“Hi. What are you doing here?” I stuck my head out the crack I’d opened.
Noah looked . . . well, the same way he always looked. He was unjustly hot in his faded jeans and flannel shirt. I was torn between a sudden desire to either kick him in the shin for making sexy look so easy or to pull him inside and force myself on his muscled body.
But on the other hand, that kind of thing was what had landed me where we were. I needed to pull myself together and act like an adult.
A non-lusty, non-horny, responsible mother-to-be adult.
Noah was running his hand over his hair as he answered my question. “I thought we should talk. And I thought it might be easier for you on your home turf.” He rolled one shoulder. “And before you ask, yes, Emma gave me your address.”
I peered over his shoulder to the street. “How did you get here? I didn’t hear a car in the driveway.”
“Car service.” Noah rested one large forearm against the doorjamb. “I’m not cleared to drive yet. My physical therapist thinks about another week or two if I stay faithful about getting to therapy appointments. Which I intend to do.” He regarded me with a thoughtful expression. “Can I come in, please, Alison? I’d rather not do this on the porch. Again.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I stepped back, and it was only then that I saw Noah was carrying two large canvas bags. A bouquet of pink roses stuck out of the top of one of them.
He stepped over the threshold and glanced around my foyer. “So this is your fixer-upper, huh? I like it. The place has got . . .” He hesitated as if looking for the right word. “Character.”
I huffed out a brief laugh. “If that’s your way of saying it’s old and dated, you’re not wrong. But I’m bringing it back to life. Although I’m keeping some of the character because I’d rather have a place with charm and personality than some mindless modern space.”
“Like my house?” He quirked a brow.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” I protested. “Your house is modern, yes, but it’s got a lot of charm, too.”
“That’s because of Ang. She had a knack for design and an artist’s eye.” Noah looked down and seemed to remember the bags he was holding. “Oh. I hope you haven’t eaten yet. I brought dinner.”
Instantly, I brightened. “You did? What’s in there?”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking of the food you enjoyed when we went out together. And then I looked up what pregnant women aren’t supposed to eat, and then I did some research into the types of food that are most likely to be offensive to you if you’re sick to your stomach.” He paused. “I didn’t know if you have morning sickness or not. Did you know a lot of women actually have morning sickness all day or at night? That sucks.”
I hid my smile at his earnestness. I was still really pissed at this man, but I had to admit that all of the effort he was going to right now was thawing me just slightly.
“I’ve been lucky. No morning sickness, really. I have to be careful to eat frequently or the queasiness sneaks up on me, and when I brush my teeth—” I stopped. “Eh, you don’t want to hear all that.”
“No, I really do.” Helookedinterested, I had to admit. “You’ve shouldered everything alone so far. I want to know what I’ve missed . . . and I want to be part of everything from here on out.”
If that pronouncement gave me a happy little thrill, I chose to ignore it. Being sweet now didn’t make up for all the crap he’d put me through up until today. “Okay, then. You asked for it. When I brush my teeth, I have to be careful not to stick the brush down my throat too far. My gag reflex is super sensitive right now.”
“Oh, okay. I get it.” He nodded, and then his eye gleamed with something that made my knees go weak. Damn it, he was smoldering at me. How dare he bring that out right now, when he was standing in my foyer, holding food and flowers, talking about pregnancy stuff? How could I ever hope to hold out against that kind of ammunition?
“What’s that look for?” I frowned.
“Oh, nothing.” Noah assumed an air of innocence. “It was just that you mentioned a gag reflex, and it made me remember.” He cleared his throat. His tongue darted out to glide over his lips, and I knew exactly what he was remembering: me on my knees in front of him, my mouth opened wide as I took him deep—
Ugh. I could not let myself think about that kind of stuff. Not when I was determined to keep things between us strictly business.
I took an intentional step backward away from him. “So what did you end bringing to eat after all of your research?”
“Oh.” He lifted the bags up and grinned. “Eggplant parmesan from my favorite Italian place. It was on the way here, too, so it worked out well. We should probably stick it in the oven for a few minutes to let it heat up, though.”
“We can do that.” I pointed behind him. “Kitchen’s that way.”
I went ahead of Noah mostly so that I didn’t have to look at his ass snugly encased in the soft faded jeans. Stopping in front of the oven, I set the temperature to three-fifty and turned to see what he was doing.
He’d set the bags on my kitchen table and was unloading them carefully. He placed a large container of salad in the center of the table, added a small box next to it, and then carried over two cardboard boxes to me.
“We’ll need a casserole,” I decided. Kneeling, I found a large glass dish and passed it to Noah. “Go ahead and slide them both in there. No sense in dirtying two dishes.”
“Agreed.” He opened the first box and glanced at me. “Do you have a spatula?”
