Page 11 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor

His eyes soften with understanding. "It's a lot."

"Yeah."

The Daily Grind is half-full, mostly with hospital staff grabbing coffee between shifts. A few heads turn when we enter—Daniel in his white coat beside me—and I immediately feel the weight of Cedar Falls' small-town scrutiny. By dinner, half the town will know Dr. Morrison was seen with James Sullivan's daughter. By tomorrow, they'll have us engaged.

If they only knew.

We find a table in the back corner, away from the windows and curious eyes. Daniel insists on ordering for us, and I let him, sinking into a worn armchair that's trying too hard to be vintage.

"Chamomile okay?" he asks. "It's caffeine-free."

"I'm allowed up to 200 milligrams of caffeine a day," I say. I've been researching pregnancy guidelines obsessively for the last forty-eight hours. "But chamomile is fine."

He returns a few minutes later with two steaming mugs and a plate with a single chocolate chip cookie. "The barista said their cookies are baked fresh this morning. I thought you might..." He trails off, suddenly uncertain.

"Thanks." I take the cookie, touched by the small gesture. "I haven't had much of an appetite lately, but sweets still work."

Daniel sits across from me, his long legs bumping against mine under the small table. He immediately shifts them away, trying his best not to invade my space. "When did the symptoms start?"

"About a week ago." I break off a piece of cookie, not meeting his eyes. "At first I thought it was just stress. Or a stomach bug. But then I was late, and—" I stop myself. He doesn't need the play-by-play of my panic.

"I still can't believe it," Daniel says softly. "Not in a bad way. Just... the odds."

"Believe me, I've done the math." I finally look up at him. "Condoms are supposed to be 98% effective. We got really unlucky. Or lucky, depending on how you look at it."

His eyes search mine. "How are you looking at it?"

The question is gentle, but it hits like a freight train. I've been so busy cycling through shock, panic, and pragmatic planning that I haven't stopped to really examine how I feel about the actual baby.

"I don't know yet," I admit. "Part of me is terrified. Not ready. But another part..." I take a sip of tea, buying time. "I always wanted kids someday. Just not like this. Not with someone I barely know."

Daniel winces slightly, and I immediately regret my bluntness.

"Sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's the truth." He wraps his hands around his mug. "We don't know each other. One night and a couple of conversations don't make us anything close to ready for parenthood together."

"So what do we do about that?" I ask, the question that's been gnawing at me since I saw those two pink lines.

He looks thoughtful. "We get to know each other. Properly."

"Like dating?" The word feels absurd in our situation.

"Not exactly. More like... accelerated friendship." A small smile tugs at his lips. "With a very serious deadline."

Despite everything, I find myself smiling back. "That's one way to put it."

"I have Saturday off," he offers. "The whole day. We could... I don't know. Do something."

"Something?"

"Something normal. Not hospital cafeterias or pregnancy tests or late-night diner confessions." He leans forward slightly. "Something that would let us talk. Really talk."

I can’t help but notice his earnest expression, the way he's leaning toward me as if drawn by gravity, the hint of vulnerability beneath his doctor's confidence. He's trying. Really trying.

But I've been burned before, and not just by him. Life has a way of promising things and then snatching them away. Dad's cancer was supposed to be treatable. My career in the city was supposed to be fulfilling. Daniel was supposed to be just a one-night escape, not the father of my child.

"I'm not sure if I can trust you yet," I say finally, the words coming out softer than I intended.

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