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When he finally looked up, their gazes met. His upright professionalism gave way to recognition. Recognition morphed into something that resembled utter shock. But it took only a couple of beats for him to compose himself. Becca could see the virtual wall go up around him.
“Hello,” he said. “It’s, uh—it’s nice to see you again.”
His words were clipped and matter-of-fact. There was no trace of the sex god who had zapped her of all common sense and discretion that night.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She tried to keep her voice light. It wasn’t an easy task, lying there on a gurney in a hospital gown, with parched lips and a dry mouth. How many times had she imagined running into him at a park or in a restaurant—in her imagination he was always dining solo, of course, waiting for her and overjoyed by the reunion . But the one scenario she’d never imagined was running into him as a patient in the emergency room, looking as she felt right now.
God, just kill me now.
She instantly regretted the figurative words. Her hand automatically moved to her belly in a protective stance.
She took a deep breath and reframed. This wasn’t the time for vanity. So what if her hair was a mess and her makeup had washed away hours ago? No matter what she looked like right now, she had important matters to discuss with him.
“How long has it been?” he asked. His shock and surprise had settled into a professional half smile that put miles of space between them. The expression established that they were acquaintances. That he was the doctor and she was the patient, and doctors didn’t sleep with their patients.
But until now, she hadn’t been his patient. He had only helped her out by answering questions about her nephew’s condition. Medical terms she hadn’t understood and he’d explained to her.
“It’s been three months,” Becca offered. “Twelve weeks, almost exactly to the date.”
Dr. Nick Ciotti glanced down again at the tablet in his hands. He scrolled with his fingertip. “Yes. So, it’s been...three months.”
She could see him doing the math in his head.
Nick turned to the nurse, whom Becca had just noticed, and Kate. “Would you give me a moment with Ms. Flannigan, please?”
Ms. Flannigan? What?
As if she didn’t feel unattractive enough, now he was making her feel like the mean woman who ran the orphanage in Annie. Wait, no, that was Miss Hannigan. Still, no one called her Ms. Flannigan. Especially not the hot guy who’d gotten her pregnant.
The nurse cast him a look.
“It will be fine, Sally. Becca and I are old friends. We need to catch up.”
Old friends? She forced herself to not look at Kate. If she looked at Kate, she was sure Sally would be able to see everything in the glance they’d exchange.
Nick met Becca’s eyes again. “I’m sure your friend won’t mind giving us a moment, will she?”
Becca opened her mouth to answer. However, suddenly, she didn’t want Kate to leave.
But she and Nick needed to talk. The thought of being alone with him knocked the wind out of her.
“Becca?” Kate asked. “Is that okay?”
What was she supposed to say? No? Don’t leave me?
God, she was so unprepared for this. Then again, it seemed as if she’d been unprepared for everything these past three months.
Just another day in her life. Only this one included the father of her child. The thought sent her free-falling.
She nodded. “It’s fine.”
Sally looked dubious, but she motioned for Kate to follow her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked.
“I’m fine,” Becca repeated.
“We shouldn’t be long,” Nick said, his gaze trained on the tablet in his hands.
Kate cast an uncertain glance at Nick, but she followed Sally out into the emergency room. Once they’d cleared the curtain, an awkward silence stretched between Nick and Becca.
Nick lowered his voice. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Quite a surprise,” she said. “I didn’t realize you’d taken the job.”
“I didn’t at first,” he said. “But we finally came to a meeting of the minds. So, is there something we need to talk about?”
* * *
“Yes, we have quite a bit to talk about,” Becca said. As Nick watched her lips move, he tried to process what was happening.
Becca Flannigan looked like the girl next door with her silky brown hair and piercing blue eyes with golden flecks and a navy circle around the iris. They were the kind of eyes that tempted a guy to stare a little too long. That’s what had happened the night he’d met her, when her sister had been screaming at her, telling her to leave the hospital, blaming Becca for her son’s accident, even though the kid had admitted he’d been drag racing. As he was on his way out after interviewing for the ER job, he’d witnessed Becca trying to ask a question about her nephew’s condition, and then he’d watched the boy’s mother tear into her. He probably shouldn’t have—he should’ve left well enough alone and gone back to his hotel—but as Becca had been walking away, he’d called her back and answered her question.
