The Best Laid Plans

“I know,” Tim said. Then he wriggled, a signal he was over the hug, and Ethan released him.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” Tim asked, his big eyes unflinching as they studied Ethan.

“Nothing.” Ethan dredged up a smile and used a corner of the towel to flick his nephew on the leg. “Time to hit the sack, matey.”

“Are you going to read me my bedtime story?”

“I thought I was doing that tonight,” an aggrieved voice said from the doorway.

Ethan looked up to find his younger brother wearing a mock-hurt expression on his face. Shorter than Ethan, he had the same strong cheekbones and dark hair but a slightly bigger nose and paler blue eyes. Just enough ugly to save me from being a pretty boy like you, Derek always joked.

“You can do it any old time,” Tim said airily.

“Nice to know I’m so easily replaced,” Derek said drily.

“I’m not replacing you, stupid, you’re my daddy,” Tim said, as if that explained everything.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Derek asked.

“Just in the neighborhood,” Ethan said.

“What’s with the Bjorn Borg outfit?”

Ethan glanced down at his black midthigh-length shorts and charcoal hoody and raised an eyebrow at his brother’s derisive description. “Racquetball.”

“Ah. Still playing with that guy from work? Adam or whatever? “

“Alex. And he’s a she.”

“Really?” Derek’s expression turned speculative.

Ethan stood, shaking out the towel before arranging it over the rack. “You’re like a hairy, much less attractive version of Hello, Dolly, you know that?”

“What’s she like?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “I’m not in the market. And even if I was, she’s a partner. And a friend.”

“So you’re seeing someone else? When can we meet her?” Derek asked.

For a moment Ethan considered lying, simply to get his brother off his back. “The tap’s leaking on the tub, by the way.”

“No shit. We could do dinner, the four of us. It’s been a while since Kay and I ate somewhere where they don’t have cartoons on the menu.”

“I’m not seeing anyone. I’m just not in the market.”

“Still racking up the notches on the old bedpost. What a challenge.” His brother’s tone was flat, unimpressed.

“Not everyone can have the white-picket dream, mate.”

Ethan had deliberately kept the uglier details of his divorce from his family, figuring there was no need for the world to know exactly how spectacularly his marriage had failed. The downside to that bit of self-preservation was these little pep talks his brother pushed on him periodically. Just as there was nothing worse than an ex-smoker, there was no one more pro-kids and pro-matrimony than a happily married man.

Even though he’d never admit it to his brother, Ethan’s social life was a lot less hectic than anyone imagined. Sleeping around had gotten old quickly after the divorce. Like drinking till you passed out and bragging about your exploits, being a man-slut was apparently something that a guy grew out of. Go figure.

“You seen The Girls Next Door lately? Hugh’s looking pretty tragic, shuffling around in that smoking jacket,” Derek said.

“Will you let it go, Derek?” Ethan said, an edge in his voice.

Most of the time he didn’t mind his brother’s old-lady nagging, but tonight … tonight it was really getting up his nose.

“Just trying to save you from yourself.”

“Yeah? Ever thought that maybe I don’t need saving?”

“Nope.”

Ethan turned his back on his brother and walked to the living room. If he stayed, they were going to wind up in an argument. Derek had good intentions, but he needed to let go of the idea that Ethan was going to meet a good woman and marry again. It was never going to happen. Ever.

Kay looked up from tidying the coffee table when he entered.

“Better get home to my wagyu,” Ethan said. “What time’s Jamie’s party again?”

“Midday. It’s on the invitation. You don’t want a coffee?”

He forced a smile. “I’m good. Got to go home and poach that seasonal fruit, remember?”

He blew her a kiss as he headed for the door.

ALEX WOKE with a thump of dread. Something terrible had happened …

Then it all came back to her. Jacob, the doctor, the singles pages, the fertility clinic ad.

She lay in bed for a moment, thinking about the decision she’d made last night, walking around it, examining it from all sides, prodding it, seeing if she still felt the same way in the cold, hard light of a new day.

The answer was yes. She still wanted a child. And her smartest, most guaranteed, no-muss, no-fuss way of getting one was through a sperm bank. Which meant she had some work to do.

Ever since she could remember she’d been a facts-and-figures person. It was one of the reasons she’d opted for corporate law rather than criminal or family. She liked detail, and research, and she excelled at pulling together all the relevant information to make rational, smart decisions then going over and over and over the fine print until she’d plugged every hole, taken advantage of every opportunity.

As she rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, she started strategizing. First, she needed to find a reputable clinic. She needed to explore the ins and outs of sperm donation, the screening process and the success rate for artificial insemination. Then she needed to get her life in order. If she was going to be pregnant in the foreseeable future, there were a lot of things she needed to get sorted.

A nursery, for starters.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Dear God, I’m really going to do this.

Pointless to deny that there was a definite thread of sadness mixed in with the determination and excitement. She’d grown up without a father. She would have preferred for her child to have one. But there were hundreds of thousands of single-parent families in the world. She would do her best by her child, if she was blessed with one, the same as any other mother. That would have to be enough.

She dressed in one of her dark tailored skirt suits, matching it with her steel-gray suede pumps, then brushed her hair until it fell smoothly to her jawline. She never wore much makeup apart from a dusting of powder, mascara and lipstick. Five minutes later, she was on her way to work.