Heather knew what it was to grow up in a home where the only constants were disruption and fear. Millie would never know anything as messed up as Heather’s childhood, thankfully, but that didn’t mean that Heather could be cavalier about upsetting the status quo—especially when she knew that Hank had already rejected the idea. She had to find a way to turn this into a logical, reasonable next step instead of a point of disruption. She had played hell with Millie’s life once. She would not do it again.
All she needed was a plan.
* * *
XANDER WAS A MAN who trusted his gut. And as he laughed his way through the party and helped Cady open more presents than any two-year-old could use, his gut kept whispering that he should check on Heather.
Not that anything was obviously wrong. She sang “Happy Birthday” with everyone else, talked to everyone, laughed and goofed around with Millie. But he couldn’t dismiss the way she had tensed up over Millie’s question. The wonder in her eyes hadn’t exactly meshed with the way she closed in on herself, arms and legs and everything pulling in tight. Like she was afraid that if she let anything free, she would lose it.
He pushed his worries to the back burner while the party was in full swing. Not only was this Cady’s birthday, it was the first time he’d celebrated it with her. A year ago at this time, he hadn’t even known she was alive. Now, though, she was the reason he was alive—or at the very least, the reason he was living this life. He wasn’t taking any of this for granted.
He memorized the sound of her squeals when she spotted her Winnie the Pooh cupcake. He soaked in the sight of her chipmunk cheeks as she tried to blow out her candles and bit back his laughter at the confusion on her face when her attempts left the candles blazing despite the hefty showering of spit she sprayed over the frosting.
Yeah, Darcy had been right to insist on Cady attacking an individual cake instead of the big one intended for sharing.
But when the candles continued to flicker and the twist to Cady’s mouth started the descent from gamely trying to core meltdown imminent, he squatted beside her and tapped her cheek.
“Want some help, Cady?”
Her quivering chin was his only reply.
On Cady’s other side, Darcy imitated his stance. “Here, sweetie. Let’s all do it together. You, me, Daddy and Ian.”
Darcy took Cady’s hand and extended the other toward her fiancé, who joined the circle.
Xander had never believed that line about it taking a village to raise a child until this moment, seeing how three adults were required to help a kid blow out two candles.
But then, the slightly-odd-but-definitely-working family they had built over the past year was almost a small village in itself. And none of them would be here, now, if not for the others.
If Xander hadn’t decided to spend a few weeks crashing with his old university roomie Ian...if Ian hadn’t been renting a garage apartment from Darcy...if Ian hadn’t been out of town the weekend Darcy’s rat bastard ex-boyfriend dumped her, leaving her in need of a shoulder, a stiff drink and some unexpected comfort...
None of it had been planned. Not him and Darcy ending up drunk. Or horizontal. Or—as he found out when he came back two years later—parents.
“One...two...” Darcy guided Cady forward.
Change any one of those factors, and none of them would be here. Because without that perfect storm of events and timing, Cady would never have been born. And Darcy would never have turned to Ian for help that became friendship that turned into something so real that they were getting married in a couple of months.
“Three!”
And if Darcy and Ian hadn’t been the understanding and forgiving people they were, Xander would never have walked out of a jail cell and into this family.
“Make a wish!” someone called. Xander checked on Cady, now clapping her hands while leaning against Darcy, and was pretty sure that his daughter had absolutely everything she could want at this moment.
But birthday wishes weren’t to be wasted. So as Ian reached across Darcy to bop Cady’s nose and the three of them laughed together, Xander closed his eyes and sent up his own wish.
That, please. I want something like that.
* * *
ONCE THE CAKE had been cut and the gifts opened, Xander prowled the edges of the party with his camera, gathering trash with one hand while sneaking in some candid shots of the birthday girl and her guests. Cleaning, preserving memories and casually working his way toward Heather, all at once. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Add in the way he managed to sneak a few peeks at Heather’s shorts—or, more precisely, what they covered—and he felt positively superhuman.
Well, except for the fact that Heather’s shorts—and, more precisely, what was in them—were strictly off-limits.
She was a damned fine looking woman who made him laugh. More than that, when he was with her, he felt he could relax more than with most folks. Maybe because she understood how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Maybe because she, like he, knew all about duct-taping a life back together after throwing it in the toilet.
Heather was a friend. And while Xander wanted someone to build a life with, these days he needed friends. So yeah. Off-limits.
But off-limits didn’t mean he couldn’t be a buddy. So when Heather finished saying something to Millie and sent the child off with a laugh, he raised his camera.
“Say cheese!”
He’d expected her to squeal and whirl away from him. Instead, she raised her hands to her head so they resembled antlers, wiggling her fingers while scrunching up her face.
He lowered the camera. “Seriously? You want me to take your picture when you look like a moose that ate a lemon?”
“It got you to stop, didn’t it?”
That was another reason why he needed to stay away from Heather. She would outfox him.
“Good one.” He scanned the area, saw that they were relatively alone and wandered closer. “That’s an interesting pile of sticks by your feet.”
“Sticks?” She glanced from him to the ground and back again, confusion evident on her face. “What’s in your lemonade, Xander?”
“Nothing. But if I act like I’m taking pictures and make a show of having the camera out, people are going to stay away while I ask if you’re okay.” He pulled the camera from his face for a second to meet her gaze. “After Millie’s question, I mean.”
“Oh.”
He waited, focusing in on the sticks as if he really cared about them. Patience had never been his favorite virtue, but he had learned to appreciate it during his time in jail. Proof that there was a silver lining to everything.
At last, Heather spoke, her words quiet—though not, he suspected, from fear of being overheard.
“She caught me by surprise.”
“I figured.”
“I’m not sure...” She sighed. “It’s not as simple as Millie believes.”
“Tell me a part of parenting that is.”
At that, she laughed, though not with her usual abandon. He crouched and adjusted his focus. There was a tiny dandelion poking through the sticks, a flash of yellow he would have missed if he hadn’t changed angles.
“How do you manage it?” she asked. “Sharing Cady must be hard.”
“Do you mean, like, the timing? The logistics?”
“For a start.”
“It takes a lot of communication. But you probably know that already.”
“Right.”
“If you want, I can give you a copy of the schedule we use. You couldn’t do the same times, not with school and all, but it would give you someplace to start.” And maybe she could accept it with more grace than he could. For while Xander understood the need for a schedule and was blown away every time he realized how close he had come to missing
out on the miracle of Cady, a part of him still ached at the reality of needing a spreadsheet to mark his time with his daughter.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She crouched beside him and tugged on one of the sticks, tumbling the pile into a new arrangement. The dandelion vanished from his view. “Of course, I’m probably jumping the gun. Hank—”
She stopped. He raised the camera, using it as a shield so he had to watch out of the corner of his eye as the emotions played across her face. Hope, wistfulness, some kind of longing that made him feel he should reach over and squeeze her hand...
He hadn’t known Heather when she was married to Ian’s brother Hank, but he’d known about her, and them. He remembered Ian telling him about Heather’s abrupt departure from the marriage and Comeback Cove, and even during that self-absorbed point in his own life, he had wondered how a mother could willingly leave her child.
These days, knowing Heather, seeing how she glowed whenever she was with Millie, he wondered all the more.
“Anyway—” Heather clapped her hands as if dismissing the topic “—the other big issue would be work.”
“Isn’t Millie a bit young to have to think about a job?”
Yeah, it was a lousy joke. But Heather was the pacesetter here.
“You do know that when you’re all hunched over like that, it would only take one little push for me to send you over. Right?”
On the other hand, maybe he should take a stronger lead in the conversation.
“Sorry. Whatever. Why is work a problem?”
She adjusted her position so she was sitting on the ground. Guess her thighs weren’t up to the test.
Not that he was going to think about her thighs.
“The job itself isn’t the trouble. It’s the hours. Which are totally reasonable until you tack on the megacommute every day.”
“Gotcha. So you’re gone from, what? Eight to six?”
“More like seven thirty until about seven.”
He whistled. “Busting ass to impress the boss?”
“Busting ass to get the work done.” Her head swiveled. “And to let me leave early on Wednesdays, so I’m home when Millie finishes school.”
He didn’t have to follow her line of vision to know she was checking on the kid in question.
“You’re right. That doesn’t leave much time for anything, let alone having time with a kid.”
“I know.”
It was the way she watched Millie that caught him in the gut. Like she didn’t dare miss one action or one giggle, in case she might never get the chance again.
“What about getting a new job?”
This time when she laughed, it was like he’d said the silliest thing she’d ever heard.
“Right. Because Comeback Cove is overflowing with jobs.”
He bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that there were a lot more options for her than there were for someone who had, oh, a criminal record to add to the list of references.
No regrets, Xander.
Instead, he waved a hand toward the river and said, “I hear the town is looking for someone to help sell all this.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re creating a new position. Tourism director, or something like that. There was an article about it in the Comeback Cove Chronicle last week.”
She did a double take. “You read the Chronicle? I thought their only subscribers were the people who work at town hall. And maybe the folks who advertise in it.”
“Of course I do. I’m a concerned, involved citizen.” Who also happened to be trolling the community calendar for events where he might meet someone looking for a guy with an adorable daughter, a steady job and a slightly checkered past.
“You’re about twelve steps ahead of me, then. But...tourism? It’s a nice thought, but I don’t have any experience in that.”
He raised the camera to his eye and focused in on Cady, now spinning in circles with Millie. “You’re in marketing.”
“Sure, but—”
“Would it cost you anything to apply?”
“No.”
“If you got it, would it make things easier for you to have more time with Millie?”
This time, her silence went on long enough that he had to check to be sure she was still sitting in place.
“Yo, Earth to Heather.”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“I’ve heard that can be dangerous.”
She shook her head, seeming to cast off some spell that had gripped her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that there’s a time to think and a time to do. Take a chance. Go with your gut.”
Her head swiveled. Her gaze locked on Millie.
“My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.”
He had never understood people who didn’t trust their own instincts. How was a person supposed to navigate all the noise of the world without having some core sense of what to do and where to go?
Though on the other hand, refusing to listen to your gut was probably a lot safer than his specialty of acknowledging and then ignoring the truth he didn’t want to see.
“But,” she continued, “there is a certain logic to the thought.”
Ah, now they were getting somewhere.
“I doubt I could even get an interview, but you’re right. It would give me a deadline to update my résumé and get into job-changing mode. If nothing else, getting an offer from someplace else might give me some negotiating power. Shift my hours, arrange to work from home part of the time...something that could make things more possible.”
She turned a sunny smile in his direction, one that had his own gut suddenly tightening.
“Thanks, Xander. You’ve been a huge help.”
No problem. My pleasure. The smart and sensible response was clear in his head.
So why did he open his mouth to say, “You know, I’ve sat in on a good number of classes on résumé writing over the years.” Most recently as a guest—ahem—of the Province, but knowledge was knowledge, right? “If you’d like me to have a look at yours, just say the word.”
“Seriously?”
Xander, you idiot. What if she’s wearing those shorts again? “Anytime.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had to do this kind of thing in years. I just might...” She shrugged, not dismissively, but almost as if she were hugging herself. “I owe you.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” He pushed to his feet, stifling a groan as he straightened. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so smug about her choosing to sit instead of squat.
“Need a hand?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m going to stay here for a minute.” She nodded toward the house. “Watch the show for a bit.”
He followed her gaze and saw Millie doing an admirable imitation of a horse, galloping in circles around Cady. A soft neigh carried across the grass.
“Okay then. Let me know if I can help, and I’ll see you around.”
With that, he set off across the lawn, doing his best to stay focused on the crowd in front of him rather than the woman behind him. Forward. Onward. No regrets.
He managed to face away from her until he hit the deck, where Millie ceased her prancing long enough to pull up in front of him.
“Whoa,” she said to the air, then looked to him. “Hi, Mr. Sorenson. What’s my mom doing?”
He had to look back at her then, didn’t he?
Heather no longer sat cross-legged and contemplative on the grass. Instead, she was kneeling, hands moving on the ground.
Moving...a pile of sticks?
“Millie,” he said, resting his hand on her curls, “I can’t be certain, but I think your mom is giving hope to a weed.”
&nb
sp; Copyright © 2017 by Christine Fletcher
ISBN-13: 9781488016912
Her Secret Life
Copyright © 2017 by Tara Taylor Quinn
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