“Did the crime, did the time, from here on in my life is mine. Right, Lu?”
Lulu paused in her nosing of a piece of pasta long enough to glance his way.
“I shouldn’t complain.” He spooned up more beans. “It’s not like things were going really well anyway. I mean, she was nice enough. She has a kid, told me all about him, really loved the pictures of you, Cady girl. So you know she’s smart.”
Cady raised her cup at an angle he knew too well.
“Uh-uh. No shower, remember?”
“Milk!”
“Drink it.” He tapped the cup. She peeked up at him. He plastered on a stern expression, she sighed and cup met mouth.
“The thing was, Cade, she didn’t laugh a lot. I can’t see how you build something with someone you can’t laugh with. And I’m not saying I’m Mr. Comedy,” he added when Lulu rose and turned away from him. “But I had some good lines in there and some funny stuff happened. Like when the guy at the next table got a call. You could tell he was in the middle of being dumped, and instead of taking it outside, he sat there saying ‘but...but...’ and then he came out with, ‘Damn it, I even paid for you to get your cat fixed!’ I was busting a gut trying to keep from laughing. She—Amanda—she kept sending him dirty looks and complaining about cell phones in public. Which, hey, I totally get it. Still, there was something freakin’ hilarious going on beside us, and all she could think about was the rule that was being broken.”
“Cookie? Daddy? Cookie?”
“Two more bites.” He pushed the necessary pieces in her direction. As expected, Cady ignored the small portion he’d set in front of her and raked up a handful from the remainder.
“Eat slowly, kid. Don’t want you to choke. Sloooooooooow.”
Which was advice he should have given himself last night. Instead, as soon as Amanda had finished commenting on the lack of consideration and broken rules, he had gone for the ultimate test and told her about his own experience breaking the rules. And the law.
To her credit, she had listened to the whole story—at least the thirty-second version he had perfected. She had nodded and said something about everyone making mistakes, and downed the rest of her wine pretty fast.
“But I really wasn’t surprised when she left to go to the ladies’ room and never came back.”
“Back?”
“She went bye-bye, babes.”
“Bye-bye,” Cady echoed. “Cookie? Pease?”
He checked the tray, then the floor. Either Lulu was getting faster or Cady really hadn’t dumped it all overboard. “Okay. You earned a cookie. Maybe even two, but don’t tell Mommy.”
“Mommy?” Cady swiveled toward the door. He needed to work fast.
“Mommy in the morning, Cade. After night-night. Look, here’s a cookie! Who do we have—is it a lion? Yeah, I think it’s a lion. What does Leo the Lion say?”
“Rawr.”
“Good trained monkey.” He dropped a couple of animal crackers on the tray and gave thanks that Cady wasn’t yet old enough to tell Darcy everything that went on at his place. Not that Darce would care about an extra hippo or tiger. She was into nutrition, but she wasn’t overboard. But he could live without having her hear about his Adventures in Dating from their daughter.
“The problem is, you’re too smart, kid. Pretty soon I’m going to have to keep all my stories for Lulu. Either that or find someone else to share them with.”
Of course, that was the rub, wasn’t it? If he had someone to share things with, he wouldn’t be off on these fiascos in the first place.
“Ah, well, Cady. I never thought I’d have you, and here you are.” He bopped the end of her nose. “And that right there makes me the luckiest daddy on the planet.”
She beamed up at him and whapped her cup against his arm.
“Ow!” He pulled the cup from her grasp and did the parental finger wag. “No hitting. Got it?”
She scrunched up her face in what he knew was the precursor to a wail.
“Tough, kiddo. You hit Lulu last week and now me. Not good.”
Tiny pink lips quivered.
“No. Hitting.” He squatted in front of her and tweaked her ponytail. “And no complaining when you do something and have to face the music.”
She searched his face and broke into a slow, sunny grin.
“Guess I’m not so good at taking my own advice, am I?” He returned to his chair, picked up his bowl. “I’ve been doing a lot of complaining myself. I’ve gotta move forward. Stop whining. Go with my gut.”
My gut is the last thing I need to listen to.
“You know, Cade, Heather didn’t send me her résumé.”
Cady picked up her second cracker and waved it in the air. “Rawr.”
“Technically, I don’t think giraffes roar, but what the hell.” He shoveled in another bite. “Maybe I should drop her a line, remind her that I was serious about the offer.”
The giraffe giggled.
“What? It’s a friend thing. Perfectly legit.”
Lulu barked sharply.
Xander sighed. “Yeah, I know, girl. It’s probably not a good idea.”
But Heather knew all about his past. It had never stopped her from hanging around with him at the North events.
“Of course,” he mused, “there’s a big difference between goofing around in a group and...and whatever.”
But she was so easy to joke with.
“And if I ask her out and she says no?” he asked Lulu. “I bet there’d be lots of jokes at Thanksgiving dinner after that.”
Yeah. Bad idea.
He tossed his bowl in the sink and grabbed a washcloth. Cleanup time. That was what mattered at this minute: cleaning and chattering and singing and pushing all thoughts of Heather from his mind.
It would have been a lot easier if she hadn’t been wearing those shorts.
* * *
HEATHER LOOKED AT the résumé on her laptop and blew out a breath of pure exasperation.
“All the years I’ve put into building you up, and this is how you thank me?”
It wasn’t a bad résumé. She was still objective enough to see that. It was a solid, administrative-type, semi-impressive recounting.
It was also as boring as a piano recital when your kid wasn’t one of the performers.
She grabbed her weekly bottle of root beer, raised it to her lips and breathed in. Ah, sweet bliss. Was there anything in the world that couldn’t be improved with root beer?
Then she blew out across the top of the bottle in a steady stream, making a sound much like a flute with indigestion.
In addition to the laptop, her kitchen table was littered with every book on writing résumés that the Comeback Cove library possessed. She hadn’t thought to check the publication dates until she got home and found that most of them still focused on the weight of the paper that the job applicant should use, and how to ensure that even the envelope left the right impression. Because every application still had to be snail mailed. Right.
Maybe it wasn’t as boring as she thought. She’d probably just been staring at it so long that she’d lost all perspective.
Which meant that, really, the best thing she could do would be to find some fresh eyes.
“Son of a sea biscuit.”
She slumped back in her chair, arms sagging, and stared up at the ceiling.
He made the offer totally voluntarily. It would be perfectly fine to shoot him an email and ask him to have a look.
Except...
Except she thought maybe he’d been scoping out her butt at the picnic.
In and of itself, that wasn’t a problem. She’d been checked out before, usually by guys who had their own theory as to the proper way to welcome a new transfer to the office. She had
long ago perfected the fine art of saying no while keeping things friendly and light.
Except that deep down, beneath the logic and the sense, she kind of liked the idea of Xander finding her hot.
Nothing could ever come of it, of course. It didn’t matter that she liked hanging out with him at birthday parties and such. Or that when she bumped into him in town, she always walked away feeling a little happier. Or that watching him sneak peeks at her from behind the camera had made her want to assume the classic arms-back-head-tilted-breasts-forward bikini photo pose.
Or even—maybe mostly—that when she was with Xander, she felt like she was with someone who could understand how it felt to be living your second chance.
None of that mattered, though. Because she had spent the last hunk of her life easing her way back into Millie’s world, building a working relationship with Hank, doing everything she could to smooth the waters and prove that she wasn’t the same terrified woman who had thought that the best way to protect her child was to put most of a continent between them.
She was logical now. She thought things through and knew how to stop and step back and evaluate situations with her head, not her gut. She had systems and schedules and safeguards in place to ensure that she would never, could never play hell with Millie’s life again, even accidentally.
Doing anything more than sneaking a few peeks at Xander would be like typing up her schedules and systems and having them translated into Esperanto.
“Not because he went to jail,” she said out loud, because if any aliens were tracking her brain waves, she wanted them to be clear on this. “That’s not a selling point, but it’s workable.”
No. The issue was that Xander was too close. Too much a part of Millie’s extended family, and even more so in August when Darcy and Ian got married, and Millie and Cady became official stepcousins.
At least that was how Heather thought they’d be related.
A...whatever between her and Xander would be uncomfortable for everyone. It would shift the dynamics, and probably not in a good way. And when it ended—which was inevitable, given that she knew Xander was looking for Ms. Forever while Heather identified as Ms. Been There, Failed That, Never Again—it could get messy and lead to major awkwardness.
For herself, she could handle awkward. Seriously. She’d had plenty of practice over the years, what with attending events with her ex. And then his new wife. And now their new baby.
But Millie didn’t need that. Ten, even almost eleven, was way too young to have to deal with shifting loyalties and adult drama. Millie deserved peace and love and ponies and flowers, and a mom who made life easier instead of more complicated.
But if Heather wanted to be the mom Millie deserved, she was probably going to need to change jobs.
Which meant she really needed a kick-ass résumé.
Which meant that since most of her other trusted friends were her work contacts, she really should take Xander up on his offer.
Argh.
Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she typed up the email.
“Business business, see attachment, all business, thank you very much, I owe you forever—no, scratch that, business—and, send.”
There. There was no way anyone could mistake that for anything other than a grateful acceptance of a generous but semiprofessional offer. Not a hint of flirtation to be found.
At least, not until an hour later when she read his reply.
I took a quick look. I have suggestions, but it’s probably easier to do this in person. Are you busy tomorrow? I have Cady, but if you come over around naptime, I can give you my undivided attention.
Oh hell.
* * *
PROMPTLY AT 2:00 P.M. the next afternoon, Xander looked up from the front step where he was waiting and spotted Heather riding what seemed to be an ancient pink bike up the street. She looked athletic, like she had energy to burn.
Not that he could think of any way to help her expend that energy. Nope. He was operating in a strictly advisory-friend-helper capacity today, doing his duty and offering his suggestions and then moving along, all before naptime ended.
And if he’d had other possibilities in the back of his mind when he had asked Heather to come over—because yeah, for a few minutes there he had given in to Saturday night wildness—well, he’d come to his senses since then. There would be no checking her out. No discussion of anything more suggestive than experience and education. If his gut didn’t like it, then tough.
Because somewhere between last night and this morning—probably when he had stepped into Cady’s room to check on her before he went to bed—he had remembered why Heather was doing this. She wasn’t coming over for him. She was doing this for Millie.
All he had to do was crank the volume on the baby monitor he’d brought outside with him to remind himself that kids came first. Always.
She turned into the driveway, braked and hopped off the bike. He broke his vow just long enough to check. She wasn’t wearing the shorts from the party.
Thank God.
He pushed off the step and ambled down to the driveway. “Doing your part to reduce your carbon footprint?”
“That, and exercise, and I spend enough time in my car already. I wasn’t going to let a gorgeous day go to waste.”
She took off her neon blue helmet, shook her head and sent her short blond hair swirling around her face like a halo.
He dragged his gaze away. “Yeah,” he said. “Gorgeous things shouldn’t be wasted.”
“Is Cady asleep?”
“Probably. She went down a few minutes ago.” He tapped one of the smaller rust spots on the handlebars of her bike. “Family heirloom?”
“What can I say? I value function and frugality over fashion.”
“Yeah, but is it worth it when you have to have a tetanus shot every time you ride it?”
“Don’t insult Johnny.” She ran a hand over the duct tape holding the seat together. “We’ve had a lot of good times together.”
“Johnny?” He stepped back and eyed the bike, taking in the pink paint, the wicker basket in front and what looked like fading silver sparkles on the bars. “You named this Johnny?”
“For Johnny Cash.”
“Oh yeah. I see the resemblance.”
“It’s not because of the way it looks, okay?” Her lips twitched. “It’s because the first few times I rode it, I felt like I was sitting on a ring of fire.”
He burst into laughter. She joined in, so free and joyful that he snorted all the harder, sending himself into a coughing fit that had him bent over with his hands on his knees.
“Careful.” She patted his back, once, twice. “Breathe, okay? It wasn’t that funny.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Good.” She delivered another whack on his back. “Because honestly, you’re no good to me if you’re dead.”
He wheezed again before glancing up and sideways to catch her eye. He’d meant to simply nod to let her know that he was fine.
Instead, he caught her watching him with something that most definitely wasn’t concern.
And for the briefest of seconds, she ceased pounding his back. Instead, her hand flattened, her palm warming his skin through his T-shirt.
For an even briefer moment, he gave thanks that he was already crouched over.
She jumped back. He thumped his chest and straightened.
“Well,” she said. “Why don’t we get this résumé done so I can, you know, get out of your hair before I use up all of naptime?”
She’s here for Millie. Not you.
“Yeah. Right.” He rested a hand on the bike. “Do you have a lock for Johnny? Or do you want to put it in the garage?”
“Somehow, I don’t think this is high on anyone’s
must-have list.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want anything to happen on my watch.” He hefted the bike and nodded toward the door at the side of the garage. “Can you get that?”
She scooted ahead of him, opened the door and stepped back. He deposited the bike beside his car and returned to the sunshine.
“Okay,” he said, brushing his hands together. “Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, after he’d finished spouting the résumé knowledge bullshit he’d used as an excuse to invite her over, he realized he’d gone through the entire schpiel on autopilot. His body was at the kitchen table, but his mind was stuck outside at that moment when he’d caught her looking.
It didn’t help that she was as unfocused as he was. She kept repeating herself, shaking her head and stopping midsentence. Like she was trying to work up the nerve to say something, but couldn’t quite do it.
He knew the feeling.
Come on, Xander. Résumé. Job. Focus.
He pulled his laptop closer and opened the alternate version he’d created, because yeah, he did have a few recommendations. “What I’d suggest is that you switch things around, set it up like this. See how much cleaner this one looks?”
“Oh, I like that. That font is crisper, and the way you’ve abbreviated the headings—that’s good. You’ve given it a really fresh feel.”
“The other thing is that these days, you have to assume someone is going to end up reading it on their phone.” He grabbed his phone and accessed both her original and his revision. “Check it out. See the difference?”
She leaned his way—so close that if he wanted, he could reach an arm around her and tuck his hand at her waist. Not that he was going to do it, but still.
“You’re right. It’s much cleaner now.” She swiped between the two versions, back and forth, back and forth.
The play of her fingers on the screen was almost hypnotic. He couldn’t look away from the length of her fingers and the careful simplicity of the rounded nails. There was something about them...some anomaly flashing in and out of his vision...
There it was. One nail—the left pinky—bore a faint coat of the palest pink.
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