Page 1

Chapter One
Allie
Christopher’s ice-cream cone drips down the sides of his hands. He doesn’t mind. He’s mesmerized by the Disney characters, the brightly clad dancers pirouetting their way down Main Street, and the huge Dumbo float that slowly drifts by.
His eyes are as big as saucers. “Mommy, it’s Dumbo. He fwies wif his ears!”
I tousle his longish blond locks and smile. “He sure does, baby.”
Pluto—or someone wearing the amazingly detailed costume—spots Christopher and comes over, reaching out a hand, or paw as it may be, tickling him under his sticky chin.
Laughter dances out of my son. It’s infectious. Virulent. Highly contagious. And I can’t help but laugh along with him.
Christopher’s smile fades, as does his whole body—the parade too—as arms come around me.
“Mmmm,” a deep male voice mumbles against my neck. “I’ve never heard you laugh in your sleep. You were smiling too. Better have been thinking about me.”
Needing a minute, I pull away. “I uh, need to pee. Like now.”
I pad to the bathroom, shut the door, and turn on the faucet, praying the tears don’t come. I love dreaming about Christopher almost as much as I hate it. Breathing in and out several times to calm myself, I do what I said I was coming in to do and then join Asher back in bed.
“Actually,” I say with a wink now that I’m composed, “I was thinking about meeting that famous old baseball player last night. What was his name? Sawyer Mills?”
“Hey now.” He looks offended. “Watch who you’re calling old. Mills isn’t all that much older than I am.”
I snuggle close and slap my hand on his bare ass. “Sometimes I forget how ancient you are with all your parts working as well as they do. Four times last night? That has to be a record.”
He flips me on my back and hovers over me. “Care to go for another? I’ll show you exactly how this old guy can keep up with the rest of them.”
“Don’t you have an early flight?”
“It got pushed back until later this afternoon.”
I scrunch my brows, concerned about his daughter. He’s away so much on business. “What about Bug?”
“She’ll be fine. I’m sure she’s more than happy to stay at Mel’s all day.” His phone rings and he scoots off me to check it. “Speak of the devil.”
He swipes to answer the video call as I race to the bathroom to hide as usual.
Bug—or Darla as she insists I call her—is his feisty thirteen-year-old. And as far as I can tell, I’m the only one who she insists uses her given name.
I lean against the door, eavesdropping on their conversation. I love the way he is with her. And she adores him. They take care of each other as much as any father and daughter I’ve ever known. It kills him to be away from her when he travels. But he’s in high demand, so he goes where he’s needed. Luckily, his job is also flexible, allowing him to work from home when he’s back in Orlando. And when he’s there, he’s full-on dad.
Or so I hear. I haven’t actually seen it myself. I’ve never been invited.
I’m not bitter about it. I get it. Bug has been hurt by women. She’s not exactly begging for a stepmom, or even a significant female presence in Asher’s life. Which is fine by me. What wehave—occasional nights together in Manhattan, where a lot of companies contract for his business—is perfect. And it has been for the last fifteen months.
I take the opportunity to brush my teeth and put on my running clothes. Whenever I come to the city, I make it a point to run in Central Park. Sure, Calloway Creek has some great running trails, but even those get boring and mundane. This is Central Park. There’s nothing boring about a place with 132 acres of woods and meadows with 58 miles of pedestrian pathways.
By the time Asher is done talking with Bug, our breakfast has arrived.
The smell of coffee assaults my senses and my eyes close as I inhale it in. I remove the domes over the plates, hand Asher his bacon and eggs, and bite into my oversized blueberry muffin, rolling my eyes as the fruit explodes along my taste buds.
“Mmm mmm mmm,” he says around his food. “This never gets old. Thanks.”
He doesn’t need to thank me. I ordered and paid for breakfast. Always have. It’s the least I can do since he covers the hotel room. Or his company does. At first, I offered to upgrade us. Maybe I was trying to impress him back then. The younger woman who didn’t need a man to pay for anything. But Asher Anderson is not easily impressed. Not by money anyway.
I’ve learned over the past year what does impress him. Kindness. Integrity. Generosity. And maybe the ability to have multiple orgasms.