His Baby Dream

To cover his hesitation, Peter read the details. The party was next Sunday afternoon, which didn’t conflict with any of his plans. And it would be much more fun than weeding Angela’s herb garden, which was what he ought to be doing. “I accept with pleasure.”

On the kitchen table, Harper set out plates and glasses of milk. Peter observed a few cookbooks wedged between canisters on the counter, and a spice rack filled with bottles. Otherwise, the kitchen was uncluttered, with simple, tan curtains—but then, this might be a rental.

Peter was still savoring his brownie when Mia finished wolfing down hers, drained her milk and jumped up. “Can I look for bugs? I won’t touch them.”

“Sure, go ahead,” her mother said.

“You won’t mind, Mr. Gladstone?”

Her politeness impressed him. “Actually, that’s a great idea. And when we’re away from sports camp, you can call me Peter.”

“Okay. Thanks, Peter!”

The little girl raced out. Through the glass door, she and Po could be seen peering into the bushes. Peter wasn’t sure which he liked most, the antics of the little ones or Harper’s doting expression while observing them.

“You have a terrific little girl,” Peter said. “She’s quite intelligent.”

“You’ve inspired her.” She turned toward him.

“I live to inspire,” he joked.

“Honestly, I think you do.” Having quartered her brownie, Harper nibbled on a section. She didn’t need to diet, but Peter had learned never to correct a woman about her personal regime. Even easygoing Angela had set him straight about that.

“How many people are coming to the party?” he asked.

“We invited ten kids.” Harper reached to brush back her hair, and seemed disconcerted not to encounter any long strands. “Stacy and her fiancé are helping with the food. Adrienne’s on the outdoor team. I’m not sure if any other parents will stay.”

“No grandparents?” He assumed that his own parents would be involved in all important events for his future children. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mother was already planning the baby’s first Christmas.

“We’re out of luck in the grandparent department.” Harper stretched, and her long legs bumped his. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Peter rather enjoyed the contact. “No grandparents at all?” It occurred to him that, while her profile indicated no known genetic problems, it had stated that neither of her parents was living.

“My dad died in a car crash when I was sixteen,” she said. “My mom had a fatal stroke five years ago. She’d been a heavy smoker.”

“That’s too bad.” How terrible to have lost even one parent, let alone both. “If you don’t mind my asking, what about Sean’s family?” Peter wasn’t sure what prompted his curiosity, since Sean’s background didn’t affect Harper’s role as an egg donor. He just wished Mia had at least one grandparent in her life.

Harper rolled her eyes. “After his parents divorced, his dad remarried and moved to Alaska. With him, it’s out of sight, out of mind. I’m not complaining, though. He’s never been difficult like Sean’s mother.”

“Difficult in what way?”

“Critical and disapproving, even when we were in high school, although Hedy didn’t object to our marrying once we graduated from college,” Harper said. “Then she moved back to her home state of Georgia with Sean’s two sisters. She pushed for us to move there, too, and blamed me when we didn’t. It was as much Sean’s decision as mine.”

“Surely she doesn’t hold that against her granddaughter.”

“I’ll let you be the judge.” Harper’s mouth twisted. “One of my sisters-in-law has children a little older than Mia. Last Christmas, Hedy sent Mia their castoff clothes and a few used toys as her present.”

“Were those expensive clothes and gently used toys?” Although most people expected new items for their kids, Peter sympathized with reusing special items, such as a classic dollhouse or favorite books.

“We’re talking about jeans that were too small and stuffed animals with the fur worn off.” Harper wrinkled her nose. “This week, for Mia’s birthday, she sent a faded doll and a pair of old slippers.”

That was ridiculous. “Do you suppose she has dementia?”

“It’s hard to tell. She’s always been self-centered and stingy.” At her seat, Harper gathered their plates and glasses. “I don’t believe in lavishing piles of gifts on children, but choosing with care, even if it’s a pair of pretty socks, shows love.”

“What did you tell Mia?”

“The truth,” she responded. “That some people aren’t generous or loving. And that having to deal with them helps us empathize with others who have even less than we do.”

What a great response, Peter thought. “She must miss her dad.”

“Sometimes, although his memory’s starting to fade.” Harper rose to clean up. “I try to keep him alive for her through videos and talking about things he used to say or do.”

“She seems to be thriving.” He wished all his campers were as cooperative and patient as Mia. Her friend Reggie, although basically a good kid, had thrown a couple of temper tantrums.

“It helps having you pitch in.” Harper cast him a quick smile. “Your presence at the party will mean a lot.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it as much as she will.” When he didn’t have to deal with discipline or lesson plans, being around kids was fun.

After thanking her for the snack, Peter hit the road. Driving home, he wished these upbeat feelings could last. Instead, he had to face the downside of liking them so much.

There was no way he could raise her biological child or children without telling her. True, knowing where they came from and seeing Harper’s positive traits in them would relieve Peter’s concerns about using eggs from a stranger. And there might be advantages to having them meet their biological mother and half sister.

But the situation would be fraught with danger. Emotions were unpredictable. If he and Harper were to get involved and then break up, the consequences for the kids could be devastating.

Although she appeared the best match for him at Safe Harbor’s egg bank, the director had assured Peter that he could also access the registries of other banks in the region. And that, he concluded reluctantly, was what he had to do.

Chapter Four

Steam from the outdoor whirlpool transformed the enclosure, with its mesh safety fence, into a secluded hideaway, an impression enhanced by the border of rosebushes and hibiscuses. Peter leaned back and let the heated swirl of water soothe his muscles.

“Worn-out from all that heavy-duty exercise?”

He cracked one eyelid in response to his father’s sarcasm. Rod Gladstone was grinning, white teeth and silver hair a marked contrast to his tanned skin.

“Some of us try to actually move around and hit the ball when we play Ping-Pong,” Peter retorted. “Which might explain why I beat you four-one.”

“If I didn’t have a bum knee...”

“I’d have beaten you four-one at tennis instead of Ping-Pong,” Peter finished. “However, I’d be willing to adjust the score in deference to your great age and infirmity.”

“Sixty-eight is not a great age. I can still do this.” With the heel of his hand, Rod sent hot water spraying over Peter.

Spluttering, he was about to respond in kind when his mother’s voice broke in. “Children, children.” Widening her eyes with mock horror, Kerry Gladstone set down her tablet computer on the small glass table near the spa.

Peter refrained. “Grow up, Dad.”

“Guess I’d better, considering I’m about to be a grandfather.”