Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

“Now you’re terrified that Keenan and I will trap you into a family. That you’ll wake up one morning and be Daddy, with a wife and a mortgage and a small boy who needs attention.”

“Yes. No. Something like that.” He was burying himself, he realized, and he suddenly didn’t know why. “I just want to make myself clear.”

“Oh, I think you have. Perfectly.” She rubbed her hands on her knees as she studied him. “You needn’t worry, Coop. I advertised for a tenant, not a father for my child, or a husband for myself. I slept with you because I wanted to, not because I thought I could lure you to the altar.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. However well he’d planned this little scene, it was going all wrong. “I wanted you. I still do. But I know how badly you were let down before. I don’t want to hurt you, Zoe. Or the kid. I just don’t want you thinking I’d slide into the gap.”

The anger came back, one swift wave of it that reddened her vision. She was on her feet before either of them realized she’d moved. “Keenan and I don’t have a gap. We’re a family, as real and as complete and as full a family as any could be.” She jabbed the wrench at his chest. “Just because Daddy doesn’t make three doesn’t mean we’re less of a unit.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll tell you what you mean. You see a woman and a small boy and you think they’re just pining away for some big strong man to come along and fulfill them. Well, that’s bull. If I needed a man, I’d have one. And if I thought Keenan needed a father to make him happy, I’d find him one. And”—she continued, advancing and giving him another jab—“if you think you’re at the head of some fictional list, you’re wrong. Maybe I’m in love with you, but that’s not enough. It’s not just me, and it’s not just you. Keenan comes first. When and if I want a father for Keenan, he’ll be someone with compassion and patience, someone willing to adjust his life to make room for my son. So relax, Cooper. You’re in the clear.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Good, because I’m finished.”

He grabbed her arm before she could turn away. “I haven’t. I’m trying to be straight with you, Zoe. I care about you, okay? About both of you. I just don’t want it to get out of hand.”

“Out of whose hands?” she retorted. “Yours? Then that’s no problem, is it? Because you know how to hold on to everything inside, really tight. Just keep holding on to it, Coop. Don’t worry about me or about Keenan. We’ll be fine.” She jerked her arm free and sat again. Picking up the instruction sheet, she gave it her full attention.

Now why, he wondered, did he feel as though he’d just been rejected? Shaking his head, Coop took a step in retreat. “As long as we’re clear.”

“We are.”

“I’ve, ah, got a little time, if you want me to help you put that grill together.”

“No thanks. I can do it.” She slanted him a look. “I’m going to grill burgers later. You’re welcome to join us. Unless you’re afraid it will lead to a commitment.”

She shoots, he thought wryly, she scores. “Thanks anyway. I’ve got plans. Maybe I could take a rain check.”

“Fine. You know where to find us.”

***

He got drunk. Not sloppily, but thoroughly. When Coop poured himself out of the cab and staggered toward the house, he already knew he’d hate himself in the morning. But it was tonight he had to deal with.

He leaned heavily against Zoe’s front door and waited for the porch to settle down under his feet. She might think they’d finished, he told himself blearily, but she was wrong. Dead wrong.

He’d thought of a dozen things he had to say to her.

There was no time like the present.

Lifting a fist, he pounded on the door. “Come on, Zoe.” He pounded again. “I know you’re in there.” He saw a light flick on inside and kept on pounding. “Come on, come on. Open up.”

“Coop?” From the other side of the door, Zoe belted her hastily donned robe. She’d been home from the lounge for barely twenty minutes and in bed for less than five. “It’s after two o’clock in the morning. What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you. Let me in.”

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

“You just said it was morning.”

When he pounded again, she flicked off the locks. “Stop that—you’ll wake Keenan.” Furious, she yanked open the door and had the surprise of a hundred-and-seventy-pound male tumbling against her. “Are you hurt? What happened?” The alarm signals that had screamed on shifted when she caught the scent of beer. “You’re drunk.”

“Mostly.” He started to straighten, then lost himself in the smell of her. “God, you feel good. What d’you wash this in?” He nuzzled her hair. “Smells like moonbeams.”

“Really drunk,” she said with a sigh. “Sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”