We sit there for a moment, and I realize I don’t know what to say. But Damien speaks first. “Rest in peace, sweet baby,” he says, and I nod. That, I think, is enough.

We sit on the bench and share the bittersweet moment in silence until, finally, I speak. “Mother said it was for the best.” I hadn’t told him at the time, but now I want him to know. Not only what she said, but that I can deal with her words, now. “She said I could never be a good mother.”

His eyes search my face. “Do you believe her?”

“No. I did—or I wanted to. I felt so kicked in the gut.” I flash a sharp grin. “I’m feeling stronger now.”

“Your mother is a fool, because you would have made an exceptional mother to that child. You know it as well as I do, but you let your mother get in your head. That woman doesn’t deserve to walk the same ground you do, much less get inside your mind.”

“I know,” I say, but I must not sound convincing, because he continues.

“You think the fact that you cut means you’d be a bad mother? I think the fact that you battled down the temptation—that you constantly prove your strength—is proof that you’ll be an excellent parent.”

He squeezes my hand as I let his words wash over me, giving me another kind of strength. “She says you’re weak? You’re not. But even if you were, so what? Strength without weakness is just a number. But you, baby . . . you can point to how far you’ve come.”

“With you beside me,” I remind him.

“And you beside me. You’re my strength, Nikki. We both know that. And there’s no shame in needing the person you love.” His smile touches his eyes. “I actually think that’s the point.”

I laugh, and taste the salt of my tears as I do.

“I love you,” I say. Then I take his hand as we both look down at the freshly planted daisies.

It’s time to move on, I think. And with Damien at my side, I know that I can.

25

The next few weeks pass swiftly and easily, solidifying my certainty that even if we aren’t fully healed, we’re definitely on the path.

Noah’s no longer working for me, though he did help me vet the two new employees who took his place, and they’re settling in quickly. Eric and Abby, both of whom are not only competent but personable.

I’ve made two trips back to Dallas, and Damien came with me both times. The meetings went well, and everything for the project is going smoothly—we’re even a full week ahead of schedule.

Best of all, there were no ghosts in Dallas.

Now, I sit quietly at my desk before Eric and Abby arrive and go over my notes from last night’s conference call with Bijan. I want to organize them quickly so that I can pass them off to Abby to handle, as I’ve got something else I need to take care of.

I’ve spent the last week with something other than work sneaking into my thoughts. I’ve logged hours on the Internet, reading and researching. I know exactly what I want to do.

And I desperately hope that Damien agrees with me.

At a quarter to nine, Abby pops her head into my office, her blond curls bobbing. “Hey, just wanted you to know I’m here. I’m going to dive into debugging that—”

“Hold that thought,” I say. “I just emailed you my notes from last night’s conference. Can you go through them, prioritize the tasks, and then divide the work between you and Eric?”

“Um, sure.” She frowns. “You don’t want to do that yourself?”

I laugh, because she’s gotten to know me pretty well in a short time. “I’m working on my delegation skills,” I say. “Plus, there’s somewhere I need to be. You up for it?”

“Absolutely,” she says, standing tall. She’s young, but ambitious, and now that I’ve handed her this project, it shows. “Take your time,” she says. “Take the day if you need to.”

“I might,” I say, then grab my purse. “I’ll let you know.”

I’m smiling as I take the stairs down to the lobby, then out to the parking lot. And that same smile is on my face when I reach the Stark Children’s Foundation camp site.

Damien’s already there, leaning against a hewn wooden post and answering emails on his phone. He looks up when he sees me, his brow furrowed. “Should I be worried?”

“Worried? Why?”

He cocks his head then starts ticking reasons off on his fingers. “Because you’re deep in the thick of the project, you talked to Bijan last night, and you wouldn’t leave Abby or Eric in charge this soon without a very good reason.”

“All true. I do have a good reason. But there’s nothing to worry about.” I head toward the path that leads around the main building. “I want to show you something.”

We walk together to the back of the building, then climb the stairs that lead up to a second-floor balcony. From there, we have a view of the campsite, and all the kids who are out there. Some playing ball, some swimming. A few riding horses in the distance. Some are just sitting in small groups talking with each other.

All of them look happy.

“You did that, you know,” I say.

I see the question on his face when he turns to look at me.

“This place,” I explain. “You built it, and it’s amazing. Because of you, these kids have life in their faces. They know somebody cares about them.”

“Yes,” he says, though he sounds a bit confused. “That’s the most fundamental goal of the foundation.”

“Your foundation.” I take his hand. “You’ll make an incredible father, you know.”

I hear his breath hitch. We haven’t talked about kids in weeks, though I know we both sit on the bench by the daisies often.

“Don’t do this to yourself, baby,” he says softly. “Don’t do it to me.”

I don’t answer. I just give him a tug. “Follow me,” I order, then lead him through the door that leads from the balcony to the building’s second floor. We take the stairs, and then head down the corridor to his office. Inside, I log onto his computer and go to a website that I’ve been spending a great deal of time exploring.

“There,” I say pointing to the screen.

He focuses on it, so long that I start to worry he hates the idea. Then he turns to me, and I see the same hope on his face that I feel in my heart. “Adoption,” he says. “You want to adopt a baby from China?”