Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

“The big hand’s on the ten and the little hand’s on the eight. You can sleep in my bed until you’re better, and play with my toys.”

“Thanks.” Coop made the supreme effort and sat up. When his head rolled, he did his best to catch it in his hands. “Keenan, be a pal and ask your mom for some aspirin.”

“Okay.” He raced off, and the sound of his sneakers pounding the floor had Coop shuddering.

“Headache?” Zoe asked a moment later.

Coop lifted his head. She was still in her robe. The robe he remembered from the night before. He was beginning to remember quite a bit from the night before. “If you’re going to yell at me, could you do it later?”

In answer, she held out aspirin and a glass filled with reddish liquid.

“What is it?”

“A remedy from Joe the bartender. He guarantees it’ll take the edge off.”

“Thanks.”

There was a blast of a horn from outside that cut through Coop’s skull like a dulled knife. While he was dealing with the shock of that, Keenan came racing back.

“Bye, Mama, bye!” He gave her a smacking kiss, then turned to hug Coop. “Bye.”

As the door slammed behind him, Coop gulped down Joe’s remedy.

“Do you want coffee?” Zoe ran her tongue around her teeth and tried not to smile. “Some breakfast?”

“You’re not going to yell at me?”

“For barging in here, drunk, in the middle of the night? And for passing out on my sofa?” She paused just long enough to make her point. “No, I’m not going to yell at you. I figure you’re suffering enough.”

“I am. I promise you.” He got up to follow her into the kitchen. “Not just physically. I feel like a total jerk.”

“Youwerea total jerk.” She poured a mug of coffee, set it on the table for him. “My mother’s third husband had a fondness for bourbon. He swore eggs the morning after were the cure. How do you want them?”

“Scrambled would be good.” He sat gingerly at the table. “I’m sorry, Zoe.”

She kept her back to him. “For?”

“For being a jackass yesterday afternoon and a bigger jackass last night.”

“Oh, that.” With the bacon frying, she chose a small bowl to scramble eggs in. “I don’t imagine it’s the first or the last time you’ll be one.”

“You didn’t…” He shifted miserably. “Ah, you didn’t tell Keenan I was…”

“Drunk and disorderly?” A half smile on her face, she glanced over her shoulder. “I told him you weren’t feeling well and went to sleep on the couch. Which was close enough.”

“Thanks. I wouldn’t want him to think… you know. I don’t make a habit out of it.”

“So you said last night.” She turned the bacon, whipped the eggs.

He watched her, gradually getting past the astonishment that she wasn’t going to rub his nose in the mess he’d made of things. Remembering the afternoon before, when she’d stood up to him with all that pride and fury shining in her eyes. And the other night, when he’d fallen asleep on her couch—the way she’d looked when she slipped the boy from his arms into hers and carried him into bed.

A dozen other pictures, captured in so short a time, flitted through his head, until they were whittled down to one. This one. Zoe standing at the stove, with the morning sun streaming over her tousled hair, her robe flowing down, breakfast smells warming the room.

How could he have thought he didn’t want this? Just this. And what did he do now that he knew the truth?

“Food should help.” She set the plate in front of him. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Can you— Have you got a minute?”