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I’m pessimistic when it comes to the topic of permanent love.”
    Jon had been married so long, and hadn’t pursued much in the way of romantic relationships since his divorce out of commitment fears, but he’d heard enough women around the clinic moan about the same thing. Love andpermanence didn’t seem to fit. He figured the world of dating wasn’t such a great place to be these days, but for the life of him and his old-school ways, he couldn’t figure out what kind of guy would let a woman like René get away.
    Watching René sip her tea, Jon figured the ticking of her biological clock influenced her every thought. Sure, lots of women were waiting until their early forties to have their first babies, but she’d have to risk the time to find the right guy, get married and get pregnant when it was a well-known fact that fertility declined with each year after thirty. She’d made it very clear she wasn’t willing to take the chance. He’d computed that if she waited much longer, she’d be in her late fifties with teenagers, and that thought, having two teenagers himself, gave him pause. It was all luck anyway, and if he knew one thing about René, it was that she wasn’t a gambler. If she was going to respond to her brewing and strengthening desire for motherhood, she’d have to act…well, soon.
    â€œHave you really given up on finding the right guy?” He lifted his brows, prodding, then when she didn’t immediately answer, he switched to a more challenging look.
    Her gaze danced away. “Not completely.”
    Since she wasn’t about to open up, he let slip a sudden thought. “Someone like you could make the right guy very happy, but after you have a baby—” my baby; the quick thought took him by surprise and not unpleasantly “—it may be more difficult to find him.”
    â€œWho?” she asked.
    â€œHim. The right guy.”
    â€œHaving a baby on my own may not seem like the perfect solution, but it’s what I want. I don’t need a manto validate me. And if the consequences are being a single mother, I’ll deal with them like a big girl.”
    For the third time in as many days she placed her hand on top of his. Her warmth enveloped his and on reflex he responded and twined his fingers through hers. This handholding business was starting to feel normal. His eyes latched on to her almost-caramel gaze and held it, unwavering.
    She squeezed his hand. “You’re giving me the most important gift I’ve ever wanted. How will I ever be able to thank you?”
    He thought long and hard about the right response. He thought about the greatest gift in his life—his daughters—and though his answer might come off as being lame, he meant it. “You can thank me by being a good mother.”
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    René had pulled the lucky straw when it came to choosing offices. Hers was in the front of the American version of the Queen Anne Victorian house. The three-story, cream-colored structure proudly bore the official Santa Barbara historical site emblem. Her corner office was nestled in the polygonal-shaped tower, which came complete with ceiling-to-floor bay windows. She’d covered them in sheer white lace, and loved how the sun danced in patterns across the walls in the afternoons.
    She’d splurged on a Chinese-inspired walnut desk with cabriole legs, and one huge Oriental rug over the wood floor. The office seemed more befitting of a princess than a middle-class girl from Tustin, California.
    Her parents had cashed in early on her brains, and scholarships flowed throughout her high school and college years. She’d never relied on anything but hard work and innovative thinking to get her through, though many attributed her success to her looks rather than sweat andelbow grease. It didn’t seem worth the effort to hold a grudge for their uncharitable assumptions.
    She’d tried