A Baby on Her Christmas List by Louisa George Page A

of difficult silence to fill before they got there.
    They walked through the car park to the stalls dotted around the forecourt of a large open-fronted building selling everything French. Colourful Provençale earthenware sat next to tins of
foie gras
and jars of bright thick jams; soft linens and dainty sprigs of lavender graced traditional wooden dressers; blue and white chequered tablecloths covered a hotchpotch of mismatched tables. People sat around, chatting and eating and laughing.
    A stack of antique furniture sat in one corner of the building, rickety tables and chairs, kitchen and bedroom heirloom pieces. Georgie spied a quaint rocking bassinet in need of a little care and attention, adorned with the softest cream-coloured blankets and the cutest coverlets, and her heart did a little jig. It was perfect. But, as with most things here, it was also too far out of her price bracket.
    She sighed, dragging herself away from such beautiful things. Buying would have to happen when she could afford it, not when it took her fancy. Liam noticed her gaze drift back to the bassinet but, then, he would. Annoyingly, he knew her through and through. Her heart jig went into a serious funeral dirge. It seemed everything was an issue between them these days. He nodded at the bassinet. ‘Planning ahead?’
    ‘Window shopping. At least that’s free. I have to get my priorities straight. Firstly, I have to provide a decent place to sleep. Then I have to provide something to sleep in.’
    ‘Babies cost a lot, eh? So much to think about, it’s mind-blowing.’ His forehead crinkled as he frowned. He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind and tugged her to the juice bar instead. ‘Okay, now you’re going to have a fresh juice. Then we’ll get a decent coffee and something to eat.’
    ‘But—’
    He placed a gentle palm against the small of her back and manoeuvred her towards the juice stall. ‘No buts. And we’re going to be the same as we always are when we come here. We’re going to
ooh
at the cheese and hold our noses at the smell. And buy way too much and not eat it all. And then we’ll have to fumigate your kitchen-diner-lounge room thing, whatever you want to call it.’
    ‘I call it my living area, and it’s going to be fabulous. But unfortunately I’m not going to eat any unprocessed soft cheese there or anywhere else. Along with alcohol, pâté and most kinds of processed meat that I love, stinky cheese is out for a while. Remember?’ She patted her stomach. Damn the man, she was going to mention her pregnancy. It was part of her. Soon it would be most of her, plumping her out like a huge fat cushion. And then there’d be no denying it. Whether he liked it or not.
    To her surprise, he grinned.
    ‘Okay, so you’re going to look at the cheese section and be downright miserable. Walk straight past the pâté, giving it a cold hard stare. Cast eye-daggers on that devilish salami and
jambon
. And then order a double helping of
pain au chocolat
and a
chocolat chaud
with lashings of cream, and still wallow in what you can’t have instead of what you’ve got. Which, in my book, is three helpings of chocolate and it’s not even ten o’clock.’
    He stopped at the juice stall and ordered a freshly squeezed OJ for himself and a ‘Brain Booster’ for her, like always.
    ‘Which is why you need this vitamin blast to counteract the sugar rush. And now we’re going to talk about what happened last night, and when we’ve stopped cringing we’re going to laugh about it. We will laugh. Eventually.’
    At her shocked face he smiled again, but this time it was softer and more tender. And she liked it that he was trying to make things normal, that he was making sure she had the right things to eat, and that she was as content as she could be under the circumstances. This was the Liam she’d grown to love. Whoa.
Love?
    Platonically, yes. She loved him as any friend would love a friend. And