To Keep Her Baby. Melissa Senate

says the objective is for you to look like you could go from playground to PTA meeting. Quite a difference from this look.”

      “Right?” she said, glancing down at her metallic silver leggings, belted tunic that didn’t quite cover her tush and showed off her cleavage, and strappy sandals that wrapped around her ankles. Her toenails were each painted a different color. “Although yesterday, when I was walking around town, a little girl told me she liked my toes. So maybe I get to keep my fun toenails.” She lifted her foot and gave it a wiggle. “You got kids?”

      “Me?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’d say anything to do with marriage and children is about ten years off in the distance when I’ve finally done everything I’ve wanted to do the past seven years.”

      “What have you been doing instead?”

      “Raising my orphaned quintuplet half siblings,” he said. “I took them in when they were thirteen and I was twenty-one, fresh out of college.”

      She hadn’t been expecting that. Sowing the ole wild oats was what she’d thought would come tumbling out of his mouth. Not that she thought all men were hound dogs. She just personally hadn’t met one who wasn’t. Then again, her circle didn’t exactly include quality men. “Wait a minute. Did you say quintuplets? Huh. That couldn’t have been easy. They must have been walking, talking hormones.”

      He laughed. “They were. I almost went bankrupt keeping them on Clearasil.”

      She liked the sound of his laughter. “I guess I got lucky there. I’ve never had a zit in my life.”

      “Not one?”

      “Nope. I take after my mother and grandmother. Amazing skin genes. They’re both gone now. Crazy that my mom will never meet my baby. Or vice versa, you know?”

      He glanced at her and nodded. “Ten years from now or so, when I finally have a child, I’ll feel that same way, I’m sure.”

      “You’re really stuck on the ten years thing, aren’t you? Ever heard of an oops?”

      “I’ve heard of oops,” he said. “I’ll just make sure it doesn’t happen to me.”

      “Condoms break, you know,” she said, looking down.

      He eyed her and nodded. “Stuff happens. It’s the one thing I know for sure.”

      She lifted her chin, shaking off thoughts of Alden and condoms. “It’s weird knowing my mom isn’t on the earth anymore. I’d say the same for my dad, but I never knew him. What’s also weird? Picking out a dad for my baby without knowing what a good dad would be like. I mean, I only know from TV shows.”

      “Picking out a dad?” he repeated.

      “That’s part of why I’m taking your godmother’s etiquette course. To look the part so I can attract a good man to be a dad to my kid.”

      He stared at her hard for a moment.

      “Why are you looking at me like I grew another boob?” she asked. “I’ll be looking for a guy like you. You know—quality.”

      “I could be a real jerk for all you know,” he said. “Step one to finding a good man? Fixing your good-guy radar. Trust no one on first glance. Make no assumptions.”

      “That’s silly. People make assumptions about me based on how I look.”

      “Touché,” he said. “But I’ll bet a lot of those assumptions are wrong.”

      She tilted her head and looked at him. “They are. Like being hot and having big hair means I’m not going to be a great mom. Because I will be.”

      He glanced at her again, and she wondered what was going through his mind.

      “Hot mama!” a man’s voice called out as they turned onto Main Street.

      Ginger glanced around for who catcalled her. Main Street was bustling with people, but there—she saw him, some jerk in a cowboy hat staring at her chest and wriggling his eyebrows at her. “Up yours!” she shouted back and flipped the guy the bird as she and James kept walking.

      James shook his head. “Neanderthal. Who catcalls a woman—and when she’s with a man? I could be your husband for all he knows. So rude.”

      Ginger laughed. Like, really laughed. Stopped-and-doubled-over-for-a-second laughed.

      “What is so funny?” he muttered.

      “That anyone would think I’m your wife. That we’re together. Come on. I’d believe you’d date a woman who’d wear these sandals maybe, but that’s about it.”

      He eyed the sparkly silver leggings and the practically see-through flowy tunic in black-and-white leopard print, but didn’t agree or disagree. She wondered what his type was.

      “Oh, we’re here,” he said, pointing at Best Dressed Boutique between the town florist and a hair salon. At the door, he turned to her. “Just curious. Why do you dress so...flashy?”

      Flashy. She supposed that was a nice way of putting it. “I just always have since middle school. The shorter and tighter, the sparklier and shinier, the better. Plus you have to admit I have a slammin’ bod. Why not show it off while I’m young?”

      Was James Gallagher blushing? He was.

      “Well then, why change your style?” he asked. “What are we doing here?”

      “Because if I don’t change the way I look and my big mouth and flipping the bird even when it’s deserved, that jerk Alden might come take my baby. The baby he says can’t even be his, even though he’s the only man I’ve been with in six months. And if I don’t look right, like the kind of woman a guy like you would date, I’ll never find a good man for my baby. I’m done with jerks and three-night stands. D-O-N-E.”

      She didn’t want to get all riled up before the big shopping trip, so to end the conversation she pulled open the door to the boutique and walked inside. And immediately got flashed a dirty look by a saleswoman. She also caught the brunette nudging the other saleswoman in the ribs. Beyotch!

      “May I help you?” asked the brunette. Ginger studied her for a second. The saleswoman’s expression barely hid her judgy disdain. Her makeup was understated, hair pulled back in a model-like ponytail and she wore a black pantsuit with black patent heels. Ginger hated that she had to admit the beyotch looked good. Elegant. And elegant was always good.

      James came in behind her and smiled at the woman. “Hi, Kristen. Nice to see you.”

      The saleswoman looked from James to Ginger and understanding dawned. Ginger was clearly “one of those” from the etiquette school. No mistaking her for his woman in this boutique.

      She wasn’t sure why, but her usual take-me-as-I-am-or-talk-to-the-hand went poof. She felt...exposed, maybe. And she didn’t like it.

      It’s a process, she reminded herself, thinking of something Larilla Davenport had said this morning. And it’s not going to be easy.

      Not much was.

      James sat on the tufted velvet chaise in the changing area while Ginger was in one of the dressing rooms with two armloads of clothes the saleswomen had selected for her. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Ginger had said.

       Because if I don’t change the way I look and my big mouth and flipping the bird even when it’s deserved, that jerk Alden might come take my baby. The baby he says can’t even be his, even though he’s the only man I’ve been with in six months.

      She wanted to look more presentable for her baby’s sake. To keep her baby. Of all the students his godmother had had over the years, he didn’t ever remember meeting someone in Ginger’s shoes. He’d help her best he could.

      The door to Ginger’s dressing room opened and she stepped