is loved. I don’t want him or her to suffer because of our mistakes,” Charlie said, her voice low and intense and very serious.
“Okay.”
She eyed him steadily for a moment. Then she nodded. “Okay.”
He checked his watch. “I have to go. It’s my nephew’s birthday and Mum is doing a roast.”
“How old is he?”
“Five, going on forty. Mum keeps telling me I was way more precocious than he is when I was a kid, but I don’t think it’s possible.” He stood, automatically collecting the tray.
“I’ll do that,” Charlie said, extending a hand.
“Sorry, no can do. My mother trained us with an iron fist. The Walker men always clean up after themselves.” He thought about his messy apartment. “When we’re in someone else’s domain, anyway.”
“Your mum sounds like a rare and insightful woman.”
“She has her moments.”
Rhys set the tray on the counter in Charlie’s small, neat kitchen. A cookbook lay there, the pages open to a recipe for tarte tatin. Charlie closed the book, a hint of color in her cheeks.
“Trying to teach myself how to cook,” she said with a self-deprecating shrug.
“More power to you. I pretty much live on takeout and toast. Greg keeps telling me I’m going to turn into a fat bastard one of these days now that I’m over thirty.” He patted his belly.
Charlie’s gaze dipped to his waist before lifting to his chest for the briefest of moments. She frowned slightly, then turned away. “I don’t want to hold you up.”
He followed her to the door and stepped into the hall. The neutral expression was back, her eyes giving nothing away as she faced him.
He wondered where all that self-control came from, if it came naturally or if it was a result of her years in the army.
“How would you feel about having dinner sometime next week?” he asked.
She blinked. “I’m not sure…”
“The more we know about each other, the better. This is a pretty full-on situation we’re in, you have to admit.”
Her frown deepened, but she didn’t object again. He decided to take that as a yes.
“I’ll call tomorrow to work out a time and check in after your appointment, okay?”
“Okay.”
He offered her a small smile and started down the hall. He’d reached the top of the stairs when Charlie called out to him.
“Rhys.”
He glanced over his shoulder. She’d stepped into the hall and was fiddling with the top button of her shirt.
“Thanks for calling. And for coming over. I appreciate it.”
He nodded, then, because it seemed that they’d said everything they needed to say in the short term, he started down the stairs. He only registered how exhausted he was when he exited to the street.
It had been a big day. A huge day. This morning he’d been standing on the wharf in Woolloomooloo contemplating the purchase of a million-dollar-plus apartment. And now he was going to be a father.
It didn’t seem possible, or even probable. Even now, after talking to Charlie for close to an hour, a part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop—for something to happen that would allow him to keep living his life in the way that he’d envisaged it. For the second time that day a wave of pure, unadulterated anger washed over him as he contemplated the future.
From a very early age he’d always looked ahead, and he’d always had a plan to achieve the goals he spied on the horizon. As a ten-year-old he’d set his sights on occupying the bottom, rather than top, bunk bed in the room he shared with his brother, and he hadn’t stopped badgering Tim until he caved and accepted Rhys’s new bike in exchange for the lower berth.
When he was thirteen, Rhys had fallen hard for Sophie Goodwood and spent more than six months wooing her to the point where she finally allowed him to kiss her.
At eighteen, he’d looked around the world, decided that I.T. was an area where a determined person could still make his mark and set about gaining the education and expertise that would allow him to one day be master of his own destiny.
Maybe he’d been fortunate, but there had been precious few instances in his life when his ambitions and plans had been thwarted. He’d always found his way around roadblocks, and he’d never taken no for an answer.
But there was no way around a baby—apart from the obvious, and Charlie had already made that decision for both of them. There was no way he could negotiate with