The crowd on the beach grew thicker as they approached the pier, forcing them to weave around sunbathers and picnickers. “Want to grab a bite at the café?” Peter asked. “I don’t mean to interrupt your photo session.”
“Oh, the light’s too harsh now, anyway.” Harper laughed. “That was rude, wasn’t it? Like I’d only join you because the light’s bad for picture-taking.”
Peter unfurled a smile. “I appreciate the frankness.”
“I’m sure Angela was way more tactful.” She halted, regarding him apologetically. “I’m running off at the mouth.”
“Nothing wrong with talking about Angela.” Peter held out a hand to help her up some large rocks that abutted the pier. “I mentioned Sean, didn’t I?”
“I guess you did.” His grip sent prickles along Harper’s arm. Reaching the wooden quay, she released his hand quickly.
They strolled past boat slips and, on the inland side, boutiques selling beachwear, surfboards, hats and anything else a tourist might buy. At the Sea Star Café, they were lucky enough to snag a booth by the window.
“I’ll get the food,” Peter offered, since the café served from the counter. “What would you like?”
Harper handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll have a cranberry muffin, a blueberry muffin and a cup of chai, and don’t even try to pay for it.”
Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “Okay, but—is that what you’re eating for lunch?”
“Why?”
“Not exactly a balanced diet.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a health nut.” She bristled at the idea of someone dictating what she ate. This was her free day.
“No, it’s just that as a...” He floundered for a moment. “I figured that, as a nurse, you’d be a stickler for nutrition.”
“Sean used to get on my case about carbs,” she responded testily. “It was all protein and vegetables with him. I’m making up for lost time.”
“Okay, okay.” Peter raised a hand placatingly. “Just asking.”
Harper hadn’t meant to start an argument. By the time he returned, carrying a tray between the crowded tables, she regretted snarling at him. “Thanks, Peter. I’m sorry about biting your head off.”
“I can take it.” He set her cup of tea and the muffins in front of her.
“Usually I eat healthy stuff, but today when Mia isn’t here, I don’t have to act like a grown-up.”
“No explanation necessary.” On his plate rested a whole-wheat pita sandwich bursting with sprouts, hummus and lettuce. “I wasn’t trying to control you. That’s what comes from being a teacher, I suppose.”
“Especially a biology teacher?” she teased.
“I’m glad you equate that with healthy habits.” Peter took his seat. “Some women draw other conclusions about my expertise in biology.” His cheeks reddened. “Man, that came out wrong.”
“Good thing this isn’t a date,” Harper told him. “Just think of me as Sean with, well, a few distinctions.”
“I’m trying not to think about those distinctions.” He turned an even brighter shade. “Seriously, I don’t know where this stuff comes from.”
“Most men wouldn’t apologize, they’d move in for the kill.” Harper had fended off more than a few piranhas, including men accompanying their pregnant wives to Dr. Franco’s office. She felt sorry for any woman married to a creep like that. “Um, as long as I have your attention, can I pick your brain?”
“By all means.” He regarded her over the pita.
“I’m planning a birthday party for Mia that won’t cost much.” As they ate, Harper explained the situation, concluding with, “Any ideas about what I could do in my backyard?”
She wasn’t sure why she expected a childless man to come up with an answer. Still, as a teacher and a sports camp leader, Peter had experience with groups of kids, Harper reflected as she watched him study the sailboats in the harbor. It was hard not to sneak glances at his appealing profile.
And hard not to notice that he’s all guy. Confident, physically attuned men drew her, and Peter had that in common with Sean. Like Sean, he was also a little domineering, she reminded herself. It wasn’t a bad trait, just unsuited to her.
Clear blue eyes refocused on her. “My personal philosophy is Never Miss a Chance to Teach.”
“Even at a birthday party?”
“The average backyard is a paradise for biologists.” Pushing aside his empty plate, he planted his elbows on the table.
The only backyard biology that occurred to Harper involved a shady bower, protective bushes and activities wildly inappropriate for a children’s party. However, they’d already dismissed that topic, and thank goodness.
Hoping her thoughts didn’t show, she said, “I could put them to work planting a vegetable garden. Adrienne did that last spring when she was watching Mia and Reggie. My daughter swears they dug for hours, although mostly I think they played in the dirt.”
“Might be kind of messy for a party,” Peter said.
“I agree. What else did you have in mind?”
“Bugs.” He gave the word a lilt, as if it ought to pique her interest.
“Spoken like a biology teacher.” Nevertheless, Harper supposed bugs might make an interesting theme. In her experience, kids seemed to love eating Gummy worms and chocolate mud pie cupcakes. “I could design invitations and decorations on that theme,” she mused. “It wouldn’t be hard to come up with bug-related games, either.”
“If your backyard is like most people’s, I’m sure you can find anthills, ladybugs and spiders.” Peter’s face lit up with enthusiasm.
“You mean, real bugs?”
“Magnifying glasses should make good party favors.”
That did sound like fun, if handled right. “What would the kids do?”
“Spot bugs and identify them,” Peter said. “In the process, they’ll learn about the creatures that share our lawns and homes.”
“Our homes?” Harper shuddered. “Not mine, thank you.”
“Even in a clean house, you’ll find tiny spiders, and if there are spiders, they’re eating something,” he observed. “Plus our clothes and sheets are loaded with microscopic dust mites.”
Harper raised her hands. “Too much information.”
“Sorry.” Peter ducked his head. “I get carried away.”
“Let’s keep the bug hunt outdoors.” Harper sighed. “If Mia thinks our house is full of bugs, she might have trouble sleeping.”
“Good point.” After a moment’s reflection, he asked, “When’s the party?”
“In two weeks,” Harper said.
“I could stop by and check your yard before then, if that would help.” His eyes shone at the prospect. “But I don’t want to impose.”
“Impose?” She’d welcome the assistance. “Anything you can do would be great. When’s a good time?”
“How about tomorrow afternoon?”
She hadn’t expected such a quick turnaround. “I promised my friend Stacy to go shopping for her wedding gown.” Although the event wasn’t until September, it could take a while to find the right dress. “How about next Saturday?”
“Two o’clock?”
“Great.” Had she really just invited Peter to her house? But they would have a chaperone. “Mia will be delighted to see you. Although she’s a little nervous around spiders.” As if I’m not.
“She’s a cutie.” Peter seemed to relax at the mention of her name. Apparently he hadn’t been trying to get Harper alone, not that she’d figured he was. “By the way, spiders aren’t insects.”
“What are they?”
“Arachnids.”
Harper made a mental connection, not to biology but to a mythology book she’d read to her daughter. “Like Arachne, the weave
r.”
“Exactly. You’d make a good teacher.” Coming from Peter, that was high praise.
“Thanks.” As they arose and cleared their plates, Harper added, “I’ll text you my address. Although I guess you have that already, at camp.”
“I’m sure we do.” He kept his tone politely impersonal. “However, I don’t consult school records for my personal use. We should exchange numbers.”
“Good idea.” They clicked to the contacts section on their phones and input that information for each other.
Judging by his tone and body language, he intended to keep their relationship platonic. Despite a small, rebellious twinge of regret, that suited Harper fine.
* * *
AT HOME, PETER CLICKED open the egg donor website. There she was, the woman with whom he’d eaten lunch. Viewing Harper this way felt sneaky, but how could he tell her what he was considering?
Surely no etiquette book addressed the issue of what a man might discuss with a friend on the subject of choosing her as an egg donor. If he decided against it, she might feel rejected. If he chose her, well, what then?
He’d felt more comfortable talking with Harper today than he’d felt with any other woman since he lost Angela. There’d been none of the usual awkwardness when women flirted with him. Since he became a widower, several female acquaintances had invited Peter to dinner but he always made excuses. Others came right out and told him that, after more than a year, he ought to be dating again. They strongly implied that he should start with them.
While he appreciated the compliment, he didn’t like being pursued. When he and Angela met during their student teaching, they’d gravitated together instinctively.
Like Harper and me?
Peter did find her appealing. However, that might result partly from her resemblance to Angela. Plus, having acquaintances in common and a shared history helped the conversation flow.
Well, he’d volunteered to drop by her house next Saturday. With a little more contact, surely he’d be able to decide whether to select her as the mother of his children, or move on to another candidate.
Chapter Three
“Tell me again how blue his eyes are,” teased Stacy, fingering the lace on a tiered, strapless gown.
Embarrassed, Harper glanced around the bridal shop. Luckily, none of the other customers appeared to be paying attention. “I showed you his picture already!”
“And tell me how helpful he’s being about the party.”
“Change the subject.”
“Okay.” Stacy stretched. “It’s amazing how sore I am from walking around Disneyland. That was so much fun! Thanks for loaning us Mia.”
“I’m glad she didn’t drive you crazy.”
“Not at all.”
Yesterday’s outing, from which they’d returned about 10:30 p.m. after the fireworks, had left all parties exhausted. Today, even the usually meticulous Stacy had smudged her eyeliner and stuck a headband over her loose curls.
Harper had barely dragged Mia out of bed this morning in time for church. Afterward, she’d dropped off her daughter to spend the afternoon with Adrienne, who’d set up a pretend medical clinic for Mia’s and Reggie’s teddy bears. “Oh, darn!” Stacy made a face as another woman corralled the tiered gown. “I think that was the only one in my size.”
“You should have let the saleslady set it aside,” Harper said.
Stacy pretended to glare. “See how much sympathy you get from me when you’re shopping for your wedding to Mr. Blue Eyes.”
“Quit that.” Harper would have given her friend a light shove, had Stacy not been pregnant.
“Kidding aside, it’s the first time I’ve seen you like a guy since Sean.” Stacy lingered in front of a display of hats and veils. “Aren’t these cute?”
“Pick the dress first,” Harper advised.
“But someone might take the prettiest hat!”
“You’ll want a veil.”
“Why do you say that?” her friend demanded.
“Because you’re the veil type. Or the something-romantic type. Not hats.” Having shared an apartment with Stacy and been friends with her since junior high, Harper knew her taste ran to the ultrafeminine. “Trust me.”
“I do.” Stacy sighed. “Which is lucky, because Cole can’t help me choose a dress, or colors, or a cake. He’s a sweetheart but when it comes to girl stuff, he’s hopeless.”
“Your sister would be ideal.” During their teen years, Harper had seen how talented Ellie was at designing and sewing clothes. Now, married with four kids, Ellie lived in Salt Lake City and, with their mother, ran a boutique that sold stuffed animals in custom outfits. “Too bad she lives so far away.”
“She gets final approval over the bridesmaid dresses.” Stacy held up a sleek off-the-shoulder satin gown. “Along with you.”
“That makes sense.” Harper had been invited to be maid of honor, with Ellie as matron of honor. While unusual, the arrangement suited the small church setting and the fact that Cole, new to the area and with no close relatives, had only two groomsmen: his boss, the intimidating Dr. Owen Tartikoff, and Cole’s male nurse, Lucky Mendez.
“My feet hurt. I have to sit down.” As Stacy sank into a chair, the saleslady hurried over, asking if she was okay and offering tea, which they gratefully accepted.
“That’s another problem with choosing a gown,” Stacy murmured. “By September, I’ll be sticking out to here. Possibly out to there.” She indicated a point halfway across the room.
“We have designs with plenty of room,” the clerk assured them.
“For triplets?” Stacy asked.
After a blink of surprise, the saleslady said, “I’m sure we can accommodate you.”
Soon Harper and Stacy found themselves in a large dressing room with a selection of gowns, along with bridesmaid dresses in Harper’s size. Since Stacy hadn’t yet chosen her colors, the options were wide open.
“Pregnant brides must be fairly common,” Harper commented as she helped her friend into a dress with a forgiving waistline.
“Yeah, but I’ll bet none of them got pregnant the way I did.” Stacy smoothed out the skirt. “When you take those hormones and they tell you to watch out after they harvest the eggs, they aren’t kidding.”
“So I hear.” As part of her preparation to become an egg donor, Harper had been warned that the harvesting process didn’t catch every egg. Donors were strongly advised to abstain from intercourse for the rest of that cycle or risk getting pregnant with multiples.
After Stacy donated eggs to Una, she’d believed her period had started. That same night, celebrating her birthday, she’d had an unexpected romantic encounter with Cole. Initially, she’d planned to give up the babies for adoption, but despite Cole’s clumsy approach to wooing, he’d eventually won Stacy’s heart.
“You and Una inspired me,” Harper added, “but that doesn’t mean I intend to follow all your examples.”
“Good.” Turning to examine the back of a dress, Stacy paused as her gaze met Harper’s in the mirror. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this...”
“When has that stopped you?”
Her friend smiled. “Okay. I’m glad you’ll be helping a family have children...”
“But?” Curious, Harper slipped out of a pink dress that was too pale for her complexion.
“When Una called to say she was pregnant, I thought I’d be ecstatic.” Stacy eased out of her gown, as well. “Instead, I felt as if the bottom had dropped out.”
That puzzled Harper. “Why?”
“I didn’t understand it,” Stacy admitted. “You know, the program initially tried to reject me as a donor because I hadn’t had a child of my own. I browbeat Jan until she agreed.” Jan Garcia, R.N., headed the egg donor program.
“It u
pset you when Una got pregnant?” Harper prompted.
“I felt empty.” Stacy drooped at the memory. “My arms ached to hold those babies. Although I was ashamed of my reaction, that’s how I felt.”
“I wish you’d told me.” If Harper had known Stacy was struggling, she’d have been more supportive. Not that she’d been unkind, but she had been distracted by her new job and Mia’s needs. “Since I already have a child, though, my arms won’t be empty.”
“What about those little boys in your dreams?” Stacy reminded her.
“I don’t see them as mine.” Harper had discussed the matter with the program’s psychologist. “They’re separate people who deserve their own lives. I’m just helping them.”
“That’s what I thought about my future babies,” Stacy cautioned.
“And now you get to watch Una’s twins grow up,” Harper pointed out. “Plus raise three of your own.”
“You’re missing the point,” Stacy pressed. “I just want you to understand that things might not go as planned.”
“I appreciate the warning.” Harper hadn’t meant to dismiss her friend’s concern. “But while I’d love to share the recipient’s pregnancy and birth, I accept that that might not happen. In the meantime, what do you think?” She twirled in a light purple dress with blue trim. “This is pretty.”
“It fits beautifully.”
“Could you go for these colors?” Harper would be able to wear the cocktail-length dress again, a definite plus in view of the price.
“Oh!” Stacy eyed the dress in dismay. “Ellie said any color but puce.”
“This isn’t puce. It’s purple. What color is puce?”
“I’ll check.” Sitting on the bench, Stacy consulted the dictionary in her phone. “It says here it’s dark red. I always thought puce was purple.”
Standing upright to avoid wrinkling the dress, Harper searched on her phone. “This site says it’s a grayish red-violet.” The color displayed was lighter and more muted than the one she wore.
Stacy continued doing research. “Listen to this! Puce is a French word that refers to the color of bedbug droppings.”
His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) Page 3
