Having the Billionaire's Baby(24)
She didn't want that in a man. She wanted a partner. She thought of Nick, who was a partner in the commercial sense. She mentally exchanged the word "partner" for "equal," and realized he was that too.
"I'm thrilled for you," said Callie, dragging her thoughts back to safe ground. "Just be careful you don't let the stress of the festival get to you. Take all the rest you need to. Pass whatever you don't want to deal with over to me." Heck, Melody was even bringing out Callie's protective instincts. She almost laughed at the concept-had forgotten for a while that she was pregnant too.
"Thank you." Mel picked up a glass paperweight and turned it in her fingers. The gesture reminded Callie of Nick. "There's something else I wanted to discuss with you."
Callie thought she knew what was coming, and if, as she suspected, it was anything to do with Jason, or Melody's doubt, she'd really rather not have this conversation. At the sound of a tap on the door they looked around-Callie with relief-to see Nick.
His gaze went to Callie, assessing, then flicked to his sister. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he spoke. "Rosa's waiting for you both."
He held the door open for them. Melody went out first, Callie followed. As she passed him he caught her eye, touched a gentle hand to her elbow. "Did it go all right?"
His concern was for her. She didn't want to like him in this stupid, melting kind of way; she didn't want to be as aware of the simplest of touches as she was. She had to fight both those urges.
As if sensing something of her battle, Nick smiled, warmth in his eyes, and against her will she melted a little bit further. At that moment, Melody looked back over her shoulder, and just as quickly looked away again. But she had seen Nick's hand on her arm, his smile, and a small puzzled frown had drawn her brows together.
The family sat outside for dinner, grouped around a long, rustic dinning table. Candles on twisting, wax-covered, wrought-iron holders lined the center. A vine-covered pergola partially screened the dusky sky. Two men Callie recognized from Melody's bridal party joined them. Nick, who was seated opposite her, introduced them as his cousins, Michael, their head winemaker, who Callie had met earlier in the day, charming and urbane, and Ricardo, the vineyard manager, quiet, with what looked to be burn scars on the left side of his face.
And as for Nick's claim to have little to do with the winery and vineyard, it was obvious that the others had enormous respect for him, asking his opinion on matters both professional and personal.
Rosa supervised the bringing out of course after course, and dusk gave way to evening as the family ate and talked. Another cousin, Lisa, carrying a small baby girl, joined them partway through the meal, squeezing herself into a seat next to Nick. Callie had to make an effort not to stare in fascination at the baby cradled in its mother's arms. Sometimes it still didn't seem real that she, too, was going to be a mother.
She had anticipated the meal being strained. Nothing could have been further from reality. People talked over one another, argued and laughed. When Michael offered to pour Callie's wine and she declined, Melody sent her an odd glance. And twice Callie noticed Melody looking between her and Nick. But apart from the occasional searching glance, Nick paid her no special attention. He gave no hint that anything lay between them, showed no visible reaction when Michael flirted with her, though Callie knew he was aware of it. He joined in the conversation and was more relaxed than she'd seen him before. His dark eyes sparkled when he laughed. And he laughed often.
Callie felt included in a circle of warmth and friendship that she'd never experienced in her own family. It had the feeling of something deep and old and certain. Even when she had lived at home, she and her mother had seldom sat at the table. And there had definitely been none of this lingering and laughing and teasing.
She didn't want to like Nick, didn't want to see him as warm and caring, because it only highlighted what she couldn't have. And worse than that was the awful thought that this would be a wonderful environment for a child to grow up in. Much better than she, a single woman living on her own, could provide. This family, in itself, seemed the village that it supposedly took to raise a child.
As dessert was served, the baby became fractious and Lisa decided to leave. She passed the child to Nick so she could get out of her chair. Callie watched those big, competent hands take the baby, clearly comfortable with the infant. She saw the tears that had threatened vanish, to be replaced by a smile and then a small gurgling laugh.
Michael laughed and looked at Callie. "Nick's charm with the ladies is legendary." The hint of Italian in his accent was pronounced, because of the time he'd recently spent in Tuscany. "But you can see it is not ill-founded. It works even with babies."
Callie looked from Michael to the baby to Nick, confident and at ease.
And watching her.
His gaze challenged her, seeming to say that this would be them one day. The child he held would be their own. As she met and held his gaze in wordless communication, a sense of wonder and connection settled over her. How could the concept of raising their child together be so very foreign, and yet seem almost right at the same time?
Something changed in his gaze-emotion surfaced from the still, green depths, flickered and then was gone. Frowning, Nick turned and handed the baby up to its mother, releasing Callie from the enthrallment of that gaze. Lisa stood, jiggling the child as she made her goodbyes, and passed on and accepted last-minute messages from and to her absent husband. She turned to Melody as she tucked a shawl around the baby. "How's the nursery coming along?"
A collective sigh rose up from the men at the table, and Melody scowled theatrically at them before turning back to Lisa, her chin high. "Good."
"But … " Ricardo prompted.
"The paint color," several voices whined in unison.
"Philistines." Melody turned to Callie. "You'll help me with the paint color, won't you? You have such a good eye for color. And an understanding of the importance of getting the right shade." She shot another glare around the unsympathetic table.
Callie remembered how long they'd taken over the brochures for Cypress Rise. But in the end they had something they were both thrilled with. "Of course. I'd love to."
But it was two days later before they had the chance. As the two women climbed the stairs after another leisurely and loud family dinner, Callie noted Mel's hand come to rest on her stomach. "Is everything all right?"
Melody smiled widely, her gaze softening. "Perfect."
"It's not too much for you? The festival and everything?"
"No. Today for a change, I have boundless energy. I think this evening I'll even get some more work done in the nursery."
"What do you need to do?" Callie had no idea about nurseries, or what sort of equipment and preparations she'd need for a baby. Helping Melody was a good pretext for getting her own thinking in order. She wanted to do things right, wanted to show Nick that she could.
"I've picked out the furniture, but I still need the curtains, and I can't do that till I've chosen the paint color. And I've seen some borders that I really like too." Melody talked nonstop about her plans as she led Callie up the stairs. They stepped into a bright, cozy room that would get lovely morning sun. No curtains hung at the wide windows that gave a view of dark silhouettes of rolling hills. An ornate wooden cot occupied one corner of the room.
"I've narrowed it down to a choice between those two yellows." Melody pointed out two squares among the dozen rough-edged patches of color painted onto the cream walls. "Which do you prefer?"
Callie studied them for a moment. Her thoughts wandered. She didn't even know where she'd be living when her child was born, let alone know what color she was going to paint the nursery.