But the tree was something else.
She sat on the lounge and watched the lights blink on and off, her anger at him dissolving temporarily, suddenly miserable that he had left before she’d had a chance to thank him.
She’d deliberately not thought of Christmas in relation to him. She knew he was working on Christmas Day, as was she, but she hadn’t wanted to pry or push as to his plans for the night. She’d hoped they’d spend it together. But now? She was pretty sure whatever they had been building had just come tumbling down.
Nash went to work that night with a lot on his mind. He’d barely slept so he was more tired, crankier and grouchier than he’d ever been in his life. And everyone noticed. Because Nash was never any of those things. Not even in the midst of a crisis. He was laid-back, unfailingly cheerful and if it was there, usually found the humour in any situation.
But tonight he was tense, snappy and grim-faced. And the nurses avoided him like the plague. Lucky for them their quiet streak was continuing so contact with Nash could be minimised. The snake bite patient had gone to the ward at lunchtime, which left only Toby and the duff, duff, duff of his ventilator plus the critical airway baby.
Which meant the night was interminable. Too much time to think. To dwell on things. A father.
He was going to be a father!
Something he’d made a conscious decision never to be. Something he’d never even imagined. Had always, in fact, taken every precaution to prevent.
But it had happened anyway.
His mother would be ecstatic. So would his father. It wasn’t enough that their grandchildren already numbered twelve, they doted on each and every one and were overjoyed that his sisters didn’t appear to be finished yet.
But he didn’t want that for himself. Not now. Not ever. And yet here he was.
Why?
And why with the one woman who was rapidly coming to mean more than just a three-month fling to him? She ticked every box — smart, fascinating, gorgeous, funny and great between the sheets. And things had been going so well.
Now this.
Still his honour demanded that he do the right thing and by the time he pulled out of the rooftop car park the next morning he knew exactly what that involved.
Maggie was lying on the couch at around nine-thirty, the next morning absently staring at the blinking tree lights just visible in the daylight, her mind adrift, when there was a knock at the door. She’d fallen asleep on the couch late last night, staring at the lights twinkling in the tinsel.
And she hadn’t yet got her ass up.
Letting her head loll off the edge of the lounge slightly, she looked back through her fringe, to the front door. She could see a large male silhouette and she didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out it was.
For a moment she contemplated ignoring it, feigning sleep, but whatever else had happened here yesterday, whatever challenges they faced right now, she needed to thank him for the tree.
A second knock spurred Maggie into a sitting position. A wave of nausea flooded her and she waited a moment for it to pass. ‘Coming,’ she called.
She was dressed in her usual bed attire, a pair of men’s silky boxers and a faded old singlet T that didn’t quite meet the waistband. It probably wasn’t the most suitable attire to be greeting anyone in but she felt too rough around the edges to care.
And Nash had seen her in a lot less.
Maggie wasn’t prepared when she opened the door for the impact of him. How had she forgotten, in just twenty-four hours, how he could reduce her to jelly? Even his bleak expression wasn’t enough to dampen the roar of her hormones.
Had she always felt like this or was it just the knowledge that part of him was growing inside her? A purely biological connection left over from primitive man?
‘Hi.’ Maggie grasped the doorknob like it was her anchor as his presence threatened to suck her into an alternate universe.
A prehistoric one. Littered with clubs and caves.
Nash curled his fingers into his palms to stop from reaching for her. She looked so damn good, her sleepy eyes and tousled hair reminding him of myriad early morning wake-ups with her snuggled close, the intoxicating smell of her, of them, rousing him to instant alertness.
He wanted to erase the last twenty-four hours, haul her into his arms and drag her into bed, drag her under him, feel her tightness around him.
He was shocked to realise how much he’d missed her. And how little it had to do with sex. He just missed her.
‘Can I come in?’
Maggie stood aside and he prowled past into the lounge room. His back was to her as he stood in front of the Christmas tree.
‘I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday...for the tree. It’s beautiful. I’m...touched.’
Nash concentrated on a yellow light blinking merrily, gilding the nearby red tinsel. He shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas. Everyone should have a tree.’
‘Even if you live alone?’
He turned to face her. ‘Especially if you live alone.’
Maggie’s breath caught in her throat. He seemed tired — desperately tired — and yet he managed somehow to cut right to what was important. How could he be so profound on such little sleep? And then a thought snaked through her brain, seductive in its joy — she was never going to spend another Christmas alone.
He held up a brown paper bag. ‘I bought Danish pastries.’
Maggie was new to this morning sickness thing but one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that her constitution was not up to handling anything so decadent. But she could watch him.
‘Let’s eat on the deck,’ she murmured.
Ten minutes later she could smell the eucalyptus and hear a kookaburra laughing in a distant tree. ‘You look tired,’ she said as he tucked into a flaky morsel.
Nash stopped in mid-chew. ‘I didn’t really sleep yesterday.’
Maggie sipped her tea. Neither had she. Between daydreaming about the baby and their argument replaying in her mind, sleep had been elusive. But at least she’d been able to recharge her batteries overnight. Poor Nash had had to stay awake, be alert, professional.
‘Are we still quiet?’
Nash nodded. ‘Just the two. There was a retrieval call though, just before I left — a fourteen-year-old riding a skateboard, suspected subdural.’
‘No helmet?’
Nash shot her a tired smile. ‘How’d you guess?’
Maggie didn’t bother to answer the rhetorical question even to fill the weird silence. It was awkward between them now but no matter how much she yearned for their easy familiarity, she wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had brought them to this moment for all the money in the world.
Nash swallowed the last of his pastry and licked his lips. He looked into her fudge-brownie eyes and drew in a steadying breath as his pulse hammered through his temples. ‘I think you should come to London with me. Let’s give this thing a go.’
Maggie’s eyes widened and she almost dropped her hot tea in her lap. ‘What?’ she spluttered. She’d known he had something he wanted to say but this was totally out of left field.
‘You said it yesterday. My career path is taking me to London. It’s something I’ve worked years towards and a vital step in my plans for the flying paediatrician service. I have to go. I want to go. But I can’t just take off when I have a responsibility to you. So come to London with me.’