Iris in Bloom: Take a Chance, Book 2 by Nancy Warren Page A

already had dinner. Last night.”
    “That was pizza delivery after you saved my life and gave me a ride home. Thursday, if you’ll recall, is a date.”
    She let the hiss of the espresso machine give her a second to put her thoughts straight, then said, “About Thursday, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
    “Is it because I got lost? Honestly, I have a good sense of direction normally.”
    She turned to him. Looked into those disappointed blue eyes. “It’s because you’re still married. And I don’t want to get involved with someone who is still so wrapped up in another woman that an email sends him running himself half to death.”
    She passed him his coffee, got the tongs and flipped a muffin expertly into a bag.
    “I, I don’t know what to say. I like you.”
    “I like you, too.”
    The jingle of bells announced another customer.
    “Then can’t we—“
    “Hi Mr. McLeod.” A chorus of young female voices had him turning his head. The girls’ swim team, between early morning practice and school, had stopped in for sustenance. Most of the six who’d cruised inside—more like one organism than six individual people—still sported wet hair and glowed with athleticism.
    “Morning girls.”
    He picked up his coffee and his bag, glanced with pent up frustration at Iris, said, “Thanks,” and headed out.
    The door barely shut behind him when one of the girls said, “He’s so dreamy.”
    “I know, right? Ms. Barnes and him are totally going to fall in love.”
    Iris realized that even in a small town there were different gossip centers. At Jefferson High they didn’t seem to know that she and the English teacher were supposed to go out Thursday night.
    Except that she’d blown him off, leaving the way totally clear for Ms. Barnes.
    “Red hair with bad eyes and a Harvard education or altogether better looking with a lower IQ but perfect eyesight?” Iris asked Marguerite as they sat together in front of her computer.
    “Is there a way to get a kid that looks more like you?” Marguerite asked.
    “Are you kidding me? You can look at donors’ childhood photos, adult photos, you can try and get someone who looks similar to you or – and this is probably my favorite trick – you can pick a donor who looks like a celebrity.”
    “You have got to be kidding me.”
    “Nope.”
    “So the future could see lots of pint sized Pitts and jacked up Jackmans? Some petite Paltrows and knee high Hathaways.” Marguerite was cracking herself up. “Oh, I have to stop. Who wants a designer kid?”
    “I want a healthy one. That’s all.”
    Marguerite kept scrolling through photos.
    “Online dating has nothing on shopping for a baby daddy.”
    “Except that a bad online date lasts as long as it takes to gulp down a coffee. Choose the wrong sperm donor and I’m stuck with my mistake for life.”
    “Worse, your poor as yet unconceived child is stuck with bad choice DNA.”
    “So not helpful.”
    She slumped in the chair in her home office that would soon be a nursery if all went according to plan. “Do you think I’m making a terrible mistake?”
    Marguerite leaned back too. Took a sip of herbal tea from the lumpy purple mug that sort of resembled the botanical Iris. Iris had a set of six of them, some more successful than others. “I honestly don’t know what I think. I’m a couple of years younger than you and I don’t have issues that would get in the way of conceiving.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “I’m still far more concerned with not getting pregnant than with trying to. But it’s your body, your life. You should do whatever makes you happy.” She grinned. “And I’ll be a killer aunt.”
    “Mom would never say anything but I feel like they believe I should take in a stray, like they always did.” She sighed. “Like I am.”
    “Hey. Mom had kids of her own, too. And their path isn’t your path.”
    “Thanks, Sis.”
    They continued baby daddy shopping, putting the likeliest