The Midwife's Christmas Baby. Kate Hardy

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       CHAPTER TWO

      ON SUNDAY MORNING, Oliver drove over to the pretty little square where Ella’s flat was and rang her doorbell.

      She opened the door wearing pyjamas, sleepy-eyed and with her hair all mussed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,’ he said.

      ‘It’s almost half-past nine, so it’s my bad,’ she said wryly. ‘What do you want?’

      He held up the recyclable shopping bag. ‘I brought breakfast. I thought maybe we could talk.’

      ‘Breakfast?’

      ‘And these.’ He handed her the gerbera. ‘I hope you like them.’

      Unexpectedly, her beautiful green eyes filled with tears. ‘Oliver, they’re gorgeous. I love yellow flowers. Thank you. Though you really didn’t have to do that.’

      ‘I wanted to,’ he admitted. And right now, seeing her all warm and sleepy, he really wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close and tell her that he’d protect her from the world.

      Except he wasn’t sure how she’d react, and he knew he needed to take this slowly and carefully until he had a better idea of what was going on in her head. He wasn’t going to end up in the same place he’d been after Justine, where he’d been in love with her but she hadn’t loved him back.

      ‘Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.’ She ushered him through to her living room. ‘I’ll go and have a quick shower and get dressed, and then I’ll put those lovely flowers in water.’

      ‘You don’t have to change on my behalf.’

      She gave him a speaking glance. ‘I can’t be sitting here at my kitchen table in pyjamas, with you all dressed up like a magazine model.’

      ‘Apart from the fact that I’m not all dressed up, I don’t mind if you stay in your pyjamas.’

      ‘Well, I do.’

      He really didn’t want to sit around doing nothing. It wasn’t his style. He’d always preferred keeping busy. ‘Shall I make breakfast, then, while you’re showering?’

      He could see that she was torn between insisting that it was her flat so it was her job to make breakfast, and letting him do something. ‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘I normally eat in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you.’

      ‘OK. I’ll see you when you’re ready.’

      By the time Ella had showered and changed into jeans and a cute Christmassy sweater with a reindeer in a bow tie on the front, Oliver had laid two places at the tiny bistro table in her kitchen and had arranged everything on the table: freshly squeezed orange juice, granola, yoghurt and a bowl of hulled and washed strawberries. It looked amazing. And she couldn’t remember the last time anyone apart from her parents had made this kind of fuss over her. Right now she felt cherished—special—and it was a good feeling.

      ‘No coffee,’ he said.

      ‘Thanks. I really can’t bear the smell of it.’

      ‘And that’s why I held off on the croissants. Just in case they affected you, too.’ He gestured to the teapot. ‘The tea’s decaf—I thought it might be easier for you to manage.’

      ‘That’s so sweet.’ He’d made all this effort just for her, and her heart melted. ‘This all looks so nice. Thank you.’

      ‘I had to guess because I didn’t really know what kind of thing you like for breakfast.’

      She blushed. ‘You didn’t stay for breakfast when... Well, you know.’

      ‘Uh-huh.’

      Right at that moment, he looked just as embarrassed and awkward as she felt. She’d been stupid to bring up the issue.

      ‘I just wanted to do something nice for you,’ he said.

      ‘And I appreciate it,’ she said meaning it.

      He poured her a mug of tea. ‘No sugar, right?’

      She loved the fact that he’d actually noticed how she took her tea. ‘Right.’

      ‘So how are you feeling?’ he asked.

      ‘Mostly fine. Just as long as I avoid strong smells.’ She smiled. ‘And that should get better in about six weeks, or so I always tell my mums.’

      ‘It’s usually better by the second trimester,’ he agreed.

      ‘I thought Sienna was teasing me when she told me that tin cans actually smell when you’re pregnant,’ Ella said, ‘but she’s right. They do.’ She shuddered, and took a sip of the orange juice. ‘This is lovely. Thank you so much. I feel totally spoiled.’

      ‘It’s the least I could do.’ Again, Oliver could imagine having breakfast with Ella on Sunday mornings. A lazy breakfast, with toast and tea and the Sunday papers, and then taking the baby out together for a late-morning walk in the park... It shocked him to discover how much he actually wanted that.

      A real relationship.

      With Ella and their baby.

      Thankfully she hadn’t noticed him mooning about, because she asked, ‘So is everything OK with you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And you’re settling in well to your new job?’

      ‘Just about,’ he said, smiling back at her. Maybe this was going to work out. They could at least make polite conversation. And they’d been friends before the masked ball. They respected each other as colleagues. He really believed they could salvage something from this now.

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