Page 25 of Serving the Maestro

“You might want to brew another pot.” With a wry smile, I picked up the cup. “I love coffee.”

Taking a sip, I shivered in appreciation. If Trent agreed, I might be switching to decaf. Anticipation rose and spread through me, champagne bubbles in my veins. “Are you going to share the bacon I smell, or do things have to get ugly?”

“I suppose I could spare a couple of slices. Eggs?”

“If you don’t mind. Is it okay if I sit?” Angling my head toward the island with high-backed chairs, I curled both hands around the cup to keep from fidgeting.

“Please. Scrambled? Over-easy?”

“However you’re eating them is fine.” I hoped he was eating with me. I’d never be able to eat and keep a casual conversation up otherwise. I had a killer poker face, but I wasn’t usually playing with such high stakes.

“Sounds good. Give me a couple of minutes.”

Soon, he was sliding a plate in front of me, and I breathed a small sigh of relief when he settled at the far end of the island, taking the chair opposite mine instead of a closer one.

I ate a couple of bites to fill the silence that had started to grow tense. Before it could become too awkward, I put my fork down and cleared my throat.

“I have a rather...personal question,” I said, deciding it was best to jump right in.

He lifted a brow. “Okay.”

“When was the last time you were tested?”

Now both brows went up. The fork he’d been lifting lowered back to the plate, and he leaned back into the chair.

“That’s really personal,” he said, voice taking on a slight edge. “Any reason why you’re asking?”

Face hot, I told myself to push on. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

“Yes. I’m probably going to sound crazy, but...anyway. Just hear me out.” I cleared my throat, putting my hands in my lap so he couldn’t see how they were shaking. “I want a baby. And...well, I want you to be the father.”

Now he really looked surprised.

Before he could speak, I rushed on. “I’m just asking for the biological aspect. Your sperm.” Man, that sounded so...clinical. “I don’t need or want anything beyond that...um, donation. If you agree, we’ll draw up papers. You won’t be responsible for the child in any way. Ever.”

“You barely know me,” he said in a gruff voice, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

“I realize that.” He hadn’t kicked me out, hadn’t lost his temper—he seemed to be listening. Maybe he would agree. I placed both hands on the table with the embarrassed flush starting to ease. “Look, I’m thirty-five. I’m not interested in marriage or even a long-term relationship with anybody.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he studied me.

“My parents. Their marriage...well, it sucked,” I told him bluntly. “After my dad left my mother, I watched her spiral downward until she was little more than a zombie. I have no interest in a relationship. But I do want a child.”

“There’s adoption. Sperm banks.”

“I’ve considered adoption. Sperm banks...” I shook my head. “I don’t want to pick out some guy blindly. I want to...well, I prefer to know the man who will...ah, donate.”

“Hmmm.” Crossing his arms over his distractingly bare chest, he studied me. “Are you planning to get pregnant the traditional way?”

“I’d prefer it. We could always use a clinic, I suppose. But...well, we seem compatible enough in bed.” I picked up my coffee. There. I’d made my pitch without choking up or dying of embarrassment. And he hadn’t laughed or told me to leave.

But would he just give a hint already?

“Okay.”

Coffee splashed out of my cup. Putting it down, I looked for something to clean up the mess, but Trent was already on his feet. He handed me a paper towel while he wiped up the coffee with a damp sponge.

“You clearly weren’t expecting an answer—or at least not so soon.”

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