Kris Fletcher - Picket Fence Surprise

“That would be awesome, Mom! Can it be purple, maybe? Or do they make glow-in-the-dark paint for stars?”

“I bet we can find some stickers for that.”

“Okay. Is it time to eat yet? I’m hungry.”

Ah, that was far more like the optimistic girlie that Heather knew. She pushed to her feet, grabbed Millie’s hands to pull her up and tugged the child close for a fast hug and a kiss on the top of her head.

“Do you know how much I love you, kiddo?”

“To the moon and back.”

“You got it.”

Hand in hand, they followed their noses back to the gathering. Millie chattered and jumped and raced ahead and back like the friskiest of puppies, and Heather reveled in every minute of it.

Did she want more time with Millie? God yes. The problem—no, the challenge—would be in finding the way to make it happen without disturbing the peace.

Heather knew what it was to grow up in a home where the only constants were disruption and fear. Millie would never know anything as messed up as Heather’s childhood, thankfully, but that didn’t mean that Heather could be cavalier about upsetting the status quo—especially when she knew that Hank had already rejected the idea. She had to find a way to turn this into a logical, reasonable next step instead of a point of disruption. She had played hell with Millie’s life once. She would not do it again.

All she needed was a plan.

* * *

XANDER WAS A MAN who trusted his gut. And as he laughed his way through the party and helped Cady open more presents than any two-year-old could use, his gut kept whispering that he should check on Heather.

Not that anything was obviously wrong. She sang “Happy Birthday” with everyone else, talked to everyone, laughed and goofed around with Millie. But he couldn’t dismiss the way she had tensed up over Millie’s question. The wonder in her eyes hadn’t exactly meshed with the way she closed in on herself, arms and legs and everything pulling in tight. Like she was afraid that if she let anything free, she would lose it.

He pushed his worries to the back burner while the party was in full swing. Not only was this Cady’s birthday, it was the first time he’d celebrated it with her. A year ago at this time, he hadn’t even known she was alive. Now, though, she was the reason he was alive—or at the very least, the reason he was living this life. He wasn’t taking any of this for granted.

He memorized the sound of her squeals when she spotted her Winnie the Pooh cupcake. He soaked in the sight of her chipmunk cheeks as she tried to blow out her candles and bit back his laughter at the confusion on her face when her attempts left the candles blazing despite the hefty showering of spit she sprayed over the frosting.

Yeah, Darcy had been right to insist on Cady attacking an individual cake instead of the big one intended for sharing.

But when the candles continued to flicker and the twist to Cady’s mouth started the descent from gamely trying to core meltdown imminent, he squatted beside her and tapped her cheek.

“Want some help, Cady?”

Her quivering chin was his only reply.

On Cady’s other side, Darcy imitated his stance. “Here, sweetie. Let’s all do it together. You, me, Daddy and Ian.”

Darcy took Cady’s hand and extended the other toward her fiancé, who joined the circle.

Xander had never believed that line about it taking a village to raise a child until this moment, seeing how three adults were required to help a kid blow out two candles.

But then, the slightly-odd-but-definitely-working family they had built over the past year was almost a small village in itself. And none of them would be here, now, if not for the others.

If Xander hadn’t decided to spend a few weeks crashing with his old university roomie Ian...if Ian hadn’t been renting a garage apartment from Darcy...if Ian hadn’t been out of town the weekend Darcy’s rat bastard ex-boyfriend dumped her, leaving her in need of a shoulder, a stiff drink and some unexpected comfort...

None of it had been planned. Not him and Darcy ending up drunk. Or horizontal. Or—as he found out when he came back two years later—parents.

“One...two...” Darcy guided Cady forward.

Change any one of those factors, and none of them would be here. Because without that perfect storm of events and timing, Cady would never have been born. And Darcy would never have turned to Ian for help that became friendship that turned into something so real that they were getting married in a couple of months.

“Three!”

And if Darcy and Ian hadn’t been the understanding and forgiving people they were, Xander would never have walked out of a jail cell and into this family.

“Make a wish!” someone called. Xander checked on Cady, now clapping her hands while leaning against Darcy, and was pretty sure that his daughter had absolutely everything she could want at this moment.

But birthday wishes weren’t to be wasted. So as Ian reached across Darcy to bop Cady’s nose and the three of them laughed together, Xander closed his eyes and sent up his own wish.

That, please. I want something like that.

* * *

ONCE THE CAKE had been cut and the gifts opened, Xander prowled the edges of the party with his camera, gathering trash with one hand while sneaking in some candid shots of the birthday girl and her guests. Cleaning, preserving memories and casually working his way toward Heather, all at once. Who said men couldn’t multitask? Add in the way he managed to sneak a few peeks at Heather’s shorts—or, more precisely, what they covered—and he felt positively superhuman.

Well, except for the fact that Heather’s shorts—and, more precisely, what was in them—were strictly off-limits.

She was a damned fine looking woman who made him laugh. More than that, when he was with her, he felt he could relax more than with most folks. Maybe because she understood how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Maybe because she, like he, knew all about duct-taping a life back together after throwing it in the toilet.

Heather was a friend. And while Xander wanted someone to build a life with, these days he needed friends. So yeah. Off-limits.

But off-limits didn’t mean he couldn’t be a buddy. So when Heather finished saying something to Millie and sent the child off with a laugh, he raised his camera.

“Say cheese!”

He’d expected her to squeal and whirl away from him. Instead, she raised her hands to her head so they resembled antlers, wiggling her fingers while scrunching up her face.

He lowered the camera. “Seriously? You want me to take your picture when you look like a moose that ate a lemon?”

“It got you to stop, didn’t it?”

That was another reason why he needed to stay away from Heather. She would outfox him.

“Good one.” He scanned the area, saw that they were relatively alone and wandered closer. “That’s an interesting pile of sticks by your feet.”

“Sticks?” She glanced from him to the ground and back again, confusion evident on her face. “What’s in your lemonade, Xander?”

“Nothing. But if I act like I’m taking pictures and make a show of having the camera out, people are going to stay away while I ask if you’re okay.” He pulled the camera from his face for a second to meet her gaze. “After Millie’s question, I mean.”

“Oh.”

He waited, focusing in on the sticks as if he really cared about them. Patience had never been his favorite virtue, but he had learned to appreciate it during his time in jail. Proof that there was a silver lining to everything.

At last, Heather spoke, her words quiet—though not, he suspected, from fear of being overheard.

“She caught me by surprise.”