The Mommy Makeover. Bonnie K. Winn

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      “I’m fine,” she insisted, her face still pale.

      “Well, I’m not. I’d like a cup of coffee. That was a pretty hair-raising ride.”

      She glanced at her watch. “We are fifteen minutes early.”

      Seeing that she looked relatively steady, Finn stood and punched the elevator button.

      When it arrived, Katelyn joined him. As the doors slid closed, she looked at him. “It seems you’re a quick study, Malloy.”

      “You did say the successful person would hire the helicopter.”

      “I didn’t know you’d take that literally,” she muttered.

      “Changing your stand on what defines the successful person?”

      “No.” Katelyn admitted as she shuttered her expression. “And I won’t underestimate you again.”

      His sudden smile took her by surprise. Impossibly white teeth, eyes as blue as the ocean depths, the rugged features…Combined, they were enough to take her breath away. Telling herself it was her fright from the helicopter ride that had robbed her breath, she shored up a returning smile.

      “That looks real good on you,” he said, his eyes not leaving hers.

      Flustered, she brushed at an invisible bit of lint on her sleeve. “What does?”

      “The smile. Looks like it belongs there.”

      Remarkably, she felt her cheeks warming. She felt embarrassed and glanced away. “You’ve seen me smile before.”

      His lips twitched. “Oh?”

      For a moment she was tempted to huffily freeze. Then the humor of the situation struck her. “It really is absurd, isn’t it? It was my brilliant idea to hire a helicopter.”

      He nodded, his smile growing bigger. “I have to agree with you. Frankly, I would never have thought of hiring a helicopter on my own.”

      Sheepishly she grinned. “When I put my foot in it, I do it big-time.”

      His expression gentled. “Maybe that’s why you’re such a success.”

      Uncharacteristically, she glanced down, pretending to study her shoes. “Is that how you see me?”

      “You’re smart, talented and doing what you want. Isn’t that success?”

      Katelyn lifted her gaze. “Lately I’ve been wondering about that. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t cut out for marriage and kids but now…”

      “Now?” Finn prompted.

      She shrugged. “I’ve wondered if maybe I’m missing out by not having children. Sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

      But he didn’t look amused. “I don’t think so. My kids are everything to me. As hard as it is being a single parent, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. I know I’m no corporate whiz, but my life’s richer than if I had Trump’s fortune.”

      “You really mean that, don’t you?” she questioned, boggled by the concept, moved by his sincerity.

      “With everything that’s in me. Children are our dreams, our future.”

      The biological clock she’d fervently tried to ignore chimed insistently. “But we can fashion a different sort of future.”

      “What kind of future would that be?” Finn asked. “Do you really care who takes your job when you retire? Is that the legacy you want to leave the world? Frankly, I doubt that anyone on their deathbed wishes they had spent more time at work.”

      The words chilled her, but Katelyn recognized their truth. “Are you saying what I’ve done will mean nothing if I don’t have children?”

      “Of course not. I am saying that love and family are enduring.”

      “Perhaps not everyone is cut out to be a parent,” she said quietly, revealing one of her hidden fears.

      “That’s true enough,” he admitted. “But if your intentions are good, love will get you over the rough spots.”

      She considered this. “But what if you have no idea what kind of parent you’ll be?”

      “If you’ve given it that much thought,” he replied softly. “I’d say you have the makings of a good mother.”

      Unexpectedly, she felt warmed by his words. He probably didn’t know the Dow Jones from the S & P, but he had a wisdom all his own. And she liked the kindness she saw in his eyes. Over the years that quality had lessened in importance. It occurred to her that might have been unwise.

      She realized Finn could be right. Success had many definitions. And she wasn’t entirely certain hers was the right one.

      FINN LOOKED at the fallout on the front lawn of his house and groaned. A tricycle was perched in the shrubbery and an open umbrella was suspended in the crepe myrtle tree. A pot of begonias was tipped over, dirt and flowers spilling across the porch. The twins must have been especially inventive today. One three-year old was a handful. Two of them far exceeded a simple doubling of the equation. Together, Eric and Erin could climb, grab, push, and pull down most anything they chose. Worse though, two small minds invented some incredible feats. And from the evidence on the lawn, it looked like they had come up with a corker.

      It was terribly quiet. He wondered if this latest exploit had pushed Mrs. Phillips over the edge. She was an older woman whose patience and energy were diminishing rapidly as she cared for three young, active children. But she had been blessedly dependable. And the steady stream of sitters that had preceded her had all flaked out in one fashion or other.

      Mentally crossing his fingers, Finn pulled open the front door. It was equally quiet inside. Uneasily, he glanced around, not seeing Mrs. Phillips or the children. He called out, but no one answered.

      Worried, he walked rapidly to the patio door and slid it open. But what he saw made him want to slam the door shut.

      Mrs. Phillips was covered in white foam and the twins were both orange, from head to toe, as was their dog, Snuffles. Finn could smell paint thinner and soap. And he could see water rushing from the hose, drenching Jenny.

      He walked closer. “Mrs. Phillips?”

      She turned, her face darkening to an ugly red beneath the odd foam. “It’s about time you got here,” she snarled.

      Oh, this was bad. Very bad. “What happened?”

      Mrs. Phillips turned an accusing glare on the twins. “Those two…two…they painted each other and the dog with your industrial day-glow safety paint!”

      “She said we could paint!” Erin defended, looking strangely like a glowing alien.

      “With your paints!” Mrs. Phillips screeched. “With normal children’s watercolors. Who in the world would have thought they could climb up to the paint in the garage?”

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