The Baby Truce (18 page)

You didn't overreact. You reacted normally.

But for some reason, he wouldn't or couldn't acknowledge that.

“Thanks,” Reggie said. “I wasn't able to figure out
the chicken sausage filling.” She'd made her own, but wanted his recipe.

“I'll write it down when I get there.”

Once they reached Tom's house, he thanked Frank and Bernie, who headed off to their place, and told Reggie he'd be at the kitchen within the hour.

She started for her car, then stopped as the thought that had been nudging at her brain finally took form. How on earth could she have been so dense?

 

T
OM STOOD UNDER THE SPRAY
longer than necessary, despite the water stinging the healing cut on his side and back. What had started out as a quick shower ended up being a fight with himself.

Reggie had made it more than clear from day one that she didn't want him in her life, because she believed he'd put his career first. And he was doing just that.

Was he running out on her?

She'd never wanted him to stay.

But if he worked a year or two without getting fired…well maybe he could then get a job in the States, close to Reggie and the kid. See if he could get to know his child. It probably wouldn't be too late…would it?

He'd loved his father, respected him, even if he hadn't been able to spend as much time with him as he'd wanted. Even though Tom was just a kid, he'd understood. Would his kid understand and love him? It seemed reasonable, given his own experiences.

But the one thing he was absolutely certain of was that he had to go. It was time. Whenever he considered not leaving, his anxiety spiked.

He needed to put his career on track, then work on everything else. Try to repair his life one aspect at a time.

When he came out of the bathroom, tying the towel at his waist, he almost dropped it when he saw Reggie sitting on the bed, her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands in her lap. Brioche was curled up in a ball beside her.

“Damn it, woman. You scared me.” He hitched the towel higher.

“Second time today.”

“How so?”

“Brioche,” she said, stroking the dog's head. “That had to have been frightening, having her disappear like that.”

“I wasn't frightened,” he said dismissively. “I was concerned. She's small, you know. Big dogs and fast cars out there.”

“I see,” Reggie said, in a tone that put his back up.

“Do you?”

“Mmm.”

“Why aren't you at the kitchen?” he asked.

“Because I've spent too much time there, using my business as a shield.”

“From what?” he asked, dropping the towel and grabbing a pair of boxers off the top of his suitcase. Reggie kept her eyes on his face. Mostly.

“Anything I didn't want to deal with. It's so much easier to focus on the urgency of getting ready for an event. But you know what? Eden and Patty are capable of prepping.” She touched her belly. “And I need to get
used to believing they can function without me, just like we managed to function without Eden.”

Tom stepped into his cargos, then shrugged into a white T-shirt. “Well, maybe we better get down there now.”

“Bury ourselves in work and avoid everything else?”

“However you want to put it,” he said impatiently.

“You're worried about more than Brioche and the job, aren't you?”

He stared at her. How in the hell was he supposed to answer that? “Look. In hindsight, it was probably ridiculous to get that upset over a dog.”

“Really?” she asked flatly, her expression radiating disbelief. “Come on, Tom.”

“What do you want, Reggie? Should I break down and sob or something? Would that satisfy you?”

“I want you to answer the question,” she said with maddening calm. “What else is bothering you?”

“The baby, damn it. All right?

“There hasn't been a guy alive who hasn't felt some kind of trepidation at the prospect of fatherhood. So, yes. I'm a guy. I feel some nerves in that regard.
And
I'm concerned about putting my career back on track.”

She cocked her head, telling him she wasn't satisfied with his answer. Tough. It was his answer. A solid, truthful answer.

And it was all he was giving.

“Let's go,” he said, stepping into his canvas shoes. Reggie got off the bed, but Brioche stayed there, curled up, watching him.

He was leaving her in the house. No more chances.
And before he handed her over to Frank and Bernie, they had to swear that their fence was unbreachable. As he'd told Reggie, Brioche was a small dog and there were a lot of dangers out there. He felt responsible.

 

T
HE TALK WITH
T
OM HAD BEEN
just as frustrating as Reggie had anticipated. But she'd lobbed the first volley. Another would follow. She could be stubborn, too.

As promised, Tom wrote out the chicken sausage recipe as he made it. Otherwise, he said, he'd forget a step, because he tended to cook on autopilot.

After he was done and had stored away the trays of empanadas they'd made together in stony silence, he asked Reggie if she needed more help. It was only eleven o'clock and yes, she did need more help, but he was so closed off that it was uncomfortable having him around—especially when she needed to think.

She shook her head. “No. I think we have it from here.”

He also had things to say—she could see it in his expression—and quite possibly had no idea how to say them.

Good. He needed to mull this through, as did Reggie.

“I'll see you later,” she said as she walked with him to the rear entrance. “Thanks for coming in.” He stared down at her, his mouth held in a tight line. She put a palm on his chest, felt the rhythm of his heart, then slid her hand up and around the back of his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. When his lips touched hers, she felt the heat, but he was holding back. Retreating.

Fine.

For now.

After Tom left, Reggie worked quickly to get the rest of her prep done. Yes, they could have used him, but she wanted him out of there while she settled a few things in her head. She worked with intense focus, ignoring Eden until her sister finally said, “What gives?”

Reggie looked up from the olives she was pitting for tapenade. “I'm plotting.”

“Something to do with Tom?”

Reggie finished the last olives, then went to rinse her hands. “You know…it's funny how you can get your mind set in one direction and just keep chugging along, twisting everything around to fit this theory. A theory that, on the surface, seems solid.”

Eden twisted her mouth sideways. “Uh, yes. Like when I believed that if I made cheerleader I could win David Summer's heart?”

“Something like that,” Reggie said. “I thought I knew Tom. We lived together for a year. Planned this business together.”

“And then he left you.”

Reggie took Eden by the shoulders, leaving wet finger marks on her blouse. “I missed the boat, Eden.” Her sister frowned when Reggie didn't elaborate, but instead shook her again.

“Just…you missed the boat? No explanation?”

Reggie let go and went back to the counter, where the pitted olives lay waiting on a cutting mat. “All that bluff and bravado? Smoke screen.”

“For what?”

Reggie reached for the sharpening steel to take the burrs off her knife. “Fear. He's afraid, Eden.”

T
OM WAS PACKED
. I
T HADN'T
taken very long, he was leaving one of the two suitcases of clothes he'd brought cross-country in the house, and taking the other one with him.

Frank and Bernie had agreed to let him drop Brioche off in the morning, and to keep her inside until the fence bottoms were secure. In return Tom would bring them back French postcards…if such a thing even still existed.

And he'd see Reggie when he got back. They would set up some kind of an account for medical bills, child support, etc. He'd do his best to get back to the States for the birth of his child. He couldn't miss that.

Nope. And maybe by then…

He wasn't going to delude himself. Reggie was right. His career would always come first. He was exactly like his father.

Tom sat on the futon and stared across the room. He needed to jump into action, do something to stop the raging anxiety inside him, yet had no idea what he could do.

The rattling of the front storm door sent Brioche on high alert, all the hair standing up on her neck as she poised stiff-legged on the futon, ready to attack.

Reggie. He knew it was her before he opened the door. She stood on the porch, looking up at him without saying a word. She was dressed in a smock thing. Looser than necessary for the small bump she'd developed, but a reminder of what was to come. What he would miss.

Brioche peeked between his legs, then turned a circle. Reggie was welcome.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't holding the door.

“It's good to see you two together.”

He smiled tightly. “Is everything okay?”

She ran a palm over her opposite arm, her green eyes wide and serious as they met his. “No, Tom. It's not.”

His heart skipped, thumping against his ribs. “The baby?”

“Is fine. You and I are not.”

He closed the door. This was not going to be a quick visit to say goodbye.

“Do you love me, Tom?”

That stopped him dead in his tracks. “What?”

“Simple question.” She sat on the futon, the picture of analytical calm, which only made him feel more rattled.

“What if I said no to your simple question?”

“I don't know that I'd believe you.”

“Pretty sure of yourself,” he muttered, still standing. If he sat, he'd have to sit beside her.

Her chin rose slightly. “I think you loved me when you left seven years ago. I think you love me now.”

 

T
OM'S FACE WENT BLANK, WHICH
made Reggie want to grab him by the front of his shirt and shake him. He had no idea how much it cost her to sit on the uncomfortable futon and pretend to be calm.

“And if I do?”

“Then we have to face some issues and make this work.”

“What issues? My job? It's who I am. You have to admit that I'm not a catering guy. It isn't like I can just settle in Reno and become part of the family business.”

“I agree.” A month of Tom in the kitchen had convinced her that while they were better off with him there, it wasn't the right job for him.

“And I can't start a restaurant.”

“Why not?” Reggie asked.

He sent her a weary are-you-kidding? look before saying, “No one will back me, with my rep. Pete made that quite clear to me. And my people skills suck.” The words came out of his mouth with rapid-fire delivery, as if he'd said them to himself over and over again.

“Agreed.”

“I left you,” he pointed out, as if she wasn't ultra-aware of that. She nodded, which seemed to make him even more agitated. “We lost contact. I disappeared out of your life.”

“Before I could disappear out of yours.”

He stopped moving. For a minute she thought he'd stopped breathing as he studied her, so tightly closed off that she didn't know if she would ever be able to break down the wall between them.

Then he rubbed his hand over his head and turned
away from her, toward the window, and stared out to the lamplit street. Brioche trotted over and sat on the carpet beside him.

Reggie rose and walked toward him, stopping a few feet away, sensing that he needed his distance, that his defenses wouldn't allow her any closer.

“Who's in your life today, Tom, who was also in it twenty years ago? Or even fifteen?”
Who hasn't left you?

He turned back to her and laughed harshly. “Psychoanalysis, Reg? Really?”

“Just an observation,” she said. She wasn't so foolish as to think she could undo a lifetime of conditioning in a night. But she could crack the surface, give him something to think about.

“It's just my nature to push people away. I'm a loner.”

“I need you to stop being a loner.”

He gave a dismissive snort. “As if it's that easy.”

“It
won't
be easy,” Reggie snapped. She took a breath, willed herself not to let her emotions get away from her. She reached out and took his hand, placed it firmly against her abdomen.

“This,” she said, holding her hand on top of his, “is scary. There's a risk of loss. But people keep having kids. Some things last.”

Tom shook his head.

Reggie took a step backward, releasing him. She'd done what she could. Delivered her message. The rest was up to him. She started for the door and was almost there when Tom said gruffly, “You know I love you.”

“Yeah.”

He took a few steps closer. “But you have your support system here. The business you grew. Everything you've worked for. You're a success, Reggie.”

“And you wouldn't ask me to leave that.” Too much distance still separated them. He started to speak when Reggie interrupted him to say softly, “Just like you didn't ask me the last time…no matter how you remember it happening.”

“I thought it was understood.”

“Did you?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don't know,” he finally said.

But he did. She could tell. And he knew she knew.

“Look, Reggie,” he finally said. “This isn't going to work.”

“What?” she asked softly.

“You. Me. Maybe you're right about this psychoanalysis, but I can't help the way I react. I try to be normal and it just doesn't work. All I'll do is disappoint you when you need me.”

“You're choosing to leave rather than try?”

He nodded. “I'm trying to do what'll work for both of us.”

“You're a coward, Tom.”

“And who,” he asked quietly, “wants to hook up with a coward?”

 

F
OUR DAYS PASSED WITHOUT A
word from Tom. That was okay, because Reggie was so damned angry with him, with herself—and the universe in general—that she probably wouldn't have listened to him, anyway.

She hadn't expected him to instantly accept what she'd had to say, to believe that important things could last. But she'd thought they could open a dialogue. Fear factor or not, she hadn't expected him to walk away, and then not contact her. The silence was killing her.

But she was giving him grudging points for honesty. He thought he would hurt her, and he was removing that possibility. She'd told him from the beginning that she wanted to raise the baby alone. Wish granted.

And then, on that fourth night after he left, while she was lying in bed and stewing, she felt the baby move. A flutter deep inside her. A butterfly's touch.

At first she thought it was wishful thinking, but it happened again. An odd fluttering tumble. Her baby… Tom's baby…making his or her presence known.

Making her believe in miracles.

For a few minutes, anyway.

 

R
EGGIE SPENT MOST OF THE NEXT
day putting her hand to her abdomen every few minutes and waiting to feel the flutter. It made it very hard to cook. But every now and then she was rewarded, and that night, the first since Tom had left, she fell asleep almost as soon as she got into bed—only to be startled awake by the phone ringing.

Mims raised her head and blinked as Reggie snapped on the bedside lamp, then felt around on the comforter for the phone she'd dropped in the process. She'd barely gotten it to her ear when Eden said, “Reggie. You made the tabloids.”

“I what?” She pushed herself upright.

“You're not on the newsstand, but you are on one of the big websites. Here. I'll send you the link. Call me back.”

A second later the email zinged into her phone's internet in-box. Reggie opened it and followed the link to the site. She enlarged the text and started to read, her heart beating faster as she scrolled down. And there she was—with Tom, of course—at the Reno Cuisine, packing up.

That reporter, Christine, must have found a camera with a longer lens than her phone's. The headline read Volatile Celeb Chef Surfaces at Cooking Competition with Pregnant Girlfriend.

Pregnant Girlfriend?

Sure enough, in the telephoto blowup shot Reggie was no longer wearing her chef's coat, and the breeze had plastered her thin, white cotton T-shirt against her small baby bump as she stood looking up at Tom. If that wasn't obvious enough, there was a pink arrow on the photo pointing to her belly.

She quickly read the article, which was nothing but speculation, and not very flattering speculation, about why Tom had disappeared. Apparently, the only job he could get was with his pregnant girlfriend. Okay, there was some truth to that. He'd cut his hair to hide his identity…more truth there, too. But in general the article was just plain nasty.

Reggie called Eden. “I'm the pregnant girlfriend,” she said.

“Not that many people read these things.”

Oh, yeah. That was why they were so popular.

“Do you think the paparazzi will stake out my house?” Reggie asked as she started to get a handle on the situation. This was unexpected and unsettling, but also pretty far down on the page. The reporter had probably made a few bucks from the photo, which was why she hadn't put anything in her paper…but that must be coming.

“Only if some other celebrity fails to sneeze,” Eden said. “Don't worry about it.” She paused for a moment, then said, “You aren't worried about it…are you?”

“No. I'm good. Maybe it'll bring in new business.”

“Do you want me to come over? Because I can come over.”

“No,” Reggie said, scratching Mims, who was settled on the baby. “I'm fine. It's really not that big a deal.” Even if, truthfully, it pissed her off having someone shoving her nose into their private affair. For money.

 

R
EGGIE WASN'T DUE AT THE
kitchen until late the next morning, since she'd caught up on most of the paperwork, including thank-you notes, during her sleepless nights. She made the most of her morning at home, shopping online for baby furniture, ignoring the unsettling feeling of being on a national gossip website.

She was putting on her makeup when someone knocked on her door, and she slapped on lipstick fast, just in case whoever it was took her photo. But it wasn't the paparazzi at the door. It was Justin, looking like death warmed over. But what was new?

“This is a surprise.” She stepped back as he came inside. “Have you, uh, gotten any sleep?”

He shook his head. “Nope. But I thought I'd stop by and see how Tom Gerard's pregnant girlfriend is doing.”

“She's well,” Reggie said noncommittally.

“Patty's been getting calls at the kitchen from various newspeople. She's fended them off masterfully.”

Reggie tried to smile, “I guess she knows I'm pregnant.”

“Yeah.” Justin sat on the edge of the sofa and rested his forearms on his thighs, clasping his hands together. “This is none of my business, but…what's going on with you and Tom? Is he going to move to France? Are you staying here?”

Reggie stood behind her recliner, facing Justin, but looking at the pattern in the upholstery. Then she raised her eyes.

“I suspect the answer to both questions is yes. Has Eden been talking to you?”

“She has.”

“And you're here because…”

He pulled off the white cotton stocking cap he wore when he baked. “We can run the business without you.”

“So…you're giving me permission to go?”

“I'm removing one of the excuses not to go.”

“Thank you.” Reggie bit out the words. “But I might be a little lonely in France, unless something changes.”

“You can make things change.”

For a moment Reggie stared at him. Where was her protective brother?

He let his head drop. “A baby needs a father.”

“I know,” Reggie said with a frown. Justin was more serious than she'd seen him in…well…ever.

“Not to get all tough on you or anything, but Reggie, if you can make this work, do it. Forget all the shit that happened between you two before, and give your kid a dad.”

“Justin…I'd do that in a heartbeat. But the thing is, I can go after Tom.” Whom she still hadn't heard from. “But I can't force him to stay with me.”

And she wasn't going to break her heart trying. She was done.

 

T
OM LOVED
F
RANCE
,
AND AS LUCK
would have it, Lowell's restaurant, in a converted stucco house with a courtyard behind it, was excellent. Tom was quartered in one of the three upstairs rooms and spent his first days there discussing business strategies and menus, meeting potential employees and flirting with Simone. She loved to have Lowell glare possessively at her.

Tom was miserable.

He shouldn't have left Reno. The plane had barely lifted off when he realized that the gnawing anxiety hadn't abated, it had simply changed sources.

And he was still dealing with Reggie telling him that he'd never asked her to come to Spain. Somehow it had never played out that way in his head. She'd given the ultimatum, and he'd taken it—gratefully, as he looked back on it. He may have even pushed her to offer it, giving him the frantic out he needed as the fear of losing her built.