The Baby Arrangement. Tara Taylor Quinn

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      Heading off for some boxers he came back and set to work.

      An hour later, he had her on the phone.

      “Braden? It’s two in the morning! What’s wrong?”

      “You never said when you were going for your first procedure.” Or what kind it was going to be. “For all I know, it’s first thing in the morning. I wanted to chat a second before it happens.”

      “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she reminded him. “My appointment’s on Monday, after work, unless I don’t ovulate as expected.”

       Not that far off, then.

      “I called tonight’s meeting. When were you planning to tell me about this?”

       Whoa, buddy. You don’t sound like a friendly and supportive ex-husband.

      “Before tonight...or last night, now,” she said. “But when you called Wednesday, asking to meet, I figured Friday night was fine.”

      He moved on, letting himself slide on the over zealousness of his questioning due to the lateness of the hour and shock of her news.

      “I assume, given the circumstances, your ability to conceive, your age and your excellent health that you’re considering either ICI or IUI,” he said, looking at the screen of statistics in front of him. Intracervical insemination. Intrauterine insemination. And there was intravaginal, too.

      “Really, Braden? At two in the morning?”

      “IVI is cheaper, by far, less invasive and less painful, but chances of conceiving the first time are considerably lower. ICI is still cheaper and less uncomfortable. But IUI has a slightly higher success rate. I think you should go with that. The less raised hopes and disappointment here the better.”

      “I’m fully prepared for this to take several months.”

      She yawned. And sounded slightly amused, too.

      It was two in the morning.

      His nearly naked body yearned during the second it took him to remind himself that it was Mallory he was talking to. The woman who had no interest in being a wife once motherhood was in the picture.

      Mallory, who’d been unable to feel any desire for him at all since their son died.

      Because she felt guilty for how great it had been for her that night.

      That was new knowledge that he’d process at some point.

      That night had been the best sex of his life, too. He didn’t feel bad about that.

      “How about a meet-up sometime this weekend?” he asked.

      “Fine.” Another yawn.

      “I’m taking the boat out on Sunday,” he told her. “You want to go fishing?”

      “I’d rather lie on the deck and soak up some spring sunshine.”

      Right. He knew that. She’d gone out with him plenty of times. She’d never caught a fish and had only tried once or twice after he’d bugged her to the point where she’d given in.

      If she had a boy, who was going to teach the kid to fish?

      Knowing Mallory, she had some kid’s fishing development group already lined up.

      “Seven too early for you?” They’d have plenty of time on the boat for talking.

      “Nope.”

      He could tell her about his L.A. plans, too. “Meet me at the dock?”

      “Yep.”

      “Okay. We can—”

      “I’m going back to sleep now, Braden. Good night.”

      He caught her chuckle just before the call went dead.

      * * *

      In leggings, a short-sleeved, oversize black shirt and tennis shoes, her dark hair tied back in a ribbon, Mallory boarded the fishing boat Braden had already owned when she’d met him eight years before. She carried a plastic bowl of cut fruit in her hands.

      He was on board with a plate of doughnuts.

      Looking at each other’s goods, they laughed. “Some things don’t change,” she said, not as worried as she might have been about spending leisurely time with her ex-husband.

      Surely, after three years of successful friendship, she and Braden could handle a few hours alone on the ocean. He probably wouldn’t even leave the harbor.

      He’d set a lounger for her on the deck, maybe the same lounger she’d used in the past.

      She’d brought her own towel and dropped it on the lounger while he did what he did with his bait.

      She opened the food, set it out on one of the benches with the little disposable plates, napkins and plastic forks she’d brought. He started the engine, fixed himself a plate and backed away from the dock. The boat had a little cabin and, noticing the travel mug he had next to him at the helm, she went below, found the coffee he’d made and poured herself an insulated cup full. With doughnuts and fruit on a plate, she pulled on the hoodie she’d brought aboard and settled in her lounger. When the sun was fully above them, she’d be hot, and she’d take off the hoodie and get some color on her skin.

      And at some point, Braden was going to want to talk. Apparently to make certain that she knew she was doing the right thing and to tell her he was seeing someone again, she supposed.

      Which was fine.

      She’d listen, as she always did, and support him in his endeavors, as she always did.

      Until then, she was going to relax into the bliss.

      * * *

      “Can you come up here?”

      Drifting off to sleep, the rising sun’s warmth cozy in the cool San Diego spring air, Mallory heard Braden. Not in the mood to hear about his new girlfriend, she took a second to decide whether or not to acknowledge that she’d heard.

      The engine had stopped. She’d heard him moving around, getting his rod and casting his line. He’d be sitting up on the bow, watching the boats on the horizon as much as anything. She’d always said he did more relaxing than fishing when he went out, but hadn’t seen that as a bad thing.

      Thinking he had to carry the whole world on his shoulders as he did, Braden didn’t relax enough.

      And then she quit picturing it. Braden on the bow of the boat, wind in his air, was just...hot. A part of them that had to be dead to her now.

      “Mal?”

      “Yeah, I’m coming,” she said, repositioning her sunglasses as she opened her eyes. They’d СКАЧАТЬ