In the past they would have talked about whatever they wanted to talk about, whenever it felt right to do so. They wouldn’t have cared what time of day it was.

Milly felt a pang of nostalgia. “It’s a heavy conversation for someone who hasn’t had lunch and probably didn’t eat breakfast. And don’t tell me you never eat breakfast, because you’re pregnant now, so things have to change.” Suddenly she felt protective. “That baby needs you to eat something.”

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Are you mothering me?”

Someone needs to.

“I’m not mothering you as much as caring for you and encouraging you to care for yourself.” Milly grabbed salad items from the fridge. “You’re going to have a slice of mushroom and leek tart, with a large salad. You can help make the salad.”

And she intended to take some of the food to Brendan Scott. In case he was hungry. Because it was her job to care for her guests, and he didn’t seem to consider nutrition when he was busy writing.

Not for any other reason.

Nicole looked at her doubtfully. “If cooking is what it takes to be a good mother, I’m doomed.”

“Anyone can make a salad.” Milly checked the tart and adjusted the oven temperature. “And you’re not doomed. You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

“You don’t know that.” Nicole rinsed salad leaves. “It’s not as if I had a great role model. I’m scared I’m like my mother. What if I’ve inherited her inability to connect with my child?” She tipped the leaves into the bowl. “I’m her daughter after all. I have her genes.”

Milly saw the doubt and fear in her friend’s eyes and felt a rush of compassion because she understood where the insecurity came from. “You are not your mother.”

“I know, but—” Nicole looked at her helplessly. “He told me I’d make a terrible mother, and I can’t help wondering if he’s right. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Who told you that?” Milly was appalled. “Justin?”

She didn’t know the man, but she was starting to form an impression, and it wasn’t good.

“He said I’m selfish and that my lifestyle just isn’t compatible with having a child.”

The heat inside her, newly calmed, blazed to life again.

Milly grabbed the olive oil and a bottle of vinegar. “It’s not true, Nicole, and you know it.”

“Do I? My schedule has been manic. I’ve taken one job after another.”

“That doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you a successful working woman, and working women have babies all the time. He clearly doesn’t understand how capable you are.” She mixed a dressing in a jar and shook it vigorously.