THE NEXT EVENING, Xander rang Heather’s bell, checked to make sure the collar of his polo shirt wasn’t folded under itself and wondered—again—if he was being incredibly smart or unbelievably hopeless.
This was a business exchange. Dinner for input. A simple trade of goods and services with absolutely no reason to feel more nervous than he had on any of the many, many first dates in the last year.
Yeah, try telling that to his stomach.
Heather pulled the door open with a flustered smile. “Hey. Come on in, sorry, I have to—” And with that she took off toward the kitchen. A moment later he heard the clang of cookware, followed by some pretty creative cursing.
“Everything okay?” He followed the sounds to the sunny yellow kitchen, where Heather frowned at a pan on the stove.
“Barely,” she answered. “I started the chicken and pulled up the brochure, but then I had this fabulous idea about—about something I want to add, and time got away from me and I forgot all about this.” She pointed toward the pan. “Good thing you showed up when you did. Otherwise I’d have to convince you that this was supposed to be Cajun-blackened stir-fry.”
He bit back the smile. “I like Cajun food.”
“So do I.” She pointed her wooden spoon toward the window. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, that’s not the Mighty Mississippi out there.”
“It isn’t? Guess it’s time to get my glasses checked.”
“You don’t wear glasses.”
“It’s a cutting-edge frame. So thin they’re invisible.”
She moved in and stared into his eyes. His breath caught in his lungs. All he could hear was the soft catch of her breath and the parting words from the woman he’d met last night, when she leaned across the table and told him that if he wanted to be with the blonde in the other booth, he should go to that table.
His gaze shifted, breaking the connection but giving him an excellent view of Heather’s lips.
She stepped back. “You’re right. Cutting edge, for sure.”
He inhaled while he could and made a show of peering into the pan. “So now that you saved the stir-fry, do you need a hand in here?”
“Sure. You can slice the onions.” She handed him a cutting board. “Have fun crying.”
“Heartless, Heather. You’re truly heartless.”
“I know. All my guests complain about this.”
Except he wasn’t really a guest—not that his jittery pulse could keep that in mind.
She stretched to reach a bowl on the top shelf. He followed the line of her body with his eyes, lingering at a few well-chosen places while he had the opportunity.
“Do you need me to get that for you?”
She scowled over her shoulder. “You tall people. Always lording it over us shorties.”
“That wasn’t lording it over you.” He stepped around her, grabbed the bowl she pointed at and held it above her head just out of reach. “This is lording it over you.”
“You do realize I’m at the perfect height to punch you in the stomach.”
“Here you go. One bowl, safe and sound.” Huh. He’d never had anyone reply that way before.
“Thank you.” Her smile oozed sweetness. “Start chopping. How do you feel about ginger?”
“The more the better.”
“We’re going to get along just fine.” She dumped a bag of broccoli florets into the bowl, added a handful of snow peas and tossed in a can of water chestnuts with a flourish worthy of a cooking-reality-show contestant. “Is it totally rude if I ask if you had a good time last night?”
“Not rude. And let’s say I’ve had better nights.” This one, for example.
“She didn’t look like your type.”
“How do you know she wasn’t my parole officer?”
The question slipped out without thought. He started to give himself a mental head slap, then remembered, this was Heather. He could make jokes around her. He could be himself. It was like when he was hanging around Ian and Darcy, but even better, because he didn’t have to remind himself—even in the tiniest, quietest corner of his mind—that he was dealing with someone who had a huge say in his relationship with Cady.
“Of course she wasn’t a parole officer. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes.”
“What?”
“Parole officers wear sensible shoes when they’re on the job. She was wearing heels with a serious display of toe cleavage. Definitely not working shoes, unless she was planning to work a street corner.”
It was an everyday kind of joke. Certainly didn’t merit the relief he felt. But a small knot of worry eased somewhere in the vicinity of his gut.
As opposed to the stirrings of interest taking place a bit lower.
“Okay, you got me. It was a first meet.”
Heather made a face that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the onions she took from him. “Okay, I love Timmie’s as much as the next Canadian, but seriously, Xander? Shouldn’t a first date involve, oh, flowers? Candles? A waiter?”
“Hey, it was her idea. I would have gone for something a lot fancier. Arches, at the very least.”
“And my admiration goes up exponentially.” She poured soy sauce into a measuring cup. “So come on. Now that we’ve started down this topic, I need details. Blind date, Tinder or dating website?”
“Website.”
“Bummer. Those usually have the most info. Did she lie in her profile?” She fixed him with a stern gaze that he was pretty sure Millie had seen more than once. “I hope you didn’t.”
“No lies. At least not on my part. Are you ready for your brochure lesson?”
“You really think you can distract me that easily?”
“No, but it was worth a shot.” And a heck of a lot safer than letting Heather ask what had led to his so-called date storming out of the place in a huff. He wasn’t ready to talk about that one.
At least, he didn’t think he was ready.
Heather sighed and ran a hunk of ginger over a grater. “Fine. Message received. I’ll stop interrogating you, but only because it’s rude, and I want to stay on your good side so you’ll help me.” She stared at the pan. “’Cause to be honest, I’m not sure the semi-Cajun-blackened dinner is going to be worthy.”
“Don’t worry. I like almost anything that’s not cooked in an institutional kitchen.”
He hadn’t meant to slip that one in—at least, not consciously—but as he waited for her reply, he admitted that, yeah, maybe there was something going on here. That maybe he wanted to be very certain of her standing about him, the past and screwups. Not just out of general interest, either.
She didn’t take or reject his conversational bait. Instead, she simply laughed.
“Okay. I think I can handle those standards.” She added the ginger to the soy sauce and hit a button on the rice cooker. “This needs to sit for a few minutes. Let’s go play with margins.”
He was on her tail before remembering that he should have found a way to walk ahead instead of behind, because she was wearing those shorts again.
Couldn’t a guy catch a break once in a while?
She sat down, thank God, on the sofa and reached for the laptop among the piles of papers, files and books.
“Research much?” he asked as he took a chair kitty-corner to her.
“I want to be sure I get this right. The problem with basing this on local history is that a good chunk of folks in this town know it better than I ever will.”
“Maybe not after you’re done with these.”
“Here’s hoping.” She handed over the laptop. “Okay, maestro. Make it sing.”
His fingers settled into their familiar pattern on the keyboard. A buzz of something like anticipation hummed through him. He used computers all the time—at home, at work—but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself approach one for anything creative. Not that most people would consider what he’d done creative, but there had been an element of imagination there, a need to experiment and explore that had called to him. This wouldn’t be the same, but it was still new. Still a challenge. He needed that.
Needed, too, to have someone hand over their laptop without a nervous joke or a moment’s hesitation. Something he’d become so prepared for that he no longer noticed it until just now, with Heather. When, for the first time in forever, it hadn’t happened.
“Okay.” He scooted closer to her. Just so she could see the screen, of course. “The first thing you’re going to do is...”
He talked her through the process, making her do the actual changes so she would be more likely to remember. Watching was one thing. Hands-on learning, he had found, was a lot more likely to be retained.
And that, he ordered himself, was all the hands-on that would be happening here today. Even if Heather did accept him. And even if those shorts should be outlawed. And even if his date had clued in that he was far more interested in what was happening with Heather and Hank than what was happening between the two of them.
Wait a minute. Heather and Hank.
“Hang on. We interrupt this lesson for an important question. Were you and Hank talking about custody last night?”
She raised her head and blinked—probably trying to figure out where that had come from—before saying, “Um, sort of.” A tentative grin lit her face. “The topic was addressed.”
“How did it go?”
The grin faded slightly. “He’s... Let’s say, this will be a slow process for him. I can’t blame him for that, not after...after everything. He’s doing the safe, protective father thing, which is exactly why I knew that Millie would be better—would be in excellent hands while I was gone. So I really can’t complain when he does it now.”
“No, I guess not.” Again, a multitude of whys danced through his brain. Heather leaving Millie had never made sense to him, and the more he saw of her, the less he understood it. Especially that bit she had almost let slip just now. Millie would be better...what? Better off with Hank than with Heather? Better off without her mother?
No. He would never believe that one.
Did he dare ask?
“Heather,” he began, “could I—”
“Oh, I am such a doofus. I totally forgot what I had to ask you.” Her interruption was far too bright and determined to be coincidence.
No questions. Got it.
“What’s that?” He slid a couple of inches away and leaned back against the cushions.
“I told you there would be a treasure map on the front. But here, on the center page, I want to put a photo. One that makes people think about hidden things. One that might, you know, mesmerize them.” She tipped her head to the side with a saucy grin. “You wouldn’t happen to know of anything like that, would you?”
“I thought you had a problem with me taking pictures there.”
“I do. It’s not safe, and it’s probably trespassing. But since you already have it, and since it would work so perfectly, would you be willing to let me use it? With full credit, of course. And only for this sample, so, just a onetime use.”
He went back and forth in his brain. On the one hand, he was flattered. On the other, she was right. He probably was trespassing, though he never went inside and hadn’t seen any signs. He wouldn’t want to do anything that might lead to a problem down the line.
But what were the odds?
“Sure.”
As soon as she grinned, he knew where Millie had got her smile. “Awesome. Thank you so much. It’ll be perfect. I’ll find a release form online and—”
She was interrupted by a beeping from the kitchen. “Oops. Time to do the Julia Child thing.”
He followed along, carried in the wake of her excited talk about the project and the interview.
“Not that I have any serious expectations that I’ll get the job,” she said as she flipped vegetables in the wok with a practiced hand. “I mean, strike one, I don’t have any real experience in tourism. And strike two, I just happen to be That Conniving Girl who trapped nice Hank North into marrying her, then ran off and left him with their baby.”
He wasn’t sure what caught him most off guard—her words, or the matter-of-fact tone in which she delivered them.
“Where did that come from?”
“What, my glorious reputation?” She shrugged and added the sauce. “Trust me. I’ve heard it, or a variation thereof, on a regular basis since I moved back. Add in the fact that Hank’s family is the single largest employer in town—as you well know, since you work there—and you’ll understand why I’m not getting my hopes up. Even though, the more I get into this, the more I like it.”
“Wait a minute. Back up.” He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean people actually say that stuff to you?”
Her look was a mix of compassion and resignation. “Come on, Xander. You can’t be surprised by this.”
In all honesty, he wasn’t. He’d been on the receiving end of too many sideways comments himself to think that most folks lived by the old if you can’t say something nice advice. But he definitely felt something. Something a lot more unpleasant than mere surprise. Something he would best describe as anger.
“I hope to hell you told—whoever—to take a long walk off a short pier.”
“What would be the point?” Her shoulders sagged slightly. “It’s all true. Well, except the part about me trapping Hank. That, I would never have done.” She poked at the food, her movements small and careful now.
“They still shouldn’t say it. It’s not like anyone gets through life without messing up sometime.”
“I know that. You know that.” She leveled her spatula in his direction. “But knowing it and believing it are two different things for most people.”
He wished he could argue with that, but he couldn’t. Not without lying.
“Anyway.” She shook her head and pulled up another smile, slightly dimmed, but very determined. “It looks like I didn’t totally kill this, so what do you say we eat?”
Okay. If she wanted to play it that way, he’d go along.
Despite the less than auspicious start, dinner was a success. Heather got her groove back and told him stories of some of the folks she’d worked with over the years. He had a few good ones of his own, tales of some of the exploits he and Ian had gotten into in university. And of course they talked about their kids. He had the feeling that she, as did he, liked nothing better than talking about her daughter.
It wasn’t until she said something about the river and he glanced out the window that he realized they had talked until well past dusk.
“Whoa, what time is it?”
She checked the clock, her eyes widening. “Oh my gosh. It’s almost ten!”
“I had no idea... Here. Let me help you clean up, and then I’ll get out of your way.”
“There’s really only one pan to wash. Everything else can go in the dishwasher.”
“Fine. You load that, and I’ll wash the pan.”
Sure enough, the kitchen was put back to rights in ten minutes. It probably could have gone faster if not for the fact that midway through soaping up the pan, he told her a prison joke that had her bent double with laughter, silverware slipping from her fingers onto the floor.
When was the last time that had happened? Not just the laughter, but the ease, the banter, the feeling that it was okay to be himself? He couldn’t remember. The only certainty was that he had missed it. He liked it.
And even though he knew it was a bad idea, he wanted to know what else might go so well between them. Wanted to hear that laughter turn teasing. Wanted to hear it thicken. Wanted to feel it against his chest, against his neck, against his lips.
And from the way she suddenly wouldn’t meet his gaze as she walked him to the door, he had a feeling that she might be doing some wanting and wondering of her own.
“Thanks again,” she said, her tone oddly formal after their earlier laughter. “You’ve been a lifesaver with this.”
“My pleasure. And thanks for dinner. Cajun-blackened stir-fry has never tasted so good.”
Her laugh this time was a little higher, a little more restrained. Like she was...nervous. Maybe a little shy. Maybe a little uncertain as to what should happen when they reached the door.
Because even though they had been in the house all night, walking toward the entry flipped a switch. Work and computers and jobs slipped away. All that remained was the lightness that had flowed between them.
And a big honking pink elephant named Desire.
“Let me know if I can do anything else for you.” Read between the lines, Heather.
“Thanks. I will.”
He grabbed the doorknob. “I, uh, had a really good time.”
“Me, too. I mean... I never thought that margins and font sizes could be so much fun.”
“You can find fun in all kinds of unexpected places.”
She nodded. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I guess you can.”
Great friendship, he reminded himself. Lots of complications. Awkward consequences.
Not that knowing the consequences had stopped him before.
She inhaled sharply through her nose, hands clasped tightly, head tipping up to look at him. It was all controlled except for the long line of invitation along her neck, the soft skin calling him like he was a vampire that hadn’t fed in days.
Come to think of it, that wasn’t so far off.
He let go of the doorknob and stepped closer.
“Heather—”
“You know, I just realized, I never asked how much you charge for photo rights.”
“I don’t want your money, Heather.”
As soon as he said it, he knew it was wrong. Not because he expected to be paid. But because, given the way Desire had parked herself between them, it sounded like he wanted a very different kind of transaction.
“Wait,” he said. “That came out wrong.”
“I...”
He could see her debating. Her mental back and forth so obvious in her face, it was as if cartoon bubbles were floating above her head. Pretend? Ignore?
Instead, she turned ever so slightly. Just enough to meet his gaze.
“It’s not a good idea, Xander.”
Why was he not surprised that she had chosen to face it head-on?
“You’re right.”
She hadn’t expected him to agree. That was obvious, too.
“But, funny thing.” He inched a little closer. “I have this—I guess you’d call it an affinity for bad ideas.”
Her eyes closed. Her left hand moved, twisted, and he wasn’t sure what she was doing until he saw her fingers curl and her thumb rub over the lone pale pink nail.
“Why are you going out with all those women?”
Wait a minute. What?
“You’re asking why I’m dating?”
“Humor me. Why were you out with that woman last night?” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “What are you looking for, Xander?”
Forthright. Direct.
Which meant he needed to respond in kind.
“Someone to laugh with,” he said. “Someone to be with.” He moved in closer, his voice dropping. “Long term, someone to kiss when I walk through the door at night. Someone to hold on cold winter nights when the wind is whipping off the river and you can’t get warm. Someone to help me remember what it’s like to fit, to belong.” And then, because he had to touch her, he dragged one slow finger down the softness of her cheek. When it slipped free of her jaw and hovered in midair, she swayed ever so slightly forward as if attempting to reclaim his touch.
He swallowed. Hard.
“But for right now,” he whispered, “I think I’d be good with the holding and kissing part.”
Me, too. She didn’t say it, but it was there in the way she bit down on her lip, the way she stared at him as if they were in a desert and she wasn’t sure he was an oasis or a mirage.
“I can’t give you that, Xander.”
Mirage.
“We want different things,” she said softly. “Maybe not right this second—” this time, her laugh was small and rueful “—but definitely over the long haul. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“And yet, I think I’d be willing to take that chance.”
He meant it as a joke. Something to get them past the moment, to try to restore the balance of what they’d had before it was ruined completely.
At least he thought it was a joke.
But she was shaking her head. Stepping back. “I’ve already hurt enough people for one lifetime, Xander.” She reached past him and opened the door. “I can’t do that again.”
And as he stepped out into the night, he was pretty sure that when she said she didn’t want to hurt anyone, she wasn’t really talking about him.
* * *
HEATHER HADN’T REALIZED how much she had missed her car time with Millie. For the year when she first returned to the area, when she had lived near her job in Ottawa, each weekend visit had included drive time. Just the two of them. No phones. No chores. No other distractions. They would catch each other up on their time apart and plan their days together and share the little stories and questions that were so easy to forget in the day to day. Their car time had been a way to ease in and out of their visits, to broach subjects that needed long periods of extended together-aloneness, and in many ways, they had been the best parts of that year.
Now that they lived closer together, there wasn’t the same urgency to make the most of the drive. But as Heather switched the radio to a more sing-along friendly station, she had to admit that there was something amazingly comforting about knowing she had almost an hour of her daughter’s undivided company. It was just them, the songs and a whole day of bonus.
Thank you, Hank.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you talk to Daddy yet? About, you know. Me being at your place more?”
Okay, so maybe long car drives weren’t always perfect.
“A little, honey. But,” she added quickly, after a glance in the rearview mirror showed the dismay on Millie’s face, “We’re not ready to make any changes yet. We’re talking. Daddy knows you’d like more time with me, and that’s one of the reasons we have today. But things might not change as fast as you would like.”
A highly dramatic sigh was her only answer.
Heather checked the mirror again. Millie’s head was bowed.
“Mills.”
“Yeah?”
No lifting of the head. Uh-oh.
“Daddy loves you very much. All he wants is to be sure that you will be okay.”
“But you’re my mom. It’s not like you would do anything bad to me.”
Heather’s hands tightened on the wheel.
“How about for today, we just focus on the moment? No worrying about what might happen down the road. For today, we have the whole day to be together when we usually wouldn’t. So why don’t we enjoy it?”
Which, as soon as she said it, struck Heather as something that could have come straight from Xander’s mouth. She wasn’t sure if she should be amused or worried.
She definitely knew that once she started thinking about his mouth, it was nearly impossible to stop. I’d be willing to take that chance.
He’d said that. It was so unfair. She could barely remember what she had done just an hour ago. So why could she still hear the naked want in his voice when he’d said that? Why could she still feel the way she had shivered as he touched her cheek, the shape of his lips as he spoke, the—
She swerved to elude a branch in the road. Maybe she should stop thinking about Xander’s mouth before she got too distracted and drove them into a ditch.
“So, Milliekins, what did you do at science camp yesterday?”
They talked about rockets and models of the solar system and experiments for the bulk of the drive. And Heather kept thoughts of Xander at bay.
Mostly.
Once they made it to the mall and into the dress shop, though, Heather kept her focus where it belonged: on Millie. Not that there was any hardship about that, especially when the clerk brought the dress out from the back room and held it out with a dramatic flair that Heather was pretty sure had been enhanced simply to get Millie’s mouth to drop in an O of wonder.
“It’s so pretty!”
Pretty was an understatement. The dress featured a full skirt of rose-colored lace over a poufy crinoline—which would probably hit Millie about midcalf—topped by a wide burgundy sash and a sleeveless cream bodice. It shimmered and swirled, the kind of dress that little girl dreams are made of.
“Ready to try it on?” asked the clerk.
Millie could only nod.
Heather followed her into the dressing room and helped ease the abundance of fabric over her head. Once it was in place, Millie stared in the mirror.
“I look like magic,” she whispered.
“That you do.” For the first time, Heather caught the faint glint of sparkle on the skirt. She bent to inspect it and saw that the center of each lace medallion contained a tiny glittery bead.
Magic. Absolutely.
“Come out and look in the big mirror.” Heather opened the door to the dressing room and let Millie lead the way.
“It swishes when I walk, Mommy.” Millie spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid to break a spell. Heather knew the feeling. Was this really her little scientist, her rough and tumble girl, moving so reverently and smoothing the skirt into place with her hands?
The store clerks broke into applause when Millie appeared. She blushed almost the color of her sash but kept her poise as she approached the big mirror.
“I love it, Mom.”
“Me, too.” Heather touched Millie’s hand. “Are you going to have a bouquet?”
“No. Aunt Darcy said my job is to hold Cady’s hand, so I don’t have flowers. But I get to wear some in my hair.”
“That will be gorgeous.”
“This is just like when Daddy and Brynn got married,” she said, twirling so the skirt flared around her. “Except then I was just a flower girl. And I was kind of scared, on account of I didn’t know what I was doing. But now I know what to do, so it’ll be more fun. And I can help Cady.”
Heather took in the sight of her glowing daughter and had to bite down on her lip to keep from tearing up. Millie amazed her. Constantly. Not just because she was growing into a confident, intelligent young lady, but because of her big heart that led her to look after anyone in need. That same heart that had allowed her to keep loving the mother who had left her.
Heather closed her eyes, trapped for a moment in a far different picture, one that was forever seared into her memory: the image of toddler Millie, curled at the edge of the water, wet and so horribly still.
Breathe. Heather forced herself to inhale while rubbing her thumb across the pale pink nail, the way she always did when the memory clawed at her.
Millie is here. Millie is happy. Millie is alive.
Heather shook her head, stepped back and bumped up against a display. She whirled to make sure she hadn’t knocked anything over, then stopped, her breath caught by the dress swaying slightly on the rack before her.
It was a deep, dark red, almost purplish. Maroon? Maybe. It was hard to describe. All that was certain was that the fabric shimmered and shifted when she picked it up, fluorescent lights catching on the threads of color that shot through it. A flash of scarlet, a twist of yellow, a whisper of orange—none of them truly visible until the fabric moved beneath the light.
If someone could turn a glass of sangria into a dress, this would be it.
“Mommy, that’s beautiful.” Millie reached for the dress, pulling the skirt out to examine it. “You have to get it!”
“What, me? Wear this?”
The fabric slipped through Heather’s fingers as she removed it from Millie’s grip. “No, babe. I have something to wear. We’re here for you today, so let’s get you out of your dress and maybe head down to Sparks Street to walk around, okay?”
“Nope. You have to try it on.”
“I do, do I?”
“Yes.” Millie’s head tipped and her eyes gleamed behind her glasses. “This is an experiment.”
“Really.”
“Really. Because when you do an experiment, it’s just to see what might happen.”
“True.”
“So you need to see how pretty you would look in that dress.”
“I can answer that without trying it on.” Heather held the dress out for inspection. “See this? It’s called a boat neck. That never works on me. And the skirt looks too full for my hips. Also, that color... I love it, but it has too much red and purple. It would make my skin look blotchy.”
Millie’s crossed her arms. “I think it would look magic.”
How was she supposed to answer that one? Millie had her mind made up. It would be easier to do the experiment than to argue her point.
“Fine.” Heather draped the dress over her arm and pointed to the changing room. “You take yours off and I’ll try this. But only if you promise you won’t try to talk me into it when it doesn’t work.”
“Guide’s honor.” Three fingers raised in a Girl Guide sign, Millie skipped toward the change room. Heather followed, rolling her eyes in the direction of the clerk, who offered a sympathetic smile. Or at least Heather thought it was sympathetic until the other woman called out, “You did see that that’s half price, right?”
Good Lord. It was like the universe was conspiring against her.
So why are you fighting it?
She paused as she stepped into the fitting room. Why was she so reluctant? It was just a dress. What had her so flustered at the thought of putting it on?
With that, she yanked off her shirt, kicked off her capris and pulled the dress over her head.
Oh.
That was why she’d been fighting it.
“Mommy? I’m all changed.”
“Great, Mills.” The words came out automatically, but Heather’s gaze never left the mirror, just in case the image in the glass should shift and transform her back into the pre-fairy-godmother version of herself. Because she had never understood how Cinderella could go from meek scullery maid to poised princess impostor with just a change of clothes. Not until now.
She’d been totally off base in her listing of the garment’s flaws. The neckline was more of a soft cowl, draping and hugging in a way that revealed the tiniest hint of cleavage while curving down to her bust. The skirt was full, yes, but the waist was ever so slightly raised, meaning the fullness didn’t hit at the hip but just above. It swirled as she turned, flying out from her legs and wrapping back around them like a lover’s caress.
As for the color...the dreaded blotches were nowhere to be seen. The red in her cheeks was deep and radiant. And her mouth... Her lips looked lush and vibrantly rich, like she had just walked out of a lipstick commercial.
Or like she had just been deeply, slowly and thoroughly kissed.
“Whoa,” she whispered to her reflection. “Where did you come from?”
“Mommy, can I see you now?”
Heather shook off the spell and opened the door. “Here you go.” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep her usual briskness in her voice. “It isn’t zipped, so it isn’t hanging right, but—”
“Mommy! You’re beautiful!” Millie grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the showroom. “You have to show the store ladies. They’ll help you do the zipper.”
“Mills!” Heather slapped her free hand to her chest to keep the slippery fabric from falling to her waist as they moved. “Give me a second, okay?”
But they were already in the room, and Millie had come to a halt and announced, with all the drama that only a ten-year-old could muster, “Look at my mom!”
The two clerks ceased their conversation and gave Millie an indulgent look. Then their gazes shifted to Heather.
And Heather knew that she wasn’t getting out of there without the dress.
“It’s not zipped,” she said weakly.
“Let me give you a hand.” The clerk who had pointed out that it was on sale hurried over and eased the zipper closed before giving Heather’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Now aren’t you glad you tried it on?”
Heather wasn’t sure if she was glad or terrified. She settled for a nod and smoothed the skirt with her hands before checking the mirror again.
Oh Lord.
Her brain chose that moment to replay the memory of Xander at her door. The way he hadn’t seemed capable of looking away from her mouth. The way she had felt like everything in her had come to life in a way she’d never felt before.
“You have to get it, Mom. It’s magic.”
That word again. Though there was no denying that she felt...well...bewitching.
“Unzip me, will you, Millie? I need to take it off.”
“But you’re going to get it. Aren’t you?”
“I’m still deciding.”
Except the decision had nothing to do with the garment.
Heather scooted back to the dressing room, closed the door and made herself take another look. Somehow, the drapes and folds of the dress highlighted her curves in a way that slits and low necklines never would. She was perfectly covered but totally hot. Totally enticing. Totally jumpable.
I think I’d be willing to take that chance.
He wanted the white picket fence. She could never give him that.
But when she looked at herself in the mirror, all she could imagine was Xander’s face when he saw her wearing it.
And when she tugged the fabric over her head, feeling it glide over her skin, all she could imagine was Xander’s hands doing the tugging. And then tracing the path the dress had taken with those long fingers. And covering her with his body. And reaching down and then up, hands and mouth all over her while she arched into him and wrapped herself around him and pulled him in deep, deeper...
Whoa. She had to stop this line of thought now. Before people started to wonder why there was moaning coming from dressing room 3.
She slipped the dress onto the hanger. Pulled her capris back on, armored herself with her T-shirt and looked at the dress once more. She would have sworn it was all wrong for her. And yet...it was perfect.
Which made her wonder if other things that she thought would be wrong—for her, for others—could in fact be equally amazing.
There was only one way to find out.
She had to get the dress. And wear it to the wedding. And let Xander see her in it.
And maybe, if the experiment turned out the right way, and she could be certain things would stay quiet...maybe she would let Xander see her out of it, as well.