich in half and holds it out to my mouth so I can take a bite, and we continue the meal in a similar fashion. Seb’s attentiveness doesn’t erase my panic, neither does seeing how sweet he is with my daughter.
“You’re shivering,” Seb murmurs, pulling his jacket off. He wraps it around me before we leave, and on the way home, he drives.
I can’t help that the napkin was in his pocket. I can help the fact that I took it out to read it.
But I wish I didn’t. I wish I’d left it alone.
Surely, it was a coincidence having my name written down. A bigger coincidence to have Phoebe’s there, too.
But having Ryan’s name written down should be an impossibility.
Nobody—nobody—should know the name of her father.
Fuck.
14
MAIA
“You can’t be in the room,” I repeat, giving Christopher a stern look. He raises a perfectly sculpted brown eyebrow, and his lips quirk up in amusement. “This is for Phoebe and me, and I don’t want to try and explain who you are to the nurse.”
“That’s fair enough,” Christopher says. “Can I work somewhere upstairs so I’m not in the way?”
“Sure. I’ve got my room, or there’s an office, but not much is set up in it.”
He shrugs. “I’ll sit in your room. I’m not trying to overwhelm you, Maia. We’re here to help.”
I wrap my arms around myself, looking around my living room instead of at him. “It’s hard to accept the help when I feel like the only reason you’re offering it is to get in my pants.”
He snorts, and I can feel heat rushing to my cheeks. Phoebe’s on her play mat with some black and white cards of fruit hanging around her to try and stimulate her little brain.
“Maia, look at me,” he calls, but I refuse to turn and look at him. He heaves a sigh and comes to a stop in front of me. He gently lifts my chin up, and I look into his eyes. I expected him to be annoyed or maybe even still carry traces of his humour.
But there’s not. He’s very serious.
“You’re still healing, Maia, from delivering a very perfect little girl into the world,” Christopher says softly. “My goals are to support you, to protect you both, and to eventually figure out our mating situation. For now, my only goal is to get through each day without overwhelming you or making you hate me.”
I sigh. He’s so serious, so gentle, but so fucking intense. I lean into the sparks, into his warmth, and he squeezes the side of my face. “I feel guilty every time we get close.”
Now he frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Like when I kissed—” His jaw drops, and I slam mine shut, realising he didn’t know about the kisses I’ve shared with Alex.
