By Didi
Disclaimer: I don't own so please don't sue. It just occurred to me that we put these disclaimers up and I doubt anyone actually read them much. Disclaimers have been pretty standardized around here now. Maybe the webmaster should just put one big one up on the home page and be done with it. That way we don't have to do it for every little story that I put up. What do you think? Are is anyone actually reading this at all:?
Timeline: Okay, let's see.. I think we're about six months into the story starting from before "With Grace." I can't stand Kokoris and Brennan, so they are not together and all hints of it before "With Grace" will just have to be ignored for the sake of the story, okay? Thanks for being so cooperative.
Rating: PG-13 though if you feel otherwise, tell me.
Author's Note: Another chapter! And in less than a week! Are you proud of me?
Summary: What would you do in the name of love? Make omelets!
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Chapter Sixteen~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This is nice."
"You look like you were expecting something else," taking her. his coat. Matt made a mental note to always keep a spare around. She seem to be a little absentminded about little things like this.
"Well. I was. kind of," looking around the sparse and elegant living room. From the Renaissance-esque painting to the carved end table, every functional piece in the room spoke of high-class taste and high priced preferences. Jules thought of her own Loony Toons quilt and matching throw pillows that covered her couch from her college days sitting in her own brightly mismatched living room and could have laughed at the ridiculousness of believing that he and her actually suited on some level or other.
"What were you expecting?" he asked, walking to the little side bar and pulling out a bottle of sparkling water. He looked comfortably relaxed as he loosened the knot at his neck and poured water into a glass. "You need to drink more water."
She took the glass and glanced down at it. His water glasses were softly tinted glass the color of a spring rose; there was even a faintly frosted rose on the side of the lightweight glass. "Thanks," and took a sip without thought as she continued to survey the room with interest.
For a man, he was surprising clean and organized, not so much as a magazine was out of place. Leather bound medical journals sat on a low shelf above a discreet stereo system against the wall, remote on the oak and glass coffee table. She could almost see him relaxing on the Victorian style couch while turning on some classical music from where he sat. The dusty rose of the furniture blended softly with the eggshell white walls and muted brown trims.
"What's the matter?" Matt asked, not sure if he liked the way she was simply standing there, glass in hand, staring into the room.
"You've got a nice place," she said and dropped her purse on the couch. Searching, "Dinner?"
Now he was sure he didn't like the way she was looking at his place, "This way," leading her toward the next quarter level where the dinning room and kitchen was. "Bea left everything in the oven, I think, to keep it warm."
"Bea?" running her hand up the cool banister.
"My housekeeper," he said carefully, studying her passive face. She was a little too quite for his comfort. "Tell me something, darling, what is going through that mind of yours at this very moment?"
She looked at him, "That you have a very nice house."
"That's it?" he questioned.
"That's it," she replied with a half smile. Her eyes took I the rosewood dinning room set and china cabinet with its crystal glass windows. She could see fragile bone china in ridiculously matching sets within. "Nice," she commented as he continued to watch her take in his environment.
"Why don't I feel like that's a compliment?" he told her, stopping at the swinging kitchen door.
"It is," she assured him and followed him into the kitchen. Again, elegant, efficient and spotless. "Very nice."
"I'm beginning to really hate that word," he told her as he pulled open the oven then cursed silently for a moment before he remembered to grab mitts. "Did you know that Latin origin of 'nice' is nescius? And that means ignorant?"
"Really?" with a raised brow as she watched him pull hand-painted dishes from the cupboards. Tilting her head, she saw matching bowls, salad plates, cups and saucers. "I'll remember that the next time I'm tempted to use the word."
"Please do," he muttered and scooped lasagna out with a silver dinner spatula. He was not enjoying this strange calmness that she was exhibiting. It was making him extremely nervous. "I hope you enjoy this. Bea is a terrific cook."
"If my nose isn't mistaken, I'm sure it's going to be great," she answered absentmindedly as she wondered through the kitchen noting things as she did. Setting her water glass down, she reached over oak and elegant marble topped island and ran a finger along the different shaped wine glasses that were hanging from stainless steel wine racks. The glasses twinkled gently and truly, telling her that they were fine crystal.
"We would usually be having wine with this but given your condition."
"Right," she ran a finger along the edge of the window over the sink. Spotless as she suspected. It won't have surprised her if she walked through the house with pristine white gloves on and touched everything and still come out spotless. He probably wouldn't have allowed his housekeeper to do anything less.
"We could have some tea," he asked, putting the kettle of the stove. "Mum brought some ice Irish mint with her when she visited."
"Okay," as she looked at the professional sized refrigerator slipped into the nook in the wall. The almost unperceivable hum attested to its quality. Her little frig with its rattling icemaker would have been dwarfed in that hole.
He paused in pouring water into the kettle to heat. "Or there is lemon ice tea in the icebox if that's your preference."
"Okay," she said noting the little neat pots of herbs by the window. Fresh herbs to cook with, that's an interesting concept; she'll have to remember that. if she ever learned to cook properly.
"I have juice too," he offered cautiously as he replaced the lasagna pan back into the over to keep and wiped his hands with a beige colored towel hung on a hook by the stove. "Probably orange since that's my usual for breakfast."
"That's nice," she opened up a little drawer filled with neatly organized utensils by size and function. From the shine of them, she would guess they were fifteen percent nickel, an excellent ratio.
"That's it," he said, coming to the end of his patience and tossing the towel onto the marble island counter in the middle of the room. Coming around the island, he pulled Jules to him with a firm hand around her wrist and one around her waist.
"Matt, what are you ." the rest of the question was cut off as he closed his mouth over hers. It was gentle, warm and was touched with reassurance. Her insides melted into her shoes.
Jules was a firm believer in listening to all of one's senses when it came to relationships. Some men just felt off, some smells funny, some didn't feel right to the touch, some men you can't look them in the face and some were just plan tasteless. It was with extreme discomfort for her to realize that Slingerland was hitting five for five so far and it was beginning to make her rather nervous given what she could see of their Grand Canyon wide differences. The man had surprisingly firm and wonderful body for someone that spent too much time in a hospital. He smelled of a subtle woodsy aftershave and a cleanness that was only his own. He had a face that was to be envied; not the mention that she could stare at him all day. And tasted like a fresh breath in the summer breeze. But more importantly, he felt so right that it frightened her.
Pulling gently away but definitely not letting go, Matt gave himself a moment to calm his thumping heart and enjoy the feel of her against his aching body. "We had best stop before we can't. And since we can't, we had best stop."
Words wasn't making its way into her throat so all she could do was stand there and gasp for air. or whatever is available to keep her senses from falling off the axis even more than it already is. Clearing her throat, she stepped back slowly, making sure she could stay on her feet. "I think we should have dinner and talk."
He nodded slowly. "After you tell me what's wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"What's wrong, Jules? You've been very quiet since we arrived."
"Just. thinking."
"Thinking?"
"Yes."
"Of?"
She looked around for a moment, noting that even after preparing the serving for two, everything still look picture perfect. "What a lovely house you have," she announced as she moved and took the two plates. "Let's eat. I'm famished."
Staring at the swinging door, Matt shook his head. There was no getting around the fact that women were very strange creatures. "Well," muttering to himself as he poured two glasses of ice tea. "At least she liked the house."
~~~~
"Darling, you don't think that maybe. the perhaps we weren't exactly on the mark this time about Matthew's little friend?"
George Slingerland looked up from this breakfast and frowned as he took his glasses off. "What are you saying, Milli?"
Toying with her teacup, Millicent Slingerland frowned at her excellent Earl Gray and sighed. "He's been awfully protective of the girl and she seemed. she seemed like a woman of great character. A doctor, an excellent one if my eyes aren't all together mistaken, a pretty gal, and she was more than willing to cooperate in many respects. Matthew was awfully fond of her and. well, our son isn't usually wrong when it comes to judging character."
"Millicent," George pushed aside the portfolio he had been planning on reviewing later and stared at his wife. "Need I remind you of that little episode with the blonde gold digger?"
"Yes but Dr. Keating hardly resembles that woman. She's a doctor for heaven sakes."
George frowned. "I think you're bias on this, dear."
"And I think we're alienating our son," Millicent told him in no uncertain terms.
The mulish expression on her face told George that he was going to have to listen for once. There were very few occasions where his sweet gentle wife put her dainty foot down; he can count on two fingers when those were: one was when she had insisted that their honeymoon not be a working one, and the other was when she ordered him to allow Matthew to go into medicine as the boy wishes instead of forcing him into the business world as George was inclined to. On those occasions he was known to submit or feel her wrath that was like none a man can imagine.
With a sigh, "And what exactly is it that you suggest that we do?"
"I think it's time we allow Matthew to decide on his own," Millicent said with some resignation. "I think Matthew is more invested in this than he cares to allow us to know about. Just listening to him talk of her. If I didn't know my son any better."
"What?" because he knew that no one knew Matthew better than his mother.
Turning to her husband, "I'd say our son is ." she shrugged her shoulders. "That he's in love."
Shock would be mild word to describe George Slingerland's reaction. "Impossible."
"Why?"
"Because. because."
"Because Matt's never said anything?" she added helpfully.
"Well. yes," lacking any better evidence that that.
Millicent shook her head. "George, have you noticed that our son doesn't tell us anything?"
He didn't answer, couldn't answer.
"Do you suppose it's because he isn't sure of what our reaction will be?"
Again, George was at a loss for words.
"Or maybe he believes that we don't support him?" she watched the conflicting emotion vying for dominance in her husband's eyes. Very few people on earth, in fact only one, have been allowed to see George Slingerland this vulnerable. "Darling, perhaps our son is a better of judge of what is best for his life than we are?"
"Is this your way of telling me to back off Dr. Keating?"
"Is there anyway I can say it without your thinking I've abandoned you?" she asked softly, reaching for her husband's hand. After more than thirty years of marriage, she had hoped that she knew where he was most vulnerable. "I think we need to, darling; before we lose Matthew for good. Because I have a very bad feeling that if make him choose between us and her, we will never see our son again."
George knew when to bow to his wife's wisdom.
~~~~
"Should we call her?"
"It's getting late."
"But."
"And we don't know for sure yet."
"But."
"And if this is a false alarm yet again."
Jenna nodded and swallowed the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Oh god, if we have a donor. if we really have a donor this time."
David nodded his agreement and squeezed his wife's hand a little more. Standing in the doorway, he watched their pale thin son sleep. The boy was too small for his age and too weak for his parents' peace of mind. He was there little miracle, conceived of love and born of great pain. Jenna and Kevin both almost died that night. David will never forget his bargain with god for allowing them to both live. And he'd bargain again for his son's life, anything. just anything.
"I'm scared, David," turning her face into his collar. "I'm so scared."
"I know, baby," he murmured softly as he continued to watch his son. "I know."
"What if."
"Stop."
"I can't."
"I know but we have to keep the faith, baby. We simply have to." He kissed her forehead and wished to god he could will his strength to his son. "And let's not forget that Jules said that she'd. She's creating a miracle of her own to save ours."
"I know," looking up and searching her husband's eyes. "Do you believe her when she said that she'd have the baby anyways, even if Kevin wasn't sick?"
Nearly ten years of knowing the girl gave him some perceptive. "I think that when Jules puts her mind to something, we had all best get the hell out of her way before she mows us down in her determination to get there." She hugged his wife tight, wondering if he was just hopeful or if actually believed it when he said, "Yeah, I think she would."
"I like Dr. Slingerland," Jenna admitted with a smile as she leaned up and kissed her husband's chin. "I think he's be an excellent father to my baby sister's babies."
"You sure?" he asked, backing slowly out of the room.
"Yeah," follow him with a sigh.
"Why do you say that?" picking her up and heading for their own bedroom.
"Because I see it in his eyes," she murmured against his throat. "And he doesn't look like he's going to give up anytime soon."
"Give up?"
"Yeah," she nodded and grinned unabashedly. "Jules has better watch out. That man is determined to be in her life, even if it drives her nuts."
~~~~
"You're driving me nuts."
Jules said nothing as Matt made that announcement and picked up their finished plates. Dropping them into the sink, he turned to get the dessert when he found her in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching him steadily with her brilliant eyes. "You want to explain that little comment?"
"Sure," he informed her as he pulled the frig door open. Bea had made her wonderful raspberry mousse to chill and he had wanted to share the delicacy with Jules. "You've been very particular since got here. Does being in my home make you that weary of me?"
"No," she shook her head honestly and accepted the iced dessert bowel.
"Then why are you so quiet?" he asked ushering her into the dinning room once more. "You barely spoke two sentences during the meal."
"I'm just doing a lot of thinking, that's all," and dipping the tiny dessertspoon he handed her into the pink mousse. "This is good."
"Yes it is," he told her and abandoned it on the dinning room table. "Please tell me what you're thinking of. It's making me loony."
"Lay it out on the table?" she asked him softly.
"Please," he begged.
She made a face and nodded. "Okay, if you say so. I don't think we're going to work."
"Excuse me?" his heart dropped into his shoes.
"You told me to think about being together and that's what I've been doing: thinking about it. And my conclusion is that we're not going to match up too good."
Matt could literally hear his heart crack and every bone in his body felt it. "May I ask why?"
She looked away his stricken eyes. It was as if a big hand had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart. She tapped the side of the dessert bowel with her spoon; it chimed with sweet melody. "You're Tiffany's and Cartier, Doulton and Baccarat, Raphaels and Picassos. I'm Kmart and Marvyn's, Mikasa and Lenox, Charles Schulz and Warner Brothers. You're diamonds and sapphires. I'm cubic zirconium and rhinestones. You're gold and silver. I'm like the combination of a rainbow. You getting the drift here?"
Matt didn't look like he was. "No, not really."
Jules made a face. "We are way too different."
"Different?" not quite understanding the word in its context.
"Yeah," nodding her head to emphasize the point. "We pretty much clash like at every level."
He blinked, really at sea now. "I beg your pardon?"
She looked around the room. "You eat from silver spoons and use good china on a daily basis. I have paper plates and utensils that were never meant to do repeat performances. You have a housekeeper that cooks gourmet meals. I have McDonald's. My apartment fits into your living room. Sheesh, no wonder your dad thought I was after your money."
He looked stupefied as if he didn't quite believe what he's hearing from her. "And that's your reason?"
"That's not a reason?" she asked.
"No, it's not!" She was startled by the amount of indignation behind his exclamation. "That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard of in my life. These," picking up a crystal candy dish from the side table and using it to indicate the fine furniture around the house, "are just things. THINGS!!! They are materials goods," he shouted at her. "Utterly worthless!" and sent the candy dish into the wall where it shattered, raining fine shards of crystal into the thick carpet underfoot.
"Well they are now," she could help but muttered. Jules stared at the sparkling pieces for a moment before turning to stare at the incensed Matt Slingerland.
His breath caught in his throat as he choked on his own anger. He was, to put it mildly, beyond furious. "I cannot believe you would let something as insignificant and worthless as." he was having difficult time putting properly vocabulary together. Hardly a surprise given he felt as if he was ready to explode, "How could you think that money would ever be."
"Whoa, stop," standing up so he didn't quite loom over her like an avenging angel. Surprisingly enough, she wasn't the least bit frightened of his show of temper. "Who said anything about money? I was talking about style, taste, interests."
"What the hell does that mean?" exasperated.
"It means that we are two very different people with clashing styles. Money has nothing to do with any of this. I make more than enough to have nice... good quality, expensive things; I just have no interest in acquiring them. But you. look around you, Matt. You live within gilded walls of very high-class minimalist society. Everything in your house shouts 'expensive,' 'functional,' 'elegant,' 'Victorian' even. We are like on the opposite spectrum of interests."
"We're not that different," calming down and finally coming to some understanding as to her point of view.
"Yes we are." She said with a sigh, seeing that she was getting through. "You're British, Upper-Crest, conservatism. I'm San Franciscan, Working-Class, women's lib. You're Moby Dick and Tale of Two Cities. I'm Harlequin romance novels and John Grisham. You're Mozart and Chaplin. I'm Madonna and Rolling Stones." She walked to the railing that sectioned off his lower leveled living room. "You decorate with Tiffany lamps. I decorate with Loony Toons figurines."
"I like Loony Toons," he informed her. He supposed at first glance, they were somewhat 'clashing.' But damn it to hell, it shouldn't manner.
She gave him 'yeah, right' look and cross her arms. "Oh really?"
"Yes," he said defensively.
She rolled her eyes. "Okay. Show me one thing in this house that has Loon Toons on it."
He blinked.
Jules looked at him smugly, knowing she's hitting home now. "Go on, show me."
Feeling distinctively put upon, Matt reached for her hand, leading her toward the stairs. There was moments where he positively wanted to strangle the girl. that or make love to her until she couldn't breathe any more.
"Where are we going?" she asked, looking around her with interest. Her brows shot up at several black and white photos of deserted beachfront scenes that decorated the stairwell. "Nice."
He stopped in the middle of the stairs, "If you use that word one more time tonight, I will not be responsible for my actions."
Jules had the feeling that she was really pushing him to the edge. It was quite 'interesting' to see the usually unflappable Dr. Slingerland so at his wit's end, almost cute even. Of course, it wasn't nearly as interesting now as he was the night he was flat on his ass drunk. But that was quite 'interesting' as well. "Okay, I got it."
He eyed her carefully. "Are you by any chance laughing at me, darling?" Stepping down onto her level and crowding her into the wall, back against the handrail.
Years of professionalism when faced with some of the most tragic moments of life came to her rescue, her professional face hand under his scrutiny. though it was hard. She shook her head slowly.
"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning in just a little closer until his lips were but an inch from hers.
Her heart suddenly jumped in to her throat. She nodded.
Staring into her eyes for a moment, he slowly backed off until there was enough room between for her to breath easy. Taking her hand once more, he led the way up the stair, making his way toward the end of that hall. Jules suddenly became nervous after they passed two rooms that looked like a study and an efficiently tidy guest room. "Matt, where are we going?"
"You wanted to see Loony Toons in my home, correct?" he asked, not slowly any.
"Yes," she answered cautiously.
"That's where we're going," he answered as he pushed open a door with his foot.
Jules pulled her arm back as he entered the room and she stopped just short of the threshold. It was clearly his bedroom. Peeking in, she noted the wide bed with its carved headboard that matched the armoire and dresser by the side. A fancy lamp and cushy armchair sat in the corner of the room, where she imagined he would sit at ease for leisure reading at night. The solidness of the dark color oak furniture was contrasted by the pale peach and cream color bedspread and matching lute string wallpaper. The delicate sea foam green curtains also added softness to the otherwise masculine room. "You sleep in here?" she asked. If she looked all around the world, she couldn't have found a better contrast to her own cramp little bedroom over flowing with stuff animals and cutesy throws than this one.
"Sometimes," he replied, pulling open a drawer in his dresser of neatly stacked and press clothes.
"What are you doing?" she asked tentatively as she took a careful step into the room and looked about some more. A stark black and white poster of the Eiffel Tower hung on one wall. A suit rack stood partially behind the open door of the armoire where she could see several tie hangers were crowded with splashes of silk ties.
"I'm looking for. ah, here it is," pulling out something wonderfully crowded and colorful. "I knew I had it in here somewhere."
Curious because he looked so self-satisfied, she moved closer. "What is it?"
He turned and held it up for her to see. Jules only had one reaction: she burst out laughing. He looked at her as she doubled over with mirth and couldn't quite contain a smile or two of his own. "Well, you wanted to see Loony Toons."
That only set her off again.
"Are you done?" he asked after she was sufficiently calm enough to catch her breath.
She giggled again as she nodded her head and took the boxers in his hand with Bugs Bunny, Taz, Tweety and the rest of the guy running happily across it. She couldn't stop the grin that graced her face as she continued to stare at it. "Do you actually wear this?" can't quite picture him wearing something that whimsical.
"Yes, I do," he said, taking back his underwear and putting it back into his drawer once more.
"Really?" her delight had no end as she stood on tiptoe to look into his drawer. "What do you have in there?"
"Why are you curious?" he asked, pausing in closing the drawer.
"I can't see you wearing anything that silly," she informed him with a grin.
Because she looked so adorably endearing laughing up at him with her eyes finally twinkling and her face animated with delight, he didn't resist the urge to kiss her once more. And the kiss was pure pleasure, heating his insides and sending a shock wave of something infinitely sweet through his system. She didn't resist, didn't do anything more than open up to him, pleasuring his senses with her heady warmth. Was there anything better than a soft woman against one's body; he thinks not.
"Hum." she felt her legs go numb for a moment and had to cling to him for support. "You do that just a little too well."
"Yes, but the question is, are you enjoying it," he informed her and held her for a moment, his eyes straying to his comfortable bed. *You are a very bad man, Slingerland. Very bad indeed.* With a sigh, he let go before he did anything to embarrass himself, like beg. Her eyes were lowered, making it impossible for him to know what her thoughts were. "Jules, are you all right?"
"We really shouldn't do this," she informed him, her eyes still at half-mast and her feet not quite steady yet. Her insides had the consistency of gelatin at the moment. Damn the man for having that kind of power over her.
"Maybe," he said quietly, just holding. "But that doesn't mean that I don't still want to." He stroked her back and inhaled her sweetness. There was something infinitely good about her that he couldn't ever name, nor did he want to cheapen it by doing so. A part of him cried out for her, ached for her, needed her; it was quite ridiculous but it almost felt as if his soul recognized something in her that its being seeking for a long time. "Stay with me tonight."
She didn't move a muscle, couldn't really. "Matt, we. I can't."
His arms tightened every so slightly. "I just want to hold you tonight, nothing more than that no matter how much more I want," he kissed the top of her head. "Just hold you as I fall asleep and wake up looking at your face. That's all I'm asking for tonight."
Her lips parted to say no, to tell that it was a bad idea, to tell him that it was better if they both just let go and went their separate ways so that neither is hurt at the end. She wanted to tell him that their difference would only grow more prominent by the day if they continue down this road and they may end up destroying a friendship that has only begun to grow of late. To tell him that climbing into bed with him again would only. She wasn't sure what it would do actually. Only that her logical side is telling her that this would end so badly for her; and her heart
Yet.
Yet.
"Stay," he whispered softly, almost pleadingly, but did nothing more than continue to hold her against him gently, allowing his heart to thump lightly against her ear.
"I can't, Matt," she managed to get her, feeling something lost to her.
But Matt was stubborn if nothing else. "Why?"
Why? Why? Why indeed. "Because. because." One night. That's all he was asking: one night. No sex; just sleep next him, hear his breathing in the darkness, take comfort in knowing that this man, this beautiful man, wanted more from her than either one of them could put into words. Just lie there and imagine what life could be like: her, him and that precious life that may even now be growing within her. "I. I'm not sure if." if she wanted to get her hopes up even as she looked over his shoulder at the magazine spread perfect room. She couldn't imagine this room cluttered with her quirky collection of cartoon characters.
"If what?" he murmured against her hair. Sugar and strawberries; that was what was in her hair.
"Matt," looking up, seeing his eyes that watched her with such gentle respect and . and love? Was that love she was seeing in his eyes? It gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling to see it. "I'm just not sure if this is such a good idea."
The slight smile that appeared was reassuring and mocking at the same time, a strange combination that she hadn't realized could be done. "That's okay. I've got enough confidence in that fact that this is one of my more brilliant ideas for both of us." He leaned in and kissed her smooth forehead, lingering there for a moment. "I know it's still early."
"It's almost ten, Matt."
"Is it?" glancing at the antique iron clock by his bed. Sure enough, it was five minutes to ten in the evening. Where the time had gone, he wasn't sure. But time usually seem to fly when he was in her company, whether he was enjoying her company, yelling at her, or wanting so badly to kiss that delectable lips, she never bored him for a second, moving his life along at such a pace that left him dazed and confused. "Well then, I won't feel so silly asking you to come to bed now then." He stopped her when she opened her mouth to speak. "Before you tell me that you don't believe this would be the wisest decision you have made of late, please allow me to point out that you yet to outright say no. Some part of you must be considering the idea in a favorable light."
The reply she had been preparing to give died in her throat. Her eyes searched his for a moment.
"I'm asking for you to give me a chance, Jules," Matt said quietly, appealing to her. "I want to be part of your life, part of our child's life. Let me do that."
She closed her eyes, confusion making her dizzy with uncertainty. "I don't want to make a mistake, especially not now."
"No one does, darling," pulling her tight into his embrace. "You're not the only one afraid here."
She laughed, taking comfort in his admission as he had intended. "Then what do we do?"
"Take it one step at a time, as the wise men say," he advised rubbing his five o'clock stubble against her hair. "And the first step I'd like to take tonight is of your to stay with me. We'll sleep on it, together. No obligations to do anything more than to sleep next to me, wake in my arms and let me give you breakfast that doesn't include cold milk and cereal."
"I like cold milk and cereal," she informed him with a smile as she rubbed her chilled nose against his shirtfront. "You can cook?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"What are you going to serve me?"
"Is that going to be the deciding factor as to whether or not you will be spending the night?" he wanted to know sensing victory.
"Maybe."
"Cheese omelet with ham and green onion. Hot chocolate or breakfast tea. I suppose tempting you with good French roast coffee would score more points but I'm afraid I do have to considering the baby on this occasion."
She gave his waist a squeeze and sighed. "Fresh omelet in the morning?"
"I'll go gather the eggs myself if you say yes."
The visual image of Dr. Matthew Slingerland in a hen house picking eggs from indignantly clucking hens, like the cartoons, brought laughter to her face. "All right, I guess that's worth staying the night for."
"You won't regret it."
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To be continued..