His Baby Dream

“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 weaver.”

“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.