92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [67]
“She’s doing well,” Christie said reassuringly.
“All three are boys,” Bobby announced without preamble.
“You know already?”
Bobby nodded. “I saw the picture. Teri wouldn’t look but I did.”
“Three sons,” Christie repeated, smiling widely.
“Teri wants a girl,” he said with a frown.
“Trust me, my sister won’t be disappointed,” Christie told him.
“She’ll want to get pregnant again—until she has her girl. I’m just not sure she should.”
Christie knew he was concerned about Teri’s health and the physical demands of this pregnancy. But she also knew the power Teri had over him.
“What you mean is that if my sister wants something and you can make it happen, you will. Right?”
Bobby lowered his eyes.
Christie had to struggle not to laugh. He adored Teri so much, he could refuse her nothing. Oh, to have a man who loved her that intensely. Christie hoped Teri knew how lucky she was.
“Trust me,” she said again. “Once these babies are born, the last thing Teri will think about is getting pregnant again.”
Alarm crossed his face. “She’ll still…you know…” The rest of his words fell away as though he assumed she’d grasp his meaning.
Christie did. Only Bobby would ask something like this. “Oh, I imagine she’ll be as warm and loving as always, probably even more so.”
Bobby’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Leaning forward, Christie kissed his cheek, then walked out the front door.
When she got to her car and opened the driver’s side, she gasped. There, on the seat, lay a single, perfectly shaped, long-stemmed red rose.
Anger rushed through her. She snatched up the rose and marched across the driveway to the garage. James used to live in the apartment above; presumably—obviously—he was back. Christie charged up the steps, breathless when she reached the landing.
Pounding on the door with her fist, she suddenly realized what she’d done but didn’t have time to retreat. James was there, standing in the doorway. Seeing her, he smiled, his eyes warm…and loving.
Everything she’d intended to say disappeared. Confronting him had been a mistake. A big one.
The urge to cry nearly overwhelmed her, but thankfully that passed quickly, replaced with a fresh surge of anger. This rose nonsense was a trick he’d played on her before. Every time Teri had sent him to pick her up or drive her home, there’d been a rose on her seat. In the beginning, Christie had thought the flowers were put there by her sister. Not until much later did she learn they were from James.
“Christie?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She continued to stare at him but suspected she only looked foolish. Hurling the rose at his feet, she whirled around and stormed back down the stairs, practically stumbling in her haste.
James followed at a more sedate pace.
She ran ahead, intent on climbing into her car and speeding away. However, when she went to open the door, she discovered she must have inadvertently locked it. Furious when the door refused to open, she staggered clumsily backward, straight into James’s chest. He caught her by the shoulders.
She broke away from him, shouting, “Don’t touch me!”
“Actually,” he said, as calm as she was annoyed, “I think about touching you quite a bit.”
“Well, don’t.” Shaking the hair out of her face, she fumbled with her car keys and in her frustration dropped them on the pavement.
“Allow me,” James said politely and bent down to retrieve them.
“Don’t ever bring me another rose. Understand?”
He handed back her keys. “I do understand. Unfortunately I can’t guarantee that I’ll stop.”
“Well, force yourself.” Turning away from him, she inserted the key in the lock.
“I love you.” His words were gentle. Sincere.
“I don’t care!“
This was not supposed to be happening! Her plan was to react to him with cool indifference; instead, he’d flustered her so badly that she was on the verge of weeping, intelligible speech beyond her. Gulping for air, choking, she couldn’t manage a single word.
To Christie’s horror, tears rained down her cheeks.