She met his gaze and held it steadily. “Yes. I’m sure, Nate.”
He drew a hand out of a pocket and laid it on his chest. “I’m honored. I hope you know that.”
She nodded, eyes huge, pouty mouth trembling.
“I thought about it all night.”
Again, a jerky nod of her head. Her fingers twisted together in her lap.
“And I decided…I’ll do it.”
The expression on her face didn’t change for several heartbeats. Then joy exploded across it. A smile widened her mouth and she jumped out of her chair, flew across the room to him. She took his hand, where it still lay on his chest, in both of hers and grabbed it tightly.
“Oh, Nate. Oh my God. Thank you. I can’t believe it.”
He smiled, not sure what else to say. Then somehow they ended up in each other’s arms, hugging fiercely. He felt wetness seep into the T-shirt over his chest, where Krissa’s face was pressed. He put a hand on her head, held her gently there, her hair silky beneath his fingers. Her body was small and warm and soft in his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. A soft sob escaped her, but he couldn’t see her face covered by a curtain of glossy dark hair.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just hold on a minute, though.”
“What?” She drew back. Tears glimmered in fine lines down her cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb.
“I’m willing to do it, but it’s a conditional yes. I need to know more about what’s involved. I expect there’s some kind of testing or screening, and who knows…I might not be…um…acceptable.”
She blinked at him, wet eyelashes spiky around her shiny eyes. “I’m sure you will be. I don’t know that much about how it works when you choose a donor, either. I looked into it a bit. But if you’re agreeable, I’ll make an appointment for you with Dr. Edgar. He’s at the fertility clinic in Ventura.”
He nodded. “The food poisoning—I’m over it. I don’t think there’s any long-term effect—other than my eyes.” Goddammit. “I’m pretty healthy otherwise.”
“I’ll go make the appointment right now.”
He huffed out an amused breath. No patience whatsoever. But hey, let her do it.
She went straight to her desk and picked up her cell phone. Apparently she had the clinic number programmed into it. Which was kind of sad.
She spoke to someone and after a little argument, arranged an appointment for the next afternoon. She grimaced as she clicked her phone shut. “They were trying to tell me next week.” She frowned. “Next week is no good. I’m ovulating next week.”
Nate gulped. Uh, did he really need to know that?
“Next week? You think we can do this next week?”
“God, I hope so! This is so exciting! Oh, Nate, thank you again.”
He held up his hands. “Hey don’t thank me yet. And you know, I don’t even know for sure if I’ve got what it takes…nobody’s ever tested my sperm.”
She looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment. “Well. We’ll just keep our fingers crossed.” She dragged in a breath, expelled it. “Okay. This is good. We should call Derek and tell him.”
“The father’s always the last to know.”
He listened with amusement to her frustrated conversation when she couldn’t reach Derek. “Where is he? Why isn’t he answering his cell phone?” she queried whoever was on the other end of the line, presumably Derek’s secretary. “Oh. Okay. Tell him to call me as soon as he can.”
Again she snapped the phone shut, her brows joined between her nose. Her adorable, pink little nose.
“We should go buy some champagne. We’ll celebrate tonight. With any luck, in another week I’ll be pregnant and won’t be able to drink anymore.”
Bemused, he followed her out of the house.
After buying champagne, they went to the fish market on the Breakwater and bought fresh fish and mussels for dinner. Then they drove inland to a farmers’ market and spent an hour browsing through fresh produce. They laughed over the masses of shiitake mushrooms on display. For reasons he couldn’t even begin to explain, Nate bought a bunch of flowers, brightly colored daisies and gave them to Krissa.
Her eyes shone as she took them in her arms. “Thank you. That’s so nice. And they’re gorgeous. I love these gerbera daisies, the colors are so vivid.”
