LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

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