The Midwife's One-Night Fling: The Midwife's One-Night Fling / Baby Miracle in the ER

And, anyway, there were far better things to look at. Gosh, it was nice to lie there, Freya thought, looking up at Richard.

And for Richard it was nice too—nice to feel her hair, because it had entranced him.

He looked down, but not into her eyes. Her robe was hanging open a little, and he could see the curve of her breast and the edge of a pink areola beckoning. He wanted to slip his hand in...

But sustenance first.

‘I’m starving.’

He wasn’t asking her to cook for him—a bowl of cereal was his usual choice when in a rush, and he was in a rush. To resume proceedings!

He hauled her off his lap and walked through to her tiny kitchen, where he opened up the cupboards while Freya lay there, liking it that he hadn’t asked if he could do so.

Usually that would have made her tense. She recalled well how she had sucked in a breath when she had bought her little cottage and Malcolm had opened her fridge. But now she lay smiling as Richard opened and closed her cupboards.

‘You have absolutely nothing to eat,’ Richard said when he came back. ‘Not even cereal.’

‘I meant to stop at the shops on the way home from work. I think there’s some soup...’

‘That’s not going to cut it. Come on,’ he said. ‘Get dressed.’

‘We could always ring for pizza,’ Freya suggested.

He was tempted. There was a huge appeal in the thought of having pizza delivered and then moving straight to bed. And he had seen from his search of the fridge that there was a bottle of wine there.

A perfect evening.

Except—rarely for him—the pleasure was laced with guilt.

Did she fully get that he didn’t do the dating thing?

He wasn’t that bad—it wasn’t all bed. Just...mostly.

He had come here tonight fully intending to take Freya to that damned film—which was actually quite a concession for him. Richard couldn’t remember the last time he had been to the cinema.

But now he had to be clear. Richard wanted to make sure that she didn’t think this might lead to anything more than a few casual dates and a whole lot of bed.

While he hoped he had spelled things out yesterday—and although getting pizza and going straight to bed would be easier and far more pleasant—Richard knew that he needed to tell her that this night wouldn’t change anything.

Yet clearly it was going to.

For they were soon back at the Italian restaurant—but as lovers this time.

CHAPTER SIX (#ufa772c71-6473-5118-bbbe-2fb399325060)

TONIGHT IT WAS Richard who had the carbonara.

Freya chose spaghetti, and it came with a rich, meaty tomato sauce.

‘You did it again,’ Richard said.

‘What?’

‘When I saw your carbonara last night I regretted my choice...’ And then he stopped, because he’d been about to say that next time they came here the spaghetti with the rich, meaty tomato sauce was what he’d want.

But he didn’t.

Instead he remembered he was off work tomorrow and ordered a bottle of red.

‘I don’t like drinking if I’m working the next day,’ he explained. ‘But I’ve got a few days off now.’

‘And me.’ Freya smiled.

He wondered if she was waiting for him to suggest they do something together.

Ah yes, The Talk, Richard reminded himself.

Except Freya got there first.

‘I’m going home for a couple of days before a stint on nights,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a new lot of tenants arriving at my cottage next week.’

‘Holidaymakers?’ Richard said.

‘Yes, they’re there for two weeks and then I’ve another lot coming in. I’ve arranged for someone to come in and clean, and change the sheets and things, but I just need to sort a few things out.’

‘Don’t you hate having people staying at your house?’

‘I’ve put a lot of stuff in the cellar,’ Freya said. ‘And that’s locked. It doesn’t bother me.’

‘But isn’t it a hassle?’

‘Not really.’ Freya shrugged. ‘And even if it is at times, then it’s worth it. It helps a lot with the mortgage, though in a couple of months it’s going on the market...’ Freya halted.

Or was it?

She recalled that just before Richard had arrived her plans had started to change. She needed to be alone to think about that, to decide what she was going to do, and so she asked about him instead.

‘What about you? Do you have plans?’

‘I have an interview.’

‘Ah, that explains the haircut,’ Freya said as she twirled spaghetti around her fork.

‘Not really. I was well overdue for that. It’s not an interview as such—more an informal lunch to suss things out...’

He let out a sigh and promptly forgot the reason he had brought her here. Instead he told her what tomorrow was about. No-one else knew.

‘There’s a role coming up.’