“You can tell us which one of these surprises you love best,” Belinda continued. “And you can bid on the chance to have your name carved on your favorite.”
Event volunteers began passing out white cards for guests to make bids on the small pieces of art in the tree, the surprises Abigail had installed for bored and restless children to find as they walked through the lounge. She had to hand it to resourceful event staff for making the most of the statue at the gala. It was a quick, easy way to earn more donations and give guests buy-in on the project.
Seeing her part in the unveiling finished, Abigail stepped away from the flower arch and out of the way of guests who were excited to find new creatures hidden in the limbs. She, on the other hand, was looking through the crowd for Vaughn.
She spotted him at last, speaking with a distinguished-looking older man and woman, still standing at the back of the room. She debated returning to the party upstairs, not wanting to interrupt him if he was speaking to friends or touting the merits of the hospital’s mission to potential donors.
But before she could dart away for the stairs, he spotted her. Waved her over to join him.
“Abigail.” His smile seemed strained. “I’d like you to meet my parents.”
Eleven
Vaughn saw his mother’s eyes zero in on Abigail’s pregnant belly like a laser beam.
Her look made him belatedly realize this meeting was bound to be awkward. At the time he’d waved Abigail over, he’d been more concerned she would leave the event if she didn’t see him. And, selfishly, he’d been grateful for an excuse to dodge his parents’ questions about his mental health. They’d been hammering on about the importance of keeping Ruby close by whenever he wasn’t working. Hell, they’d brought up switching to a less demanding job, suggesting he come back to the family business, where there would be less stress.
As if he would waste the skills and education he’d spent almost a lifetime acquiring.
Unfortunately, he’d probably made the leap from frying pan to fire. And chances were good he was taking Abigail with him into the hot seat. Her eyes darted toward him as she made her way over, her uncertainty quickly masked as she reached his side.
He had no choice now but to forge ahead.
“Mom, Dad, this is Abigail Stewart, the artist who created the Tree of Gifts.” He wasn’t sure how else to introduce her. He certainly hadn’t thought to ask her ahead of time about their first public appearance together.
They weren’t a couple. And yet...to say nothing about their relationship denied her importance to him.
“Hello.” Abigail shook their hands, smiling warmly while Vaughn kicked himself. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
The moment had passed to clarify a relationship. He could see his parents’ avid curiosity while they murmured polite greetings.
“Abigail, my parents, David and Bronwyn Chambers.” Vaughn knew the burden was on him to extract Abigail from the conversation quickly and efficiently.
He’d never intended to spring a meet-the-parents moment on her tonight. Abigail’s gaze flashed to his for a moment. Questioning.
“Your sculpture is beautiful, Abigail.” His mother waved the white donation card that she held, along with a small pencil. “I was just going up to take a closer look so I could see what we should bid on. Perhaps you’d steer me toward one of your favorites?”
“Of course.” Abigail stepped back, opening up a path toward the sculpture for his mother. “Let’s go see.”
Vaughn was ready to sprint into action right behind them, but his mother turned back with a steely look in her green eyes. “Gentleman, excuse us,” she said firmly. “We’ll be right back.”
He wanted to concoct a reason to join them. But Abigail narrowed a look at him that he couldn’t quite interpret. Was she hurt that he hadn’t claimed a relationship with her? Aggravated? Either way, her expression warned him that she would handle his mother on her own.
He wasn’t certain how he knew that. But he understood her silent message just the same. He must be starting to know Abigail very well that they could communicate so acutely that way. Still, he felt defeated as he watched his mother sail off toward the sculpture, her navy blue caftan billowing behind her.
What the hell would they be discussing?
“You walked right into that one,” his father observed at his elbow. He clapped a hand on Vaughn’s back.
“I disagree, Dad.” He ground his teeth together. “I never saw it coming.”
“Is the baby yours?” Dad asked. No judgment. Just a question.
Albeit a loaded one.
Vaughn hissed out a breath between his teeth, wondering if his mother was being just as tactful right now with Abigail.
“No.” He lowered his voice, making sure they weren’t overheard. “I would have mentioned it before now if I was going to be a father.”
His dad’s hand slid away from his shoulders. “There was a time I would have thought that, too. But we don’t hear much from you these days.”
Emotions piled on his chest, one after the other. Regret. Frustration. Worry for Abigail. Resentment that their time together was going to end and he wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to be a fully functioning half of a couple anymore.
“I’m working on it, Dad,” he said finally, not sure what else to say. “That’s all I can do.”
His gaze landed on Abigail—where she stood beside his mother. She was shaking her head. Emphatic denial. His mother was touching her shoulder. Reassuring her?
It was too much for him. He had to intervene in case his mother was making assumptions about their relationship. Or about Abigail herself. She certainly didn’t owe anyone any explanations about her choices or her future. And there was a chance his mother was trying to wheedle both of those things from the woman he cared about.
He might not be the right man for Abigail, but if she was still speaking to him by the time
