Picket Fence Surprise

by Kris Fletcher

  “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.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TWO YEARS AGO, if anyone had ever told Xander that his future included sweeping around a dance floor with his toddler daughter in his arms and Billy Ray Cyrus pounding in his ears—all while cheering as his child’s mother married his closest friend—he would have laughed so hard that the cops would have added “suspected hallucinogenic use” to his arrest warrant.

  Yet here he was, belting out the words and making Cady giggle hysterically as he whirled her in circles. And he couldn’t be happier.