A Ceo In Her Stocking. Elizabeth Bevarly

those few instances when Brent had deigned to make time for a visit home during his hectic schedule of bumming around on the world’s best beaches.

      Then again, Grant supposed the arrival of a new family member was a special occasion, too. But it was otherwise a regular day, at least for him. He’d spent it at work while his mother had taken Clara and Hank to every New York City icon they could see in a day, from the Staten Island Ferry to the Statue of Liberty to the Empire State Building to whatever else his mother had conjured up.

      Grant had always liked the formal dining room a lot better than the smaller one by the kitchen, in spite of its formality. Or maybe because of it. The walls were painted a deep, regal gold, perfectly complementing the long table, chairs and buffet, which were all overblown Louis Quatorze.

      But the ceiling was really the centerpiece, with its sweeping painting of the night sky, where the solar system played only one small part in the center, with highlights of the Milky Way fanning out over the rest—constellations and nebulae, with the occasional comet and meteor shower thrown in for good measure. When he was a kid, Grant loved to sneak in here and lie on his back on the rug, looking up at the stars and pretending—

      Never mind. It wasn’t important what he loved to pretend when he was a kid. He did still love the room, though. And something inside him still made him want to lie on his back on the rug and look up at the stars and pretend—

      “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” he asked Hank, who was seated directly across from him, his neck craned back so he could scan the ceiling from one end to the other.

      “It’s awesome,” the little boy said without taking his eyes off it. “Look, Mama, there’s Saturn,” he added, pointing up with one hand and reaching blindly with the other toward the place beside him to pat his mother’s arm...and hitting the flatware instead.

      Clara mimicked his posture, tipping her head back to look up. The position left her creamy neck exposed, something Grant tried not to notice. He also tried not to notice how the V-neck of her sweater was low enough to barely hint at the upper swells of her breasts, or how its color—pale blue—brought out a new dimension to her uniquely colored eyes, making them seem even greener somehow. Or how the light from the chandelier set iridescent bits of blue dancing in her black curls. Or how much he wanted to reach over and wind one around his finger to see if it was as soft as it looked.

      “Yes, it is,” she said in response to Hank’s remark. “And what’s that big one beside it?”

      “Jupiter,” he said.

      “Very good,” Grant told him, unable to hide his surprise and thankful for something else to claim his attention that didn’t involve Clara. Or her creamy skin. Or her incredible eyes. Or her soft curls. “You’re quite the astronomer, Hank.”

      “Well, he’s working on it,” Clara said with a smile. “Those are the only two planets he knows so far.”

      Grant’s mother smiled, too, from her seat at the head of the table. “I have the smartest grandson in the universe. Not that I’m surprised, mind you, considering his paternity.” Hastily, she looked at Clara and added, “And his maternity, too, of course!”

      Clara smiled and murmured her thanks for the acknowledgment, but his mother continued to beam at her only grandchild. Only in more ways than one, Grant thought, since Hank was also likely the only grandchild she would ever have. No way was he suited to the role of father himself. Or husband, for that matter. And neither role appealed. He was, for lack of a better cliché, married to his business. His only offspring would be the bottom line.

      “I also know Earth,” Hank said, sounding insulted that his mother would overlook that.

      Clara laughed. “So you do,” she agreed.

      Frankly, Grant couldn’t believe a three-year-old would know any of the things Hank knew. Then again, when Grant was three, he knew the genus and species of the chambered nautilus—Nautilus pompilius. He’d loved learning all about marine life when he was a kid, but the nautilus was a particular favorite from the start, thanks to an early visit to the New York Aquarium where he’d been mesmerized by the animal. If a child discovered his passion early in life, there was no way to prevent him from absorbing facts like a sponge, even at three. Evidently, for Hank, astronomy would be such a passion.

      “Do you have a telescope?” Grant asked Clara.

      She shook her head. “If he stays interested in astronomy, we can invest in one. He can save his allowance and contribute. For now, binoculars are fine.”

      Hank nodded, seeming in no way bothered by the delay. So not expecting instant gratification was something else he’d inherited from his mother. Brent’s life had been nothing but a demand for instant gratification.

      Yet Clara could afford to give him instant gratification now. She could afford to buy her son a telescope with his newfound wealth, whether he stayed interested in astronomy or not. But she wasn’t. Grant supposed she was trying to ensure that Hank didn’t fall into the trap his father had. She didn’t want him to think that just because he had money, he no longer had to work to earn something, that he could take advantage and have whatever he wanted, wherever and whenever he wanted it. Grant’s estimation of her rose. Again.

      As if he’d said the words out loud, she looked at him and smiled. Or maybe she did that because she was grateful he hadn’t told her son that if he wanted a telescope, then, by God, he should have one, cost be damned. That was what Brent would have done. Then he would have scooped up Hank after dinner and taken him straight to Telescopes “R” Us to buy him the biggest, shiniest, most expensive one they had, without even bothering to see if it was the best.

      As Hank and Francesca fell into conversation about the other planets on the ceiling, Grant turned to Clara. And realized he had no idea what to say to her. So he fell back on the obvious.

      “Brent had an interest in astronomy when he was Hank’s age, too,” he told her. “It was one of the reasons my mother had this room decorated the way she did.”

      “I actually knew that,” Clara said. “About the astronomy, not the room. He took me to Skidaway Island a few times to look at the stars. I’ve taken Hank, too. It’s what started his interest in all this.”

      Grant nodded. Of course Brent would have taken her to a romantic rendezvous to dazzle her with his knowledge of the stars. And of course she would carry that memory with her and share it with their son.

      “Hank is now about the same age I was when I started getting interested in baking,” she said. “My foster mother at that time baked a lot, and she let me help her in the kitchen. I remember being amazed at how you could mix stuff together to make a gooey mess only to have it come out of the oven as cake. Or cookies. Or banana bread. Or whatever. And I loved how pretty everything was after the frosting went on. And how you could use the frosting to make it even prettier, with roses or latticework or ribbons. It was like making art. Only you could eat it afterward.”

      As she spoke about learning to bake, her demeanor changed again. Her eyes went dreamy, her cheeks grew rosy, and she seemed to go...softer somehow. All over. And she gestured as she spoke—something she didn’t even seem aware of doing—stirring an imaginary bowl when she talked about the gooey mess, and opening an imaginary oven door when she talked about the final product and tracing a flower pattern on the tablecloth as she spoke of using frosting as an art medium. He was so caught up in the play of her hands and her storytelling, that he was completely unprepared when she turned the tables on him.

      “What were you interested in when you were that age?”

      The question hung in the air between them for a moment as Grant tried to form a response. Then he realized he didn’t know how to respond. For one thing, he didn’t think it was a question anyone had ever asked him before. For another, it had been so long since he’d thought about his childhood, he honestly couldn’t remember.

      Except he had remembered. A few minutes ago, when he’d been thinking about how fascinated he’d been by the