Page 72 of The Dating Charade

But what else was she going to do?

She’d thought through the options.

First, there was The Door Wide Open Plan, where he’d drop her off at her house. He’d use this rusty, beckoning voice as he observed some mistletoe above them. He’d lean in, she’d move on her tiptoes, and . . . a flash would go off. They’d step back. Star would be there, standing on the stairs declaring she was texting a photo to everyone at the Haven. Kennedy and Deidre would grab onto his legs, screaming, “Daddddyyyyyyyyyy!”

Then there was The Stealth Plan. Taking Edie’s advice, Cass would hide the kids in the basement until their wedding day. As the minister declared them Mr. and Mrs., the girls would rush out of the pew, grab them in a tight hug, and jump up and down. Cassie would join in the jumping. The photographer would take a hundred shots of the moment. Edie and Donna Gene would clap in teary celebration.

Then there was The Middle Ground Plan, the plan she’d landed on. Dip his toes in the water first, ask in a general way about kids. Dig a little deeper to see if he could get on board in the future. Then, if that went well, knock him off the high dive: Hey, so you know how you just said that maybe you could see yourself with kids one day? Well, guess what? I have three now. Yay!

So, here she was, doing the unspeakable. Asking on a third-and-a-tenth date about kids.

And, to her slight surprise, he wasn’t running desperately for his car. To her definite surprise, in fact, his expression lightened.

“Really? You know, I wanted to talk with you about that too.” Headlights illuminated the grass around them, the Haven beside them, as another set of cars passed. He scratched his head. “Uh, so you go first. What did you want to say?”

“Well.” Cassie took a breath. “You know, when I put down on my profile that I didn’t want kids, I didn’t mean that exactly. It’s not that I don’t want kids. It’s more that I can’t have kids.”

“Really?”

She frowned. His face had lighted up like a house wrapped in five thousand feet of Christmas lights. He might as well have said, “Really? You’re infertile? That’s fantastic!”

His face mellowed. “And by ‘really,’ I mean I’m so sorry to hear that. Continue.”

“But, despite that . . . hurdle . . . I’m not really opposed, per say, to kids. I even like them.”

He shook his head. “I was wondering why on earth you hung out with kids for a living if you didn’t.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway, I think it’s important that you be aware, that you know, that—” She straightened, dropping the bomb. “—I’m thinking about adoption. Like, seriously.”

“You’re kidding.” The ball dropped to the cement.

He looked as though he was trying hard not to throw his head back and laugh. Then, suddenly, he was laughing. A laugh of such relief, of such joy, that her eyes drifted to the apartments behind the Haven, half expecting faces to peek out behind the blinds. “Me too.”

“You too? Wait. You’re thinking of adoption too?”

Jett wanted kids.

Jett was even considering adoption.

All the hurdles that had been ten feet high, that she had somehow been expected to jump over in her five-foot-nine-inch frame, were somehow behind her. She had crossed the finish line and stopped, amazed and surprised to see that the journey that was so impossible five minutes before was over before it had barely begun. He was not concerned about wanting kids after all. But even better, even harder to achieve, he was not concerned about her desire to adopt. If she had said that to a hundred other men with the same original stance, she doubted there would’ve been five who would’ve changed their tune so readily.

And it took so little convincing. In fact, it took no convincing.

It was exactly what she’d dreamed of.

Maybe crazy Edie could’ve snuck the kids into the relationship, but that was the last thing she wanted—for Jett’s sake, of course, but even more so for the kids. Star, Deidre, and Kennedy were not tag-ons. They weren’t one of those “Buy this kitchen set and we’ll throw in a useless spatula” kind of deals.

They were equally part of the package, as essential as the stainless steel in a stainless-steel stockpot. She wanted nothing more than for a man, this man, to be as excited to get to know these girls as potential daughters as he was to get to know her as a potential wife. And yes, though this was only a possibility for the future, she needed that assurance now. She needed to know he would never “put up with the kids” for the sake of having her.

Suddenly, however, that needless worry was over. He wanted kids. He wanted to adopt. There was nothing left to fear.

“My story is going to be a little crazy, Cassie.” He rolled the ball lightly beneath his tennis shoe, a sudden ease in his demeanor she hadn’t noticed before. “Honestly, I didn’t want kids. Not until three weeks ago—no, not even that long. Days. But now, I’m starting to get it. Starting to see just how amazing little people are. Of course, I still don’t know how you do it with all those teens.”

Glistening sweat beads fell off the tips of his short hair as he raked a hand through it, smiling at what was supposed to be a compliment.

Cassie hesitated. “You . . . don’t like teens?”

“Let’s just say they’re better off under your wing.”