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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