How could he?
“Okay,” she finally said. Then she turned and hurried to the bathroom, where she locked herself inside.
With her secret safe for the time being, she rested her back against the door and blew out a ragged sigh. Then, feeling only slightly relieved, she quickly scooped up the plastic apparatus that still displayed evidence of the baby they’d created and shoved it into the back of the cupboard, behind a stack of towels.
As soon as she returned home, and Mike was no longer around, she would double-bag the test kit in two plastic grocery sacks and throw it away.
Of course, she’d have to level with him sometime and tell him she was pregnant, but she was still processing the news herself.
So, some other day, when the time was right, she’d let him know that it was her problem, not his. And that she wouldn’t need anything from him. She would also tell him she’d decided to give up the baby for adoption, which was the best thing she could do for everyone involved, especially her child.
Adoption was the decision she’d wished her mother had made when she’d been pregnant with Simone. Instead, her mom had botched up the whole mother/daughter thing, something that continued to plague them both to this day.
Simone flushed the toilet, just to make Mike think she’d had the usual reasons for locking herself in the bathroom, then washed her hands and dried them on a white, fluffy towel reserved for guests.
Not that she and Woofer had many of them.
Dr. Ella Wilder stopped by sometimes. So did Isobel Suarez, the hospital social worker who’d become a friend.
Of course, Mike was here now—and waiting for her.
She looked in the mirror, caught the frumpy, pale image looking back at her.
Her hair, which had been put into a just-hanging-out-at-home ponytail earlier, had come loose. And she wasn’t wearing any makeup whatsoever.
Dressed in her favorite pair of well-worn jeans and a Rosie the Riveter T-shirt, she was a mind-boggling contrast to the chic, sexy woman who’d invited Mike into her house and into her bed five weeks ago.
But she didn’t feel like putting on makeup or a happy face. Nor did she want to draw attention to herself in a feminine sense.
After all, look what had happened when she’d dressed up for that cocktail party and had pretended to be someone she wasn’t.
But she couldn’t very well go out looking like a total frump, although she wouldn’t change her clothes. How could she when she wore a shirt with Rosie the Riveter rolling up a sleeve and proclaiming, “We can do it!”
So trying to draw upon Rosie’s confidence and determination, she removed the rubber band and ran a brush through her hair, leaving it down. Then she dug into her makeup drawer and pulled out a tube of lipstick. But after taking off the cap, she paused.
She really didn’t want Mike to think she was getting dolled up for his benefit. Of course, the sexy paramedic didn’t need that kind of encouragement.
The first time he’d come on to her—more than a year ago—had been in the hospital doctors’ lounge, where she’d been pouring herself a cup of overbrewed coffee. She was wearing a pair of blue scrubs and was close to finishing up a long, grueling twelve-hour shift.
“Hey,” he’d said. “I’ve got tickets to a concert at the Stardust Theater on Thursday. And I’ve asked around. We’re both off that night.”
She’d caught him looking at her several times in the past, and the intensity in his gaze had always spiked her pulse. Mike O’Rourke was a handsome man, and any woman would be flattered to know she’d caught his eye.
But Simone hadn’t expected his interest in her to take a romantic turn, and her senses had reeled.
“I…uh…I’ve already got plans,” she’d lied, scrambling to come up with an excuse.
And she’d been putting him off ever since, even though he told her he was prepared to wait until she was ready to give “them” a try.
He’d never been pushy, but now that they’d slept together, his determination seemed to have grown stronger.
So she re-capped the lipstick without using it and put it away. Then she slid the bathroom drawer shut and headed to her bedroom for her purse and a light sweater—just in case. The New England weather was always a bit unpredictable in April, although the past few days had been remarkably pleasant.
When she returned to the living room, Mike was standing by the door, ready to go.
He held Wags in the crook of his arm and opened the door for her with his free hand. Then he waited on the sidewalk while she made sure Woofer had fresh water and locked up the house.
“Where do you suggest we go to find dog supplies?” he asked.
“There’s a pet store on Lexington, across from Prudy’s Menu. It’s called Tails a Waggin’, and they’ll have everything we’ll need.”
“All right. I know where that is.” He opened the passenger door of his Jeep Wrangler, and after she climbed into the seat, he handed Wags to her. “He hates that box if he’s awake. Why don’t you hold him.”
Simone took the squirming pup. She had to admit, it was a cute little thing. But she needed another dog around the house like she needed a hole in the head, and she couldn’t help wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
Wasn’t her life going to be complicated enough for the next seven or eight months?
“Thanks for coming with me,” he said. “I don’t want to forget anything.”
“No problem,” she said, although she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
She really wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere. Not when she had a stack of laundry to do at home. She’d also planned to clean out the refrigerator and wash the windows, chores she saved for her day off. And she’d told Woofer she would take him for a long walk this afternoon.
Not that the dog would hold her to it, she supposed. But some things easily became habits that were hard to break.
And speaking of habits, she couldn’t even imagine the effect a new puppy was going to have on her normal routine.
Of course, a baby would really shake things up.
Thank goodness she knew better than to open herself up to that.
Mike backed his Jeep out of Simone’s driveway and drove through Riverdale, an older part of town, where the houses near the river had been built in the 1940s. With only a few exceptions, the yards and structures had been kept up throughout the years.
“I’ve always liked this neighborhood,” he said, thinking it had a Norman Rockwell appeal.
“Me, too.” Simone glanced out the window, as though appreciating the maples, sycamores and the occasional hemlock that shaded the sidewalks and the street on which she lived.
When Mike and his brothers were in high school, they’d worked summers for their uncle, who was a building contractor. As a result, each of the boys could do just about anything—electrical, plumbing, drywall, painting—skills that could turn an old house into something special.
A lot of people might prefer to buy newer homes, but Mike was drawn to the quaint, nostalgic ambience of this particular neighborhood. In fact, he’d told his Realtor that he was looking for a fixer-upper but wouldn’t mind purchasing anything in Riverdale, should one of the properties become available.
“Did you have to do a lot of work after you moved in?” he asked, thinking about the cozy, two-bedroom brick structure she’d purchased.
“Yes, but it was actually fun to roll up my sleeves and watch things change before my eyes. I even took some of those home-improvement