Hot Single Docs: Giving In To Temptation. Lynne Marshall

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      She bobbed her head as she slid inside the car. Hating having to hold back all her excitement about being pregnant, she tightened her jaw and ground her teeth for most of the ride back to John’s condo.

      Marco the doorman gave her and John a knowing nod when they walked inside, and it made her pause. Had she ever seen him before? The small but tasteful lobby gave her the impression that well-off, long-time New Yorkers lived in the building. What a difference from her turn-of-the-century walk-up.

      Though John had overall masculine flair in his taste in interior design, a maroon leather couch and chair with glass and chrome tables got her attention, and across the room a surprising floral-upholstered overstuffed chair and ottoman looked beyond inviting.

      “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room that flowed naturally into his kitchen. “You need to rest as often as you can.” He tossed her the newspaper he’d just sorted out of his pile of mail. “Read this while I get cooking.”

      “Don’t be so bossy.” At a little after five o’clock she was hungry and more than ready to eat, and decided not to give him a hard time, so she did what she was told and put her feet up, shaking out the newspaper and reading the headlines of the day, all of which were depressing.

      She surreptitiously kept track of him while he cooked. He wore khaki slacks that fit in all the right places and a pale blue shirt. He’d removed the tie while he’d shuffled through his mail, and the open-collar look held her interest longer than she’d wanted. But most of all what kept her riveted to watching John was how he genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. She liked discovering that about him.

      He ran a tidy kitchen and was very comfortable in it, like cooking was a less sterile version of surgery. She thought of her living arrangement and the tiny outdated appliances she shared. What she’d give to have such a gorgeous modern kitchen at her fingertips. The comfort of the chair and the simple dream of living in a place like John’s soon had her closing her suddenly weary eyes...

      “Dinner’s ready!”

      Polly sat bolt upright. What time was it? She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She’d taken a forty-minute nap. The hint of garlic, chicken and freshly drained pasta weaving their way from the kitchen and up her nostrils was heavenly. “Give me a sec to wash up, okay?”

      “Of course.” He whistled while he set plates and flatware on the bistro-sized table in the corner of the kitchen, and she stopped a couple of moments to enjoy the sight.

      The food smelled fantastic and her taste buds went into overdrive, looking forward to the meal as she hurried down the hall to wash her hands.

      He hadn’t lied. John Griffin was a darned fine cook. Every mouthful sent jets of pleasure through her gastronomic senses. She could get used to these twice-a-week meals, maybe bargain for a third as time went on. Piecemeal, really, since that was all he was offering in the way of getting involved in the pregnancy. Far be it from her to want to ruin a delicious dinner, but really was that the best the man could offer? She continued to eat with a disappointed outlook.

      After a few bites John put his fork down and cast a pressing gaze at her. She wasn’t about to stop eating, but the daunting stare did slow her down a bit.

      “I want you to know that I liked you right off. You know, that first week you came to Angel’s. I, or we, did something crazy and out of character, and now we’ve been thrown together in some pretty astounding circumstances.”

      She wanted to ask him how long he’d practiced the speech, but decided, as he was finally opening up, not to be a smart-aleck.

      He cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m only skirting around the perimeter of our predicament.”

      She started to protest his calling her pregnancy a predicament, but when she opened her mouth he raised his voice a pre-emptive notch. “I don’t think any guy would know how to handle it perfectly, but I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m just being honest with you, because I think you deserve it.”

      He got up, refilled his water glass, took a long draw and sat back down. “There’s something you need to know about me. Maybe it will explain why I’m not all balloons and bubbles over your pregnancy.”

      Sensing his earnestness, she put her fork down and gave him her total attention. “Go ahead, John.”

      As if the words strangled and fought in his throat, John’s pained expression made Polly brace for what he was about to say.

      “I don’t even know if I told you that I used to be married. Happily married for two years. My wife, Lisa, was a financial adviser.” His voice clogged and he stopped every sentence or two to clear it. “Anyway, we were happy because she’d just found out she was pregnant.”

      The heavy foreshadowing made the gourmet meal in Polly’s stomach suddenly feel like a large lump of paper maché. John talked to the table rather than engage her eyes.

      “We’d stayed up late, planning, all excited about our baby, how our lives would change.” He had to clear that stubborn lump in his throat again. His nose ran and he wiped it with his paper napkin. Instinctively, the hair on Polly’s arms rose and John’s profile grew blurry.

      “We were going to tell my parents over dinner that night. I kissed her goodbye that morning and she went to work on the twenty-second floor of the World Trade Center on September eleventh.”

      Chills rolled over Polly’s skin. Tears broke free from her eyes and she realized the implication of that fateful day. She’d been a high-school student at the time, eating breakfast and listening to the kitchen radio when she’d heard the news report. She grabbed John’s knotted fist and squeezed tight. Oh, God, he didn’t need to say one more word. She understood. He’d lost everything he loved and held dear on one historic day.

      Polly got up from her seat and circled around John, banding her arms around his chest as she cuddled him from behind. He sat stoic, like the rock of Gibraltar he’d tricked himself into becoming—for survival’s sake, she was sure, she understood that now. Bleeding emotionally for his loss, she stayed with him wrapped in her arms for several long moments as she mulled over their circumstances. She was willing to give him a pass for now, for not committing to their child beyond the neat and tidy logistics of appointments, well-prepared dinners, and finances.

      Slowly, as she stood hunched over, holding him, a tiny thought wiggled and snaked its way clear of her emotional landslide on John’s behalf. The thought gained power and implanted itself in the center of her head. That was twelve years ago. Was John determined to keep his life stagnant and take the loss to his grave? More importantly, would Lisa want that for him?

      They may have made love under unusual circumstances, but something bigger than both of them had come out of it. They’d made a baby. He could never get his wife or child back, but she and John had made a little life that was growing inside her. A baby with a birth date. March twenty-eighth.

      * * *

      It was Polly’s turn to clear her thickened throat. “John, please don’t get me wrong, I realize how horrific your loss was. But twelve years have passed, and that’s no excuse for abandoning your responsibility to this child.” She stood straight and placed her hand on her currently flat abdomen, one hand anchored to his shoulder. “This baby needs you now. You’re the father.”

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