A Baby on Her Christmas List by Louisa George

home?’ She tried to make her voice sound nonchalant instead of shaky, but it all just came out weird and high-pitched. She was a little bit relieved to see that he looked like he’d just finished night duty—tired, paler and shadowed with a perfectly stubbled jaw. Which inevitably made her stomach contract again, but this time for a totally different reason.
    She peered up at him, trying to measure his mood while at the same time trying to quell the nausea in the pit of her stomach. And she knew it was nothing to do with her morning sickness and everything to do with kissing her oldest mate
—
and even now, despite the mortification, wanting to do it again. The hot spots on her cheeks reappeared. ‘I thought I said you didn’t have to come and help. I know you have little time off as it is without bothering about me. I can manage fine.’
    ‘And leave you here knowing what disaster was lurking behind this door? No way. No doubt if I left you in here with a hammer for any length of time you’d be completely blind and crippled within the hour. So basically I’m doing my colleagues at A and E a favour by keeping you out of their hair.’ He made no effort to hide his smile. ‘I thought we should go out for a while first, take a walk to the French market. Get out of this dust bowl and clear your lungs.’ AKA not wanting to be in a confined space with her. She understood, loud and clear. ‘You don’t need an asthma attack added to your medical history.’
    ‘My lungs are perfectly clear, thank you.’
Unlike my head
, she thought,
which was filled with grimy confusion. ‘The dust settles downwards all over the surfaces rather than floating upwards to my bedroom.’ And at the mere mention of where she slept, usually near-naked, she had an unwelcome image of him also naked, in her sheets. Okay, so not unwelcome...in fact, very welcome indeed. Just unrealistic. And never going to happen. ‘So...er...how are you? Good sleep?’
    And maybe it was the mention of her bed that did funny things to him too, because all of a sudden his bravado slipped, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze was not at her, but beyond, or around, or anywhere else but meeting her eyes.
Eye
.
    An awkward unspoken tension hovered between them as he shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I’m fine. How are you feeling? How’s the eye? Using the drops as prescribed?’
    ‘Yes, Dr MacAllister.’ She patted the new patch gently, knowing that, added to the sleepless eye bags and the uncombed hair, it gave her a pathetically ill look. Still, having managed perfectly well for twenty-eight years pretty much on her own, she was far from fragile, but it did feel nice to have someone ask how she was feeling, even if it was just to avoid talking about the kiss or what the heck they should do now. ‘The prickly headache’s gone. I feel okay, a little sore, but raring to get going in here.’
    ‘Well, first brioche and espresso are calling. Then you can go and do whatever you want to do for the day and leave me in peace to get this place sorted. I’ve got more stuff in the car—plaster, rollers, cornices, skirting, protective goggles and face masks. It’ll keep me busy for a few...’ His fingers speared his hair as he looked at the room, the magnitude of the utter mess they’d made clearly dawning.
And not just the house
. She’d made a mess of everything. ‘Weeks.’
    And he was also playing the
let’s not talk about it
game. She could do that too. And perhaps, by the time they’d got to the market normality would be restored and her appetite would come out of hiding. ‘Okay. Well, I’ll just drag a brush through my hair and grab a jumper. Give me a minute or two.’
    The sky was a brilliant cloudless cobalt blue as they strode down the hill, past rows of perfectly maintained colonial-style houses, just like hers was going to be...possibly next millennium. Luckily the market wasn’t far so they didn’t have too many moments