Beginning With Their Baby

Author:Tracy Wolff [Wolff, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, General, Category, Suspense, Pregnancy, Commitment (Psychology)
ISBN: 9780373716494
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

THREE WEEKS LATER, MATT was still trying to sort things out in his mind. During that time, he’d managed to keep his distance from Camille—which hadn’t been all that difficult as she’d alternated between treating him like a casual friend and a plague victim, depending on what the situation called for. Though she was willing to hang out with him, things had to be kept on a superficial level—every time he tried to have a meaningful conversation with her, she pretty much kicked him to the curb. Which was a lot more annoying than he had expected it to be, especially this week, as he was preparing to head overseas for a few weeks.

Since Reece had gotten married, Matt had been doing most of the traveling, which was normally fine with him. But now, with Camille and a baby on the way, he found himself wanting to stick closer to home.He’d tried to talk to Camille about it the night before, but she’d blown him off. Tonight he wouldn’t let her, he decided as he let himself into the house.

He went to set his keys in the bowl he kept on the entryway table for just that purpose and found it filled with orange-scented potpourri—and the table it rested on was cluttered with mail, magazines and a bunch of other indecipherable junk.

Ignoring the mess, he headed through the great room to the kitchen. On his way, he did his best to ignore the fact that his beloved poker table was loaded down with bags from the closest art supply store.

Bottles of paint, brushes and other art supplies tumbled haphazardly out of the bags, and he gritted his teeth when he saw the smears of red pigment that crisscrossed the green felt. Trying to keep his cool, he averted his eyes, but it was difficult. A man’s poker table should be sacrosanct, certainly above being used as a rest stop for a bunch of painting stuff.

He stepped into the kitchen and realized Hurricane Camille had struck in here, as well. A cereal bowl and some glasses were in the sink and a frying pan was on the stove, a grilled cheese sandwich still resting in it—as if she had made it, then forgotten to eat it. The crumpled cheese wrappers and half-used butter container were still on the counter.

Shaking his head, he reached into the fridge to grab a beer and came away with a tall can of paint thinner instead. Paint thinner? He stared at the container for long seconds, then burst into laughter. How could he not? Camille certainly knew how to keep a man on his toes.

When she’d first moved in, he’d been more than a little concerned about the chaos that seemed to follow wherever she led. But lately, he’d learned to appreciate her particular brand of absentminded mess. Which was more than a little disconcerting, now that he thought about it. How far gone was a guy when he found endearing things that would normally

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