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She eyed the sundress warily. It was pretty enough, boasting a flowing abstract pattern in brilliant purple and turquoise. And although she had never typically gone for such vibrant tones, she had to admit that after years of prison gray and waitress black-and-white she found herself thirsting for color. So the color and the pattern weren’t the problem. She frowned. “I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?” Jake held it up to her and then said softly, “Oh.” The thing would have hung on her like a sack and might well have left her breasts half exposed. And Sadie didn’t show her breasts off—not to anyone.

“I can just keep this on,” she reasoned, smoothing a hand down the front of her uniform. “It’s not that bad.” Jake had originally intended to take her shopping for a few things, but when he’d caught her nodding off in the cab and then heard her stomach growling, he had changed his plans. He’d insisted on taking her home for a hot meal followed by a long sleep. Her objections had been halfhearted at best. Good food and a soft bed sounded heavenly.

And then she’d walked into his condo and decided this
was
heaven. The apartment was just as warm and inviting as its owner. The color palate reminded her of a fall day in Vermont. Rich chocolates and muted taupes were accented by hits of vibrant green and burnished orange. With its polished maple floors, soft leather and funky retro-style accessories and a faint hint of cinnamon, she’d felt at home instantly. In fact she didn’t think she’d ever want to leave. And then she’d caught a glimpse of the view of the harbor and it had taken her breath away.

“Nonsense,” argued Jake. “That uniform smells of grease and smoke, and the last thing you want to do is lounge around in the outfit you just spent ten hours working in.”

“Well, I guess you’re right. But—”

“How about one of my T-shirts and a pair of drawstring pants? Would that work?”

She smiled with relief. “Sure. I’d be more comfortable in those than a dress anyway.”

He opened his T-shirt drawer. “Take your pick.”

Because the craving for color had lingered, she picked out a Nike shirt in a vibrant red, and a moment later he handed her a pair of pale gray sweatpants. “These will be huge and you’ll have to roll up the cuffs, but at least you can pull the waist in tight.”

She nodded, fighting tears for what seemed like the thousandth time that day.

“Would you like to take a shower while I whip up dinner?”

“Oh. That would be lovely.”

He led her to his en suite. “Here you go. There’s a shower enclosure, but if you like you can make use of the Jacuzzi tub.”

She laughed. “I don’t think I should. I might fall asleep in it and drown.”

He clicked his tongue. “Right. Good point.” He handed her a thick, fluffy towel.

She sighed when the terry cloth touched her hands. She used to own these kinds of linens, used to have closets full of them—full of eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and towels thick enough to sleep on. She had missed that kind of luxury in prison. She had missed so much.

She pressed it to her cheek just to feel its softness and to remember.

Jake said, “I’m afraid I don’t have any fancy body washes or anything like that. Just plain old soap and shampoo. Guess I’m not much of a metrosexual after all.”

She laughed and the sound of her own laughter almost startled her. “That’s fine. I don’t need anything fancy.”

“You okay with a seafood risotto? I’ve been experimenting with some new dishes and that’s my latest.”

“It sounds wonderful. I love Italian and I love seafood.” It sounded more than wonderful. It sounded like another piece of heaven.

“Great.” He backed up to the door. “Okay then. Take your time, and I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.”

She watched the door close and, out of habit more than mistrust, locked it behind him. Then she sat down on the toilet and allowed herself a good hard cry.

“How about some chamomile tea, Dad?” Rachel had been fussing in the kitchen ever since skillfully lifting his half-empty lowball from his fingers. He’d remained in his chair, just happy to be in the same room with her and watch her move—his own personal miracle.

“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Every moment with his daughter was still a wonder. Until six months ago he’d never thought he’d have the opportunity to father a child. He thought his time had run out. At forty-five he was too old and far too set in his ways and committed to his business to ever consider that kind of commitment—to a wife, let alone a baby. And it was a commitment, of that he was certain. He’d never had any intention of bringing a child into the world unless he had the energy
and the time
to put into raising it. He’d grown up in the shadow of a workaholic, success-obsessed father and a mother who split her time between tennis and five-martini lunches. He’d spent the first twenty-five years of his life trying to figure out who the heck he was and how he fit into his own family. He’d spent the next fifteen figuring out that it didn’t matter, that he was his own man and his success or failure had nothing to do with where he came from. All that mattered was where he was going. And other than some really shitty decisions about romance and relationships, he’d ended up in a pretty good place.

He was happy with what he’d built and who he’d become. And then he’d found Rachel. Or rather she had found him. And suddenly everything he knew about what he wanted and who he was had been called into question. His whole world had been turned upside down.

He’d had to make some tough choices, some sacrifices. But it was all worth it. Damn it, it had to be.

“Come on, Dad,” she said with a smile. “The tea’s ready and I made you a sandwich.”

He crossed to the kitchen, sat down at the counter. “Oh. I thought you were making supper for yourself.”

“Oh no. I don’t need anything now. The hosts always provide sandwiches and squares for the group.” She smiled and her blue eyes lit up the room. She had her mother’s wavy black hair and long oval face, as well as her ample bosom and hourglass figure. But Rachel had inherited his blue eyes, and every time she looked at him he felt as if he’d rediscovered a piece of his youth—a lost piece of himself.

He took a bite of the sandwich, cringing only a little at the rather artless fare. Perhaps he was accustomed to Jake’s homemade tomato-basil bisque served with honey-maple ham and Brie sandwiches, but she was only twenty-five and had been raised in a very rural and isolated environment. Before coming to him she’d never even heard of Brie, let alone dreamed of putting it in a sandwich.

And he needed to stop thinking about
Jake
!

He took another bite of plain ham and cheese on white and washed it down with a swig of tea. “So you’re not going to be at the church tonight then?”

“No. Tonight is a Bible study at Jim and Elaine’s.” Even as she said it he caught sight of the ubiquitous black tome and spiral notebook all ready to go on the table by the door. She leaned forward, all youth and eagerness. “I wish you’d come, Dad. You’d like Jim and Elaine. And tonight we’re studying First Corinthians. It’s one of my favorites.”

Her passion for her religion and her faith was as far beyond his experience and understanding as walking on the moon. But although he couldn’t share it, that didn’t mean he couldn’t support it. However, his support had its limits. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ve made arrangements to escort a colleague to the opera tonight. He’s visiting from Europe and I don’t get to see him very often.”

“Oh.” Her expression spoke volumes as to what she thought of this particular brand of theater. “That’s too bad. Maybe next time.”

He smiled, nodded vaguely and took another bite of sandwich. He’d managed to accompany her to Sunday morning services a few times, and that was going to have to be enough. He’d also begun to develop a suspicion that Rachel had visions of setting him up with Elaine’s single sister. That just could not be allowed to happen. It seemed that lately women in general had lost their appeal, and there couldn’t be any
less
appealing than a Bible-thumping Anne Coulter wannabe. All Evan wanted was to be with Jake. And that was the one thing he couldn’t have.

He asked, “So what time is your meeting?”

“Seven. I should leave soon.”

“Do you want me to drive you? I still have some time before I have to get ready.”

“Oh…would you mind? I was afraid I’d have to take the subway.” The subway still frightened her, but if she was going to live in this city she was going to have to get over it eventually.

But not, it seemed, today. “Sure. But don’t you have to change?”

She laughed. “Oh Dad. Jeans are fine outside of the church. I don’t wear dresses
all
the time.”

This was news to him. In the three months since she’d moved in he’d never seen her attend a church-related function in anything other than conservatively cut skirts and dresses. Even her job at the credit union required button-up blouses and knee-length skirts, and she seemed to be just fine with that.

He finished his sandwich and she grabbed her purse, and a moment later they were stepping out into the small elevator bay and foyer that Evan’s condo shared with two other penthouse apartments. The elevator door opened and out stepped Evan’s neighbors, Mike and Andrew—holding hands.

“Hey, you two.” Their smiles were warm and friendly.

While Andrew fumbled with his key, Mike asked, “So, you catching
La Bohème
tonight then?”

He and Rachel stepped onto the elevator but Evan held the door for a moment. “Yeah I am. Thanks for hooking me up with the tickets. The box will be a real treat.”

“No problem. It’s what I do, after all.” Mike was involved with marketing and PR for the Four Seasons Centre.

With a wave, Evan allowed the doors to swish closed.

“Thank the Lord,” said Rachel on a sigh of relief. “It’s so hard to watch them. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“They’re very nice men and excellent neighbors.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say, Dad, but they’re an aberration. The way they live is an affront to God.” She hugged her Bible to her chest. “And to me.”

“Yeah, well.” He was at a loss. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

Evan was way past feeling angry, or even hurt. This was who she was. If he wanted her in his life, he was going to have to accept her, because God knew she wouldn’t accept him. He certainly couldn’t change the way her church viewed homosexual activities, and he couldn’t change her. But God help him when Gay Pride hit town in a few weeks.

The trouble was he doubted God had anything to do with it.

Jake added another dollop of broth to the pan and continued to stir. That was the thing about risotto—it required constant attention. Much like a relationship, he mused. At least if you wanted it to turn out well.

The pan of sautéed shrimp and clams sat warming on the back of the stove, ready to be added along with the cheese at the last minute. The salad was mixed and ready for the dressing, and a pair of plates waited patiently on the table by the window. He sipped from his glass of sauvignon blanc and had just set it down on the granite countertop when he heard—or rather smelled her come in.

Her scent wafted to him moments before the sound of her bare feet padding on his hardwood floor. She no longer smelled of grease and sweat. Now she smelled of spicy soap with a distinct hint of girl.

He turned around and was pleased to see her smiling and looking charmingly lost in his big T-shirt and sweatpants.

“See?” He grinned. “They fit perfectly.”

“I’d hate to see your definition of imperfect.” She smiled. “But thanks. They’re cozy and I feel a thousand times better.”

Although she still lacked makeup and polish, although her hair hung in damp, unruly waves around her too-thin shoulders, she looked better. More wholesome, somehow. Or perhaps just happier.

“Good. I’m glad. Now have a seat while I finish this off. It’ll just be five minutes.”

“It smells wonderful.”

“You put wine and garlic in something it always smells wonderful. We’ll have to wait for the taste test for the final verdict.”

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had wine and garlic in anything. So I’m afraid I may not be the most discerning critic.”

He took a break from his stirring to pour her a glass of wine. She accepted it gratefully and took a sip as he returned to the stove. He had debated endlessly about how to broach this subject, and in the end all of his internal agony did him no good at all. She did the work for him.

“So, Evan asked you to help me?”

“Yeah.” The lie tasted vile coming out of his mouth, but he couldn’t very well change his story now. Or could he? “Or actually, to be honest, I offered.”

“Uh…oh? Really? I mean—why?”

“Well, Evan wanted to. I could tell he did. He regretted not responding to your letter a year ago—”
Lies, lies, lies.

“So he told you about that.”

“Yeah. He didn’t tell me much, but he did tell me that.”

She nodded, looked down at her wineglass.

“So anyway, he was struggling with it. But he’s in a…bad place right now. He just wasn’t in a position to help.” He shrugged, feeling nominally better about this. Maybe that
was
the truth, he just wished he had a better understanding of what
was
going on with his friend. “So I stepped up.”