Kate paused in the doorway and looked back at Millie. “You coming, or do you want me to let Gloria Vanderbilt Steinem here be your fashion consultant?” She tipped her head in Avery’s direction and raised both eyebrows.
“If I get to choose, I’m burning all the bras… Do you have any macramé panties, by chance?” Avery asked on cue.
Fueled by fear, Millie launched herself from the nest she’d allowed them to build around her. “Oh no you don’t,” she warned. “Stay out of my underwear!”
Laughing, Avery plucked the open bottle of wine from the collection of goodies. “You’d better come supervise then.” She nodded toward the bedrooms and speared the air ahead of them with the neck of the bottle. “Let Operation Bag a Moron begin!”
* * *
She was nervous, and the realization was enough to spur her on. Millie Jensen didn’t get nervous. Not in front of cameras or under fire from dozens of rabid reporters. She had ice water in her veins. Even the coolest free throw shooters looked like basket cases next to her. She didn’t get het up over anything short of a semiannual shoe sale. Certainly not over a man.
Squaring her shoulders, she tipped her chin up and stepped cautiously around the corner of the house. The backyard was dark, but she knew from her previous sojourn that straying too far to the right would set off a series of motion-sensor lights. The last time she snuck up on him, the gate had been unlatched. Millie was praying she’d be lucky again. She picked her way across the flagstone patio toward the back of the house. Once again, the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall provided the only light on the ground floor. Like the last time, she could see the outline of his chair, but this time, she failed to spot the man himself.
Cupping her hands, she pressed her face to the glass and peered into the gloom. Then a voice came from behind her.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were casing the place.”
Millie jumped and whirled, slapping one hand over her mouth to muffle her yelp of surprise and the other to her hammering heart. Ty lay stretched out on one of the patio lounges behind her, hooded sweatshirt zipped to his throat and his hands buried deep in the pockets.
She squinted into the darkness, waiting until her eyes adjusted to the dim glow coming from the pool lights. She clutched her own jacket—a black wool peacoat Kate insisted was a must for any covert operation—tighter and started toward the man in the shadows. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
Ty snorted but made no move to stand and greet her. “You are a true Southerner. It’s over fifty degrees, Millie.”
She looked down at the long legs crossed at the ankles. He wore track pants and a pair of white, low-cut athletic socks. The outfit shouldn’t have been alluring, but to her, it was. This was Ty at home and relaxed. He wasn’t a snappy-suit or silk-tie guy, though he wore them well. He wasn’t even the jeans and tee type, even if he filled both out as if they were made expressly for him. No, he was a man who padded around in his socks and wore his T-shirts until the collars started to fray because he believed the breakdown made them feel softer. And she loved him more for his foibles.
And so much more.
More. A word she hadn’t allowed herself to entertain for a long time, but now, more seemed to be right…there. All she had to do was reach out and grab the chance. Exchange her safe life of order and control for one of chaos and adventure. But to have more, she’d have to risk it all. Her whole heart. Not only the part she so desperately wanted to give to Ty, but the others too. The corners she’d closed off so long ago, she’d almost forgotten they existed.
Her knees trembled and threatened to give way, so she beat them to the punch. Sinking to the side of his chaise, she looked Ty straight in the eye. “I never thought I’d be a very good mom.” She saw surprise register on his face but didn’t wait for a response. Talking almost more to herself than him, she forged ahead. “Which is ridiculous, really. My mom was great. So was her mom. I had tons of good role models.” She paused and drank in a deep draught of night air. “But my ex wasn’t really an…encouraging man.”
“He’s the one who made you doubt yourself,” Ty said, his voice gruff with anger he didn’t bother to hide.
Millie smiled at the knee-jerk assessment, then ducked her head. “For a little while, yeah. But then he became the guy who made me want to prove myself.” She wet her lips. “The more he belittled me, the more I wanted to show him what I really was.” Her smile faded into the barest curve of her mouth. “Did I tell you my daddy taught me to play poker?”
“No.”
Notching her chin up, she looked him straight in the eye. “I’m good.”
“I have no doubt.”
“I waited. I let him deal hand after hand, but then I had a miscarriage, and he announced to God and the world we’d try again as soon as possible, and I knew I could not let that happen. If we had a baby, I’d never leave him. I’d never get out.” This time, she didn’t bother masking her true feelings with a smile. “I made an appointment at a nearby clinic as soon as I had recovered. I had an implant done. Then I told him Dr. Watkins said the miscarriage caused irreparable damage,” she enunciated the last two words with extra relish. “I was a dee-vor-say before Christmas.
