with Michael had been comfortable, cozy, predictable. With Nick, it felt reckless, dangerous. Unleashed. I’d had no precautions, nothing in the medicine cabinet to ward off pregnancy or disease. But Nick had taken care of everything, to the tiniest detail. Now, the morning after, I heard him downstairs, moving dishes and pots around the kitchen. His presence was everywhere, permeating everything. My possessions were no longer quite my own. The dresser, the bathtub, the bed had been touched, altered. They’d all acquired a new master; they sang out Nick’s name. The kitchen, at that moment, was under his command.

And what about Molly? Oh my God. What had she thought when she’d seen him making breakfast? I hadn’t thought this through at all. Hadn’t considered her feelings. How selfish and impulsive I’d been. How insensitive. What kind of mother was I?

Quickly, I splashed water onto my face at the mirror where he’d shaved. Folding the towel he’d used for his shower, I was guilt-ridden and wary. I smelled coffee and breakfast and braced myself to reclaim territory. I came downstairs as he was showing Molly how to flip pancakes as if they made breakfast together every day.

I waited, observing, struggling with what I saw. Ever since the social worker had handed her to me and I’d carried her home, Molly had been mine. We’d been a family unto ourselves, our own universe. Now, Nick had cut in on the waltz that I’d danced alone so long with Molly. Tapping my shoulder, he was taking her for a whirl across the floor. And while I admired their easy grace, I mourned the private pace of mother and daughter.

“This one looks ready—see the bubble holes?”

“Should I flip it?”

“Yup.”

“Oops—”

Even so, I wasn’t eager to return to that isolation. Nick seemed to belong with us, as if he were right at home. So why wasn’t I entirely happy about it? I told myself that my ambivalence was normal. Nick was sudden and new. I shouldn’t have let Molly meet him yet. Should never have let him spend the night. It was a delicate matter, introducing a lover to a child. I should have taken time to prepare her, or at least to prepare myself.

I watched them, Molly in pajamas and Nick, barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt. A man beside a child who was standing on a chair to reach the stove in a cluttered kitchen. A photograph. A greeting card. I came in slowly, cautiously. Molly turned suddenly and grinned.

“Mommy, look, we’re cooking.”

“Hi, guys.” I kissed one head, then another. Nick smelled like soap.

“Morning. We’ve been busy. Molly did about a quarter of the puzzle and I climbed the Himalayas.” “You what?” “On your StairMaster.”

He’d used my StairMaster? The StairMaster had been my gift to myself. It was private territory, my own personal nemesis. I hadn’t even broken it in yet. But I smiled, covering my feelings. I told myself it was no big deal; at least somebody had used the damned thing. Keeping my worries to myself, I ate pancakes and drank coffee. I smelled Nick’s aftershave and felt his easy touch on my hand. I almost relaxed. But when Molly scampered off to get dressed, I had my moment, and I took it. This was my turf, my home. I had to make the rules. Had to.

“Nick. About Molly—”

“She’s a great kid. Fun. You know what she said—”

“No. Wait. I have something to say.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds serious. What did I do?”

“Nothing. No, not nothing. But you didn’t do it. We both did. Look, what happened last night was, well, amazing. At least it was for me.”

“It was amazing for both of us—”

I avoided his eyes. “Good. That’s good. But it shouldn’t have involved Molly. It isn’t fair to her.”

He blinked rapidly a few times. Was something in his eye?

“Exactly what are you saying? That you don’t want her to know I was here all night? You don’t want her to know about us?”

“She’s a kid without a father, Nick. She craves a daddy. She used to ask me where her daddy was. Why he didn’t live with us. I explained about her adoption the best way I could, and she doesn’t ask anymore, but I know she longs for a man she can call Daddy.”

“You’re saying she wants me to be her dad?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to risk her getting attached to anyone until I’m sure he’s part of our lives—”

“So what’s the bottom line here? Are you saying she shouldn’t see