Nine Month Countdown. Leah Ashton

Didn’t seem real.

      Ivy was already negotiating all the happy diners, and Angus needed to take several large strides to catch up with her. Automatically, he reached out and rested his hand in the small of her back.

      At his touch, she went still, her chin shooting up as she met his gaze.

      She’d done a poor job hiding the sheen to her eyes back at the table, and she was far less successful now. Again her gaze was more than wobbly, and he was reminded that he wasn’t alone in his shock and disbelief.

      He felt he should say something. Something reassuring and supportive.

      But he didn’t have any experience in this kind of thing. Hell, his ex-girlfriends had made it clear he was a complete failure at even the most simple of relationships—let alone what to say to the woman who had just announced she was carrying his child.

      So he said nothing at all, and Ivy’s gaze just kept on wobbling.

      ‘Ivy!’

      Against his palm, Angus felt Ivy tense.

      At the bar, only a few metres away, sat a seriously glamorous blonde. Her hair tumbled in generous waves over one shoulder, and beside her was a significantly less glamorous man.

      Ivy appeared struck dumb, and didn’t move a millimetre as the pair approached them.

      ‘It’s been months!’ the blonde exclaimed. ‘How are you?’

      ‘I—uh—’ Ivy began, and then went silent, simply sending him a panicky glance. Her body was moving now. She was trembling.

      Immediately Angus slid his hand from her back to her waist, and tugged her gently against him. Even now, when he shouldn’t, he noticed how naturally she fitted against him. And how soft and warm her body felt.

      ‘I’m Angus Barlow,’ he said to the couple, offering his free hand.

      Then for the next three minutes he scrounged every last ounce of charm he possessed to conduct the most trivial of conversations, while Ivy managed the occasional nod and single-word response. And then he politely excused them, and escorted Ivy outside as quickly as their legs would carry them.

      Outside, the night was cool against his skin. His arm was still around Ivy, and in the cold it seemed illogical to remove it, given the flimsiness of her dress.

      He was still walking briskly, keen to put as much space between himself and the bar, when Ivy came to an abrupt stop and disentangled herself from him.

      ‘Where are you going?’ she said.

      Angus paused. His car was parked in the opposite direction.

      ‘I have no idea,’ he said.

      And amongst all that had happened tonight, those four little words were suddenly hilarious, and he burst into a harsh bark of laughter.

      A moment later, Ivy joined in, and they both stood together on the footpath, cackling away just like those women having dinner.

      When they both fell silent, Ivy looked up at him again.

      No wobbles this time, just direct, real Ivy.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said.