Page 17 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor

We've reached the far end of the park, where the crowd thins out and the river bends away from town. By silent mutual agreement, we find a bench overlooking the water and sit down, close but not touching.

"Can I ask you something?" Maya says after a comfortable silence.

"Anything."

"Why didn't you call me? After that night?" She keeps her eyes on the river. "The real reason, not the excuse about being busy."

I owe her honesty, even if it doesn't paint me in the best light. "I was scared."

She turns to look at me then, surprise evident in her expression. "Of what?"

"Of how I felt with you." I meet her gaze steadily. "That night wasn't just physical for me, Maya. It was... I don't know how to explain it without sounding like a greeting card. But there was a connection there that I wasn't prepared for."

"So you ran."

"So I ran," I agree. "And I've been kicking myself ever since."

"Even before you knew about the baby?"

"Even before." I take a risk and reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn't pull away. "I'm not saying this to pressure you or complicate things. I just want you to know the truth."

Maya looks down at our joined hands, her expression thoughtful. "I felt it too," she admits quietly. "The connection. It scared me too."

I run my thumb over her knuckles, marveling at how small her hand feels in mine.

"So where does that leave us?" I ask. "Beyond co-parents?"

"I don't know." She meets my eyes again. "But I think I'd like to find out."

Hope blooms in my chest, cautious but real. "Me too."

We sit there by the river as the afternoon light turns golden, holding hands and watching the water flow past, carrying leaves the color of Maya's dress downstream. And for the first time since she showed me that pregnancy test, I feel like maybe—just maybe—this unexpected detour might lead somewhere beautiful.

Chapter 7 - Maya

The river carries fallen leaves downstream, crimson and gold against the dark water. Daniel's hand is warm around mine, his thumb tracing patterns on my skin. The afternoon light catches in his hair, turning the brown strands almost golden at the edges.

The thought scares me, but I'm tired of being afraid. Of holding everyone at arm's length since Dad died. Of wrapping myself in books and quiet and solitude.

A child deserves better than a mother who's afraid to live.

The festival continues behind us, the cheerful noise a counterpoint to our quiet bubble. Families stroll past, children laughing, couples holding hands. Normal life unfolding around us while we sit on this bench, suspended between strangers and something more.

"Can I ask you something else?" I say, not letting go of his hand.

Daniel turns to me, his expression open. "Of course."

"You mentioned your grandfather raised you. What happened to your parents?"

His expression shutters immediately, the openness replaced by something carefully blank. His hand tenses in mine, and for a moment I think he might pull away.

"You don't have to tell me," I add quickly. "If it's too personal."

"No, it's... you should know." He takes a deep breath. "Especially with the baby. Our family histories matter now."

He stares out at the river, gathering his thoughts. I wait, giving him the space to find his words. The music from the festivalfades as the band takes a break, leaving us with just the gentle sound of moving water and distant conversation.

"My mom died when I was eight," he says finally. "Car accident. Drunk driver hit her head-on one night when she was coming home from work."

---