That Night We Made Baby

“You could get a new client, maybe,” she said.

The joke fell flat as he darted her a sharp glance. “I’ll leave that up to the ambulance chasers,” he said tightly, then turned toward her, his arm moving in her direction.

She wondered if he was going to put his arm around her. But was incredibly relieved when he gripped the back of her seat, twisted and looked behind him. “We’ll find an alternate route,” he said as he eased out of their lane, and off onto a side street.

She watched him, not missing the way he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, or the way he kept exhaling heavily. “Nick, you’re sick. Just let me drive.”

He glanced at her, those hazel eyes narrowed on her. “I’m sick, not crazy,” he said, but softened his words with a slight smile. “I’m also dying of thirst.”

“Then stop for a drink, and I can take a cab.” She spotted a row of small restaurants ahead of them. “Just stop at one of them, and I’ll find a cab.”

“Not a bad idea,” he said almost under his breath as he eased the car to the side of the street.

Sam looked to her right and saw he’d stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant with valet parking. An attendant was at the driver’s side before the car completely came to a stop.

“Okay,” she said, wishing she wasn’t so aware of the very faint shadow of a new beard at his jawline. “I can call a cab from the restaurant,” she said.

He turned around, shifting to grip the steering wheel with both hands, but his eyes never left her. “Sure, whatever. Let’s just get inside, okay?”