“Maybe because it was,” he says, a little cross. “Now if you don’t mind.” Lucas stands up abruptly. “I have to prepare for my next session.”

“Sure.”

I follow him to the door.

“Once Tegan arrives for our appointment, I’ll give you a call,” he tells me.

“You don’t have my number.”

Shrek’s nostrils flare. “Then I’ll make the effort of walking six paces to your door and knocking.”

“You rattle too easily,” I tease him.

Lucas advances a step, towering over me. “It happens only with you,” he says, eyes burning into mine.

And a weird, different-kind-of-warm sensation spreads in my belly, which is my cue to flee his office and go hide in mine. As I slam my door shut and lean back against it, I’m definitely not thinking about how blue his eyes are, or how soft his hair looks, or how good it would feel to rake my hand through it and pull his head down to—yep, definitely not thinking about any of that.

***

By the time the hour of Tegan’s appointment arrives, I’m staring at my laptop, furiously biting my nails while trying not to chew them off. They were supposed to meet five minutes ago. How long will it take before Lucas calls me in? How will Tegan react?

By four-thirty, I’m pacing behind my door like a caged animal. When Lucas finally knocks fifteen minutes later, I’m so quick answering that I find him with his hand still raised, ready for a second knock.

He drops the arm, takes one look at me, and says, “Relax.”

I point a finger at him. “You mother a daughter alone for fifteen years and then have to agree to let her meet her scumbag father and only then tell me to relax.”

I’m about to march past him to go hug my daughter, but he grabs me by the shoulders, gently but firmly. Lucas stares right into my eyes, saying, “What I meant was, you can’t go in there looking like you’re about to hyperventilate. You’ve been the single most important person in Tegan’s life since she was born, and she already feels guilty about…” He hesitates. “…needing more.”

Lucas’ words stab me straight in the heart. The thought that, no matter how hard I try, I’m not enough for my daughter has been tormenting me ever since the meet-the-estranged-father drama started. “But you’re doing this for her,” Lucas continues. “And she needs to know you’re on board. Take two deep breaths. I promise, it’ll help.”

Still holding me with both hands, he waits for me to comply. I do.

“Let the tension from your shoulders go,” Lucas continues, giving my upper arms a gentle rub. “Take a deep breath in…”