Kitabı oku: «Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After: Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texas Billionaire's Baby», sayfa 2

“We’re building a miniature house with a kennel for our dogs.” Annie shifted one of the cookies a bit to the left, eyed the plate critically, then nodded with approval. She looked up at Jennifer, her blue eyes glowing with fervor. “We’re practicing for when we get our real dogs.”

“I see.” Jennifer caught her daughter in a quick hug, pressing a kiss against the silky red-gold curls. The teakettle whistled a warning and she released Annie to turn off the burner. Pouring hot water into the mugs, she dropped an English Breakfast tea bag into hers and stirred hot chocolate mix into Annie’s, then carried them over to the table. The little girl perched on a chair, legs swinging with enthusiasm. “You know, honey,” Jennifer began, “it’s going to be a while before we can have a dog.” She set the gently steaming mug of chocolate in front of Annie and took the chair opposite.

“I know.” Annie gave her mother a serene smile and stirred her drink with single-minded concentration.

“Not that I wouldn’t like to have a dog, too,” Jennifer continued. “But the landlord won’t let us have pets in the apartment.”

“It’s all right, Mommy,” Annie said. She sipped the chocolate from her spoon, made a small sound of satisfaction and drank from her mug. “I’m going to ask Santa for a dog this Christmas.” She narrowed her eyes consideringly. “I think we need a house with a yard, too, don’t you?”

“Uh…sure.” Jennifer had no idea why Annie had decided that Santa would deliver a dog and a house by Christmas. But it’s only spring, she thought, and with luck, I can distract her and she’ll forget about it by this winter. Given that Annie had previously demonstrated a focused determination normally found in much older children, Jennifer wasn’t convinced the delay would distract her daughter. Nevertheless, it was the only plan she had. “What did you and Melinda use to build your miniature house?”

Jennifer’s attempt to distract Annie worked as the little girl launched into an enthusiastic description of the two shoe boxes they’d taped together and how they’d used scissors to cut out dog photos from a magazine.

The mugs were half-empty before Annie’s recital of the day’s events was exhausted. Jennifer eyed her over the rim of her tea mug and smiled as her daughter broke off a chunk of peanut butter cookie and tucked it neatly into her mouth.

“I have a surprise for you, Annie,” she said. “How would you like to have a sleepover at Jake and Suzie’s house this weekend?”

“Oooh, yes!” Annie bounced in her chair, her eyes lit with excitement. “May I take my backpack and my Lilia-Mae doll and my Enchanted Pony so Suzie and I can play with them?”

“Yes, of course.” Jennifer laughed when Annie jumped off her chair and threw herself into her mother’s arms, climbing into her lap as she listed all the many things she wanted to take with her.

Jennifer felt a stab of misgiving as she cuddled the warm, vibrant little body in her arms. This quiet apartment with Annie was her real life and she loved it—a world filled with her beautiful little girl and her busy days with work and college classes. A date with Chance Demetrios—at the ritzy Founder’s Ball, no less—was a huge step outside the constraints of the life she’d built.

But her friends were right, too, she realized. Sometimes, she was lonely and longed for an emotional—and physical—connection with a partner. There was no room for a permanent man in her life just now and wouldn’t be for the foreseeable future. But just for one night, perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm if she seized the opportunity to play Cinderella before returning to the quiet rhythm of her busy days with Annie.

Jennifer rested her cheek against her daughter’s silky red-gold curls, breathed in her little-girl smell of shampoo, soap and crayons, and contentedly listened to Annie’s excited plans for spending the weekend with her friends.

Chance hadn’t recognized the street address that Jennifer had scribbled on the note after she had accepted his invitation so he’d made a mental note to check it out later. He tucked the paper safely away in his pocket until later that evening, when he turned on his laptop to browse the Internet. It took his computer only a few moments to search, find a street map of Boston and pinpoint Jennifer’s neighborhood.

He frowned at the screen, trying to visualize the area. He thought her apartment might be located within a mile or two of the free clinic where he volunteered. He typed in a request for directions from his own town house, in an upscale Boston neighborhood, to Jennifer’s address. The resultant map details confirmed his guess that her street wasn’t more than a short cab drive and probably within walking distance from the free clinic. The two addresses were in a shabby though respectable area of Boston, not far from his own home in actual miles but light-years away in real-estate prices.

Chance didn’t give a damn that Jennifer’s address highlighted the disparity in their incomes but it drove home the fact that he knew little about her life away from the diner.

He’d noticed her sitting in a back booth to study on her coffee breaks at the diner and when he’d commented, she’d told him that she was taking college classes. But beyond being a student and working as a waitress, she was an enigma to him. He wondered if she lived alone or shared an apartment with a fellow student.

During their brief conversations, she’d never mentioned her family and he realized that he didn’t know if she had any sisters or brothers, or if her parents lived here in Boston. He couldn’t help but wonder what her childhood had been like, what kind of a family she came from, and where she’d grown up. Jennifer treated Mrs. Blake, the elderly widow who counted out coins to pay for her daily coffee and donut, with the same friendly respect that she gave to the head of the Armstrong Fertility Institute. He’d never seen her react as if any of the high-powered doctors or scientists who frequented the diner intimidated her in the slightest.

Which made him think she must have grown accustomed to dealing with powerful, influential people before she arrived at the Coach House Diner.

She didn’t seem to recognize the Demetrios name, however, which indicated to him that while her family may have been affluent, they didn’t move in his parents’ stratified circle. The Demetrios shipping empire had made his family very, very rich and by definition, made him heir to an obscenely large fortune. Chance knew his father felt he’d turned his back on the family business when he chose to become a doctor. The choice had driven a wedge between him and his parents, especially his father. Much as he loved them, however, he couldn’t ignore the deep, passionate commitment he felt to medicine.

He wondered if Jennifer’s parents were happy with her career choice of waitress and part-time college student.

Which brought him full circle, he realized, to the fact that he was apparently bewitched by every facet of the mysterious Miss Labeaux.

That there was much he didn’t know about the beautiful blonde only made her more intriguing. Anticipation curled through his midsection.

I’ll find out Saturday night, he reflected.

Chapter Two

At seven-fifteen on Saturday night, Jennifer was well on her way to being transformed into Cinderella. Linda, Yolanda and Shirley had knocked on her door at 5:00 p.m., laden with bags. They’d dropped boxes, bags and bottles atop her bed before they raided her kitchen for wineglasses. After pouring wine and setting out a tray of crackers and cheese on her dresser, they had shooed her into the shower.

She had shampooed and scrubbed with Linda’s gift of plumeria-scented gel before toweling off and smoothing the matching floral lotion over her skin. She had heard Annie’s giggles over the throb of music from the radio on her bedside table and when she had pulled on her robe and left the bathroom, she had found Annie dancing with Yolanda. The two had twirled and spun in the small carpeted space at the foot of the bed while they sang along with a 1980s disco song.

Their enthusiasm had far outweighed their vocal talents and Jennifer had laughed as the song ended with a flourish.

Jennifer replayed the fresh memories just made over the past hour. “Hi, Mommy.” Annie left Yolanda and wrapped her arms around Jennifer’s waist, dimples flashing in her flushed face as she grinned up at her. “We’re disco dancing.”

“I see that,” Jennifer told her. “Very impressive.”

“But now I have to dry your mom’s hair,” Yolanda said, handing Jennifer a glass of wine and motioning her to have a seat on a chair she’d placed at the end of the bed. “We’ll dance more later, okay, Annie?”

“Okay,” the little girl agreed promptly. She curled up on the bed and settled in to watch as Yolanda worked on Jennifer’s damp hair.

Yolanda wielded blow dryer and curling iron with expertise and a half hour later, stood back to eye Jennifer.

“Perfect,” she declared with satisfaction.

“Will you do my hair next, Yolanda?” Annie asked, gathering fistfuls of red-gold curls and bunching a handful of the silky mass on each side of her head.

“Absolutely, kiddo.” Yolanda grinned at her. “Shirley’s going to help your mom with her makeup in the bathroom. You can take her place over here.”

Jennifer left Annie chattering away as Yolanda French-braided her long curls. In the bathroom, Shirley upended a brocade bag of makeup onto the small countertop and lined up pots of eyeshadow, brushes for the loose powder, several tubes of lipstick and a handful of lip color pencils.

Jennifer heard Annie chattering and laughing with Yolanda as she applied makeup and Shirley offered advice. At last, she slicked lush color on her lips and smoothed clear gloss over the deep red lipstick, then stood back to critically view the effect.

The mauve eyeshadow turned her eyes a deeper blue, smoky and mysterious, set within a thicket of dark lashes. Subtle rose color tinted her cheeks. She tilted her head, loving the soft brush of silky blond curls against her nape and temples.

“Perfect,” Shirley pronounced, standing behind her. Their gazes met in the mirror. “Just perfect. You look fabulous, girlfriend. Time to get dressed.”

“Ahem.” Jennifer loudly cleared her throat and struck a pose in the doorway.

“Ooh, Mommy.” Annie’s awestruck voice reflected the delight shining in her widened blue eyes. “You look just like a princess.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jennifer caught her daughter close, receiving a tight hug in return. “Now you have to scoot,” she said, giving her one last hug before looking down at her. “Be good for Linda, okay? And have fun.”

“I will.” Annie twirled away to grab her backpack. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come home on Sunday.”

“I can’t wait,” Jennifer assured her solemnly, exchanging a glance with Linda that shared a wry understanding, one mother to another.

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer waved goodbye from the window as her friends climbed into their cars on the street below. Annie and Linda paused to wave up at her and moments later, the brake lights of Linda’s blue sedan disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.

After the laughter, chatter and teasing advice of her friends, the apartment seemed too quiet with only the radio for company. The air in the room felt hushed and expectant, as if the place itself was waiting. Jennifer swept the neat living room with a quick glance before walking into her bedroom to collect the satin wrap that matched her dress.

Turning to leave, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door. Jennifer paused—the woman staring back at her seemed like a stranger. The scarlet gown fit as if custom-sewn for her alone. It had a square neckline, cut low across the swell of her breasts, with tiny cap sleeves and a bodice that hugged her narrow waist. The skirt was made up of yards of floating chiffon and lace and the toes of red, strappy high heels peeked from beneath the hem.

She wore her few pieces of good jewelry—three narrow gold bangle bracelets inset with tiny diamonds and small diamond studs in the lobes of her ears. Around her neck she wore her silver locket with Annie’s picture. She knew it didn’t quite match, but she’d never taken it off. Yolanda had pinned her caramel-blond curls atop her head in a soft upsweep that left the line of her throat bare, but wisps curled down her neck at the back.

The designer dress truly made her feel like Cinderella, waiting for the Prince to take her to the ball. The fanciful thought made her smile as she thought ruefully of her date’s playboy reputation.

A knock sounded on the outer door and Jennifer froze. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she pressed the flat of her hand to her abdomen, drawing a deep breath and reaching for calmness. Then she quickly left the bedroom and crossed the living room where a cautious glance through the hall door’s peephole sent her heartbeat racing once again. She drew another deep breath, slowly exhaled and opened the door.

Chance stood just outside in the hallway. He wore a classic black tuxedo, a white formal shirt fastened with onyx studs, a black bow tie and polished black dress shoes. She’d thought him handsome in casual jeans and leather jacket, but she realized helplessly that he was undeniably heart-stopping in formal wear. His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again without the slightest attempt to conceal his interest.

“Hello.” His deep voice drew out the word, the raspy growl loaded with undercurrents.

“Hello.” Jennifer felt the brush of his gaze and desire curled, heating her skin, making it tingle with awareness.

“Ready to go?” Chance asked. He hadn’t missed her reaction to his slow appraisal and the throb of arousal beat through his veins as he watched a faint flush move up her throat to tint her cheeks. She lowered her lashes, concealing her eyes.

“I just need to collect my purse.” She left him to cross the room.

He watched her walk away, his gaze intent on the gown’s long skirt. It swayed with each step, outlining the feminine curve of her hips and thighs with tantalizing briefness. The nape of her neck and the pale skin of her back to just above her narrow waist was bare, framed by crimson lace and a few loose curls. She disappeared through a doorway, momentarily releasing him from the spell that held him.

His gaze skimmed the room. The apartment was as neat as the rest of the old, well-maintained building and Jennifer’s living space held a warmth that was missing in his professionally decorated town house. A blue and cream-colored afghan draped over one arm of a white-painted wood rocking chair that sat at right angles to an overstuffed blue sofa. A framed poster of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art hung on the wall above the sofa. At the far end of the room, a bookcase was stuffed with hardcovers and paperbacks, the overflow stacked in a bright pile at one end. Chance resisted the urge to walk closer and inspect the titles on the spines, curious to learn what she read. A television and DVD player took up the two shelves on a low cabinet against one wall and beyond, a kitchen area boasted a white-painted table with four chairs pushed up to it. A bright blue cloth runner ran down the center while a small stack of notebooks and what looked like a thick textbook were spread out over one end.

Just as he was about to step over the threshold, drawn inexorably by the rooms that he instinctively knew would give him a deeper insight into Jennifer, she reappeared.

“Got everything?” he asked as he watched her walk toward him. Heat stirred in his gut, just as it did each time he saw her at the diner.

“Yes.” She stepped into the hall, turning briefly to lock the door before they moved toward the elevator.

Outside, the spring night was slightly chilly and Jennifer draped the long satin wrap around her shoulders and throat. She tossed one crimson end over her shoulder and let it drape down her back, covering her bare shoulder blades above the gown’s skirt.

“Cold?” Chance asked as he keyed the lock and opened the door of a sleek black Jaguar sedan parked at the curb.

“Just a little,” Jennifer murmured, sliding into the low seat.

“I’ll turn the heater on in a second.” Chance bent to tuck her skirt out of the way and closed the door.

A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

Jennifer fastened her seat belt and stroked her fingertips over the butter-soft leather of the seat. Her gaze swept the compact, luxurious interior. “Nice car,” she said, breathing in the faint scent of leather and men’s cologne.

“Thanks.” Chance grinned at her and winked. “I like it.” His fingers moved over a series of buttons on the dash and heated air brushed Jennifer’s toes. The seat warmed beneath her. “How’s that?” he asked.

“Lovely.” She smiled at him, feeling distinctly cosseted.

“Good—let me know if you want it warmer.” He glanced in the mirrors, shifted into gear and the Jag pulled smoothly away from the curb.

“Where is the ball being held?” Jennifer inquired as they left her block and headed downtown.

“Same place as last year, apparently,” Chance replied with a sideways glance and named a posh hotel that was fairly new but built in a traditional turn-of-the-century style. It had become an instant Boston landmark, its dining room and ballrooms favored by society mavens.

“I’ve never been there,” Jennifer said, intrigued. “But I read an article in the Boston Herald about the grand opening. The design alone sounded fabulous.”

“Rumor has it the financier was a mad count from Austria who was a distant relative of Dracula.”

“What?” Jennifer’s gaze flew to his. His dark eyes were lit with amusement. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He raised his hand, palm out. “I swear someone actually told me that.”

“And did you believe them?” Jennifer asked with a laugh.

“Not a word.”

“Excellent,” she responded promptly. “I’m glad to know you’re a sensible man.”

“Oh, I’m sensible,” he replied. “Now if you’d said I was a ‘nice, safe’ guy, I would have had to rethink my answer.”

She shot him a chastening look from beneath her lashes and found his mouth curved in a half smile that set awareness humming through her torso. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ask you why.” With an abrupt change of subject, she pointed out the window. “Isn’t that the hotel?”

Chance lifted a brow and his gaze met hers for a brief moment before he nodded, downshifting as he turned out of traffic and drove beneath the portico.

The lobby was a fascinating blend of old and new, with jewel-toned, blown-glass Chihuly light fixtures hanging from boxed ceilings. A broad expanse of thick black and gold carpeting covered the floors, and round seats upholstered in gold were arranged at intervals between the reception desk and the wide hallway on their left.

Jennifer loosened her wrap from her throat and let it slip down her arms to catch at her elbows. Chance took her hand and tucked it through the bend of his arm, the move securing her against his side.

She didn’t shift away from the press of his body against hers although she had the feeling she was playing with fire. She was all too aware of his reputation with women; in fact, she’d overheard several diner conversations about the subject between female employees from the institute. She didn’t doubt that Chance had plans for ending the evening with her in his bed. Which left only one question—did she want the same thing?

She was certainly attracted to him. She also knew that their conversations over the past six months had led to her feeling more than just physically drawn to him. Still, she wasn’t sure if she wanted more from this evening than the sheer pleasure of an adult night out with a handsome man. And since she was undecided, she told herself to stop worrying and simply enjoy the party.

Chance led her down the wide hallway, one side lined with upscale shops. Some were filled with jewelry and designer clothing while several stores resembled Aladdin’s cave, aglow with colorful glassware and gifts. Directly across from the shops was a long bank of elevators.

“Going up?” a man called, holding the door of a half-filled car.

“Yes, thanks,” Chance told him, handing Jennifer ahead of him into the elevator.

They shifted to the rear of the car as three other couples entered and Jennifer found herself standing in front of Chance. When the elevator stopped on the next floor up and several other people entered, the crowd shifted backward once again, compressing the free space even farther.

Jennifer stepped nearer to Chance to avoid being bumped by the large man in front of her and Chance slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and into the shelter of his body. By necessity, however, the move brought her bare back flush against his chest, his arm a warm bar across her midriff.

She felt surrounded by him. Each breath she took drew in the faint scent of his cologne and shifted the texture of his black jacket against her mostly bare arms, pressed the round black shirt studs against her waist.

She closed her eyes, flooded by sensations as her awareness of him intensified. She wanted to sink against his powerful body, wanted to pull his arms closer and wrap them around her, but instead, she forced her eyes open. And caught her breath when she gazed directly into the mirrored elevator wall and the reflection of Chance’s heavy-lidded eyes. Heat flooded her, matching the burn in his dark stare.

She stood still and his hand tightened at her waist, muscles flexing in the hard body that held her close. The moment was taut with silent tension. She nearly groaned with frustration when the connection was abruptly broken by the ping of the elevator when it came to a smooth stop. The doors opened with an audible whoosh, the sound further shattering the moment.

“Our floor,” Chance murmured in her ear, his voice deeper, rougher.

Jennifer didn’t reply, unsure if her voice would actually function. She and Chance moved with the crowd, conversation unnecessary amid the laughter and chatter. Chance’s hand rested at the small of her back, a warm weight that tied her to him as surely as if it were an invisible chain.

Never had she been so conscious of the differences between male and female, nor so compelled to explore the undeniable pull on her senses that drew her inexorably toward him.

They reached a wide archway and the guests around them slowed, forming a straggling line as they waited to enter the dining room.

“Dinner should be great,” Chance murmured. “I happen to know one of the chefs.” He took a square, gold-embossed, cream-colored card from his inner jacket pocket as the line moved forward.

“Good evening, Dr. Demetrios.” The tuxedo-clad man standing just outside the door smiled with warmth, nodding at Jennifer. “Ma’am.”

“Hello, Frank,” Chance replied. “Tell your boss I’m glad he’s doing the catering tonight. I was seriously considering skipping the dinner until I heard he was the chef.”

“I’ll tell him.” The man’s smile broadened. He took the invitation from Chance and consulted a seating chart. “You and your lady are with the senator and his wife at a front table.” He snapped his fingers and a waiter instantly appeared. “Joseph, show the doctor and his guest to table number four.”

“Yes, sir. This way, please.” The young man sketched a quick, respectful nod and led the way across the room.

Jennifer tried not to stare as they crossed the beautifully appointed art-deco dining room. White linen tablecloths covered round tables, each set for eight guests with polished silverware, gold-trimmed china, sparkling crystal glasses and fresh floral centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers were spaced at intervals down the ceiling and glittered and gleamed, adding their brilliance to the recessed lighting in the boxed ceiling.

“Chance!” A tall man with a mane of white hair and sun lines fanning from the edges of shrewd blue eyes stood as they reached a table just to the left of the speaker’s podium. “I told Emily Armstrong to make sure we sat at your table. I’m glad it worked out.”

“Hello, Archie.” Chance shook the man’s outstretched hand before draping an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder. “Jennifer, this is Senator Claxton and his wife, Evelyn. Their son, Ben, was my best friend from kindergarten through college. Archie and Evelyn, this is Jennifer Labeaux.”

“Good evening,” Jennifer held out her hand and received a firm, warm handshake.

“Glad to meet you, Jennifer,” the senator said, his eyes kind, his smile welcoming.

Seated on his left, his wife nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, dear.” The silver-haired woman leaned forward. “We must make a pact to keep Archie and Chance from talking politics or funding for medical research all during dinner. When they get started, they argue for hours.”

“Then we definitely need to divert them,” Jennifer told her as she slipped into the chair Chance held. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Excellent.” Evelyn nodded with approval.

“Now, Evie,” her husband protested as he and Chance settled into their seats. “I don’t know how you can object to a little friendly discussion, especially since tonight is a fundraiser for the institute and it’s one of your pet projects.”

“Oh, I certainly want to raise money for research,” Evelyn said serenely. “I just don’t want you and Chance to spend all evening discussing nothing but political funding. Especially when there’s bound to be so many other interesting subjects to talk about tonight. Like for instance,” she continued as she tilted her head, her voice lowering, “the not-quite-divorced starlet who just walked in on the arm of a certain land-development billionaire. Don’t stare!” She caught the sleeve of her husband’s tuxedo jacket to keep him from turning to look.

“Shoot, Evie,” the senator grumbled. “How do you expect me not to react when you hit me with one of your bombshells?”

“I’m continually amazed at the depth of your knowledge about society’s movers and shakers and the gossip they stir up,” Chance teased. He lounged in his seat, one arm resting across the gold-trimmed back of Jennifer’s chair. His fingers moved lazily, brushing her arm just below the edge of her capped sleeve. Goose bumps lifted in the wake of his touch.

“A senator’s wife has to have something to occupy her while her husband is off doing governmental things,” the older woman told him. “I just happen to have access to a very well-informed network of gossips.” She winked at Jennifer.

Jennifer laughed, charmed by the couple. Before she could respond, however, two other couples arrived to take their seats at the table and there was an ensuing flurry of introductions and conversation.

She felt as if she’d been dropped back in time to the country club in her hometown. The Claxtons reminded her of a couple who had been longtime friends of her grandparents and their comfortable, loving repartee had her laughing out loud along with Chance. They clearly adored Chance, too, which Jennifer took as an endorsement of her growing conviction that he was definitely one of the good guys.

One of the other couples at the table had a four-year-old daughter and Jennifer had to make a conscious effort to keep from sharing stories about Annie at that age. The husband was a TV producer and his wife was a local Boston news anchor. Jennifer often watched her on the late-night broadcast and was delighted to learn that she was every bit as nice in person as she seemed on television.

When dinner—which was truly delicious—was finished, the doors were opened into the adjoining ballroom. Lush music filled the high-ceilinged room from the orchestra seated on a dais, edged with potted palms, at the far end of the polished floor.

Shoulder propped against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets, Chance waited at the edge of the ballroom while Jennifer disappeared into the ladies’ room.

“Hey, Chance.”

The tap on his shoulder had him straightening from the wall. Behind him were Paul Armstrong and his siblings Derek and Lisa.

“Evening, everybody,” Chance smiled at the twin brothers and winked at the petite, dark-haired Lisa. The two men wore traditional black tuxedos with pristine white shirts and bow ties, while Lisa’s dress was clearly a designer gown, the oyster-and-bronze-colored dress held up by a collar of jewels. It left her back and shoulders bare and Chance reflected idly that both she, and her brothers, looked every bit the society powerhouses they were. “This is quite a party.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lisa said with a smile of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the crowded ballroom. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“I’d say so,” Chance agreed. He flagged down a passing waiter and took champagne flutes from the tray, handing one to each of the Armstrongs. “Congratulations, you three. I’m guessing the institute’s coffers will grow after tonight.”

Chance lifted his glass in salute and they all sipped.

“Is the whole family here?” He glanced past the trio to briefly scan the crowd for their sister and her husband. “I don’t think I’ve seen Olivia and Jamison.”

“Oh, yes, they’re here,” Lisa assured him. “We were just talking with them.”

“Yeah,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “They were telling us about their adoption plans.”

“Adoption plans?” Chance echoed, surprised. “I didn’t know they were thinking of adopting a child.”

“Children—plural,” Derek told him. “Two brothers. The younger one is autistic.”

“Really?” Chance wasn’t sure what to say. Adopting an autistic child was a noble action but a very big challenge for the parents—especially when one parent was a busy junior senator with one eye on the White House. “That’s quite an undertaking.”