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have started out as Physician and Assistant between the two of them, their relationship had evolved into much more over the years.
    Molly had first come to the clinic about four years ago, looking lonely and a bit scared—escaping from a bad relationship if memory served. She was a cousin or step-cousin or some relation to another staff member who’d moved on years ago. Their recommendation is what got her in the door.
    Her experience and eagerness landed her the job.
    She was just what Jenna had been looking for.
    At the time, Jacy was three and Jenna was happy with a twenty-hour-a-week workload. But Dawson and the divorce came soon, and being a part-time stay-at-home mom wasn’t an option anymore, so Jenna furthered her education and expertise in her favored field—maternity and newborn care—and the clinic rewarded her with a wing of the building that now served as her own practice.
    With pride and gratitude for the new space, realization came too. More hours and a dedicated wing brought more patients. That in turn meant more scheduling, appointments, paperwork, and general office duties. The solution to the additional work came in Molly’s hiring.
    Through the years, Molly had not only been the organized professional Jenna needed, but she’d been there personally, too. She’d seen Jenna through the divorce and the numerous ups and downs of attempted relationships since, always offering a listening ear of understanding and encouragement. The kids had come to love her, too, since she’d pitched in a time or two if work kept Jenna late or Keith pulled one of his disappearing acts.
    Sometimes Jenna caught a glimpse of the shy girl Molly was when she’d first entered Hearts and Hands, but mostly now she was just Molly . . . co-worker, friend, and confidant.
    Jenna’s phone made its final chime, telling her it was 9:00 AM.
    She poured the remainder of her coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug, and gliding down the hall, took the chart from the basket by the door to refresh her memory on the patient and how she could lend her services.
     
     
     
    Ben had made his way, shakily, into the Hearts and Hands Clinic in south Nashville with Heidi at his side.
    After taking in the surroundings of the lobby—round-bellied women and their men, with the latter looking as out of place as Ben felt—he and Heidi were led from the waiting area by a slender woman with a nametag that read, ‘Molly,’ pinned to her top.
    The trio walked to one of the lengthy hallways branching from the lobby, passed beneath a large arch with Perinatal Consulting Services displayed on its curve. Now, Ben and Heidi sat in a surprisingly spacious private room waiting for Jenna Gregor, NP, ICEA, as the framed certificates on the wall informed.
    Coffee-colored walls, a small waterfall with rocks bubbling in the corner—similar to something Ben might design if a space or client called for it—potted plants, scrolled iron pieces on the wall, and oversized canvases of fully pregnant women and newborn faces made for a relaxing atmosphere.
    Or at least an attempt at one, as Ben couldn’t claim relaxation was at the forefront of his mind. Call him stereotypical, but pregnant women made him nervous.
    And apparently, seeing how he was sitting here instead of out at the job like he should’ve been, a pushover.
    Heidi’s ideas about coming to the clinic had first shown up in subtle hints—a brochure on the counter, a screen left up on the computer—before she started mentioning it in passing. “It’d be so nice to get some support, to really talk before this baby is born. With my history, it'd just be good to have information, to feel educated going forward.” Ben had agreed. When he realized she meant for him to accompany her on the visits—“At least the first one!"—was when his support had waned.
    But she’d suggested a little more, the subtle hints became outright pleas, and one too many times she used those hazel eyes and big dimples while