Two Doctors and A Baby

She shook her head. “My mother is a senior research supervisor at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta—she can isolate a pathogen but I doubt she knows how to pound or purée.”

“So who taught you how to cook?”

“I took a few recreational cooking classes at a small culinary institute in Boston while I was doing my residency.”

“Did you graduate with top honors from there, too?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t for grades, it was for fun.”

“For fun?” he asked skeptically.

Her lips curved, just a little. “It was more fun than starving.”

“Well, your pasta gets top marks from me,” he told her.

“The sauce was good,” she allowed. “The noodles were overcooked.”

“Maybe by about thirty seconds,” he acknowledged, smiling at her.

She smiled back, a wordless acceptance of the truce he’d offered. “Okay, maybe I could learn to relax a little bit.”

“I’d be happy to teach you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to be that relaxed.”

He chuckled, unoffended.

“I didn’t make anything for dessert, but I do have ice cream,” she told him.

“I don’t think I have room for dessert—even ice cream,” he told her.

“It’s cookies ’n’ cream,” she said, in a tone that suggested no one could refuse her favorite flavor.

But he shook his head. “No, thanks.”

When she started to stack the dishes, he pulled the lab report out of his pocket and slid it across the table to her.

Avery’s heart pounded as she unfolded the page.

Her eyes skimmed the document quickly the first time, then again, more slowly. She’d been right. Just as she’d suspected, his results were all clear.

She exhaled a grateful sigh. There was nothing to worry about. But she’d needed to be sure—just in case there were other repercussions from that night.

“That’s it, then,” she said, almost giddy with relief as she pushed away from the table to help clear it. “There’s no need for either of us to ever again mention what happened on New Year’s Eve.”

He leaned back against the counter, holding her gaze for a long moment before he finally asked, “Are you sure about that?”

She hugged the salad dressing bottles she carried closer to her chest and eyed him warily.

“There are other potential consequences of unprotected sex,” he reminded her.

She nibbled on her lower lip, as if she didn’t know where he was going with the conversation. Because she hadn’t expected him to go there, she hadn’t expected the possibility to cross his mind. And maybe it hadn’t. “What do you mean?”

He continued to hold her gaze, his own unwavering. “I mean a baby,” he told her. “Is it possible you could be pregnant?”

She shook her head as she turned away from him to put the dressings back in the fridge. “I don’t think so.”