“The Defender,” as Cooper called it, turned into an alley behind a quiet tree-lined street in Deep Ellum and pulled up to a security gate of a covered parking garage. Cooper pressed a gate opener in his console and parked in a numbered spot.
Something anchored Sloane in her seat at the thought of going in Cooper’s home. Wouldn’t that be crossing some sort of professional boundary? “I’ll just stay here.”
“Okay.” He paused as he was about to shut his door. “But you can put your camera stuff inside just to make sure it’s safe if you want to. I know Maddie would love to meet you, too.”
Maddie? Who was Maddie?
Her heart pounded as Cooper led her to a landscaped sidewalk next to a fenced dog walk, it looked like, and up the second path to their right that led to the door of a tall, handsome brownstone.
“Maddie, I’m home!” he called, jiggling his keys loose from the door. But when the keys were stuffed in his pocket, the jingling sound continued, getting louder until a big black dog appeared from the hallway.
Sloane laughed out loud, an uncontrollable product of relief and self-ridicule. “You didn’t tell me your... Maddie...was a dog!”
The dog pranced in excitement, shifting her weight back and forth on stiff legs as if trying to fight the urge to jump. She yawned and stretched.
“Oooh, someone was sleepy.” Cooper took the dog’s face in his hands and scratched her ears. “It’s short for Madeleine, because she’s one of my favorite sweets.” He spoke about Maddie with the pride of a new dad announcing that his newborn baby had arrived.
The dog noticed Sloane for the first time and perked up, resuming her excited little dance.
Sloane took a step back. “Hi, Maddie.” She reached a tentative hand out to pat the dog’s squared head and was rewarded with a swath of pink tongue across her palm. “Oh, hi!”
Must. Get. Hand sanitizer.
“I’ll let you two get acquainted while I find you something to wear.”
Sloane had graduated to scratching the dog’s upturned belly by the time Cooper jogged down the stairs, a wad of black fleece clutched to his chest.
“This is too small for me now. I kept it because Simone bought it for me.”
“It’ll work.” Sloane held it up for inspection and breathed it in. Its clean detergent with a drop of Cooper’s spicy cologne already made her feel warmer.
“It’ll swallow you whole.” Cooper grinned. “But it will work.”
* * *
ONCE THEY WERE back in Cooper’s truck, Sloane’s excitement manifested in a rogue case of restless legs syndrome. Yet another reason she didn’t like to skip her scheduled runs. She kicked her flats off and changed into her running shoes to keep her lower half occupied.
Since she’d never driven in Dallas and didn’t venture far past downtown, Sloane had no idea which direction they were going, nor where this particular highway led.
Cooper steered onto an exit ramp and glanced at Sloane. The dance his eyes were doing and the fact that she could see all of his teeth clued her in that they must be getting close. Then she saw it in the darkness, a network of glittering lights crowned by a tall Ferris wheel.
Her jaw dropped. “The Texas state fair?”
“The one and only.” Cooper bypassed a long line of cars for a lot near the front, rolling down his window and slipping the attendant a purple pass of some sort. “Please say you haven’t been here before.”
“It’s my first time.” Sloane couldn’t tear her eyes away from the Ferris wheel. A smile twitched, one she quickly trapped under her teeth. Aaron was scared of heights—terrified. She’d gotten him to ride the Ferris wheel one October only after winning a bet. The way he completely fell apart at the top made his incessant complaints one-hundred-percent worth it.
And this monstrosity made the puny one at the little county fair in Indiana look like a wheel in a hamster cage.
The sound of Cooper’s low laughter brought Sloane to the present.
“What?” She tugged his fleece around her, relishing its soft warmth.
“Nothing. I’ve just never seen someone so enamored with the Texas Star.”
“Was I staring?”
“You, um, kind of can’t take your eyes off of it.”
She laughed then adjusted the strap of her bag, much lighter than usual without her camera equipment, and blew out a breath.
This was an unfamiliar intersection—memories of Aaron that made her laugh? Spending time with someone—in the flesh—who thawed the cold dew of the past that tended to cling to every moment of her present? It felt off-limits, like it shouldn’t be allowed.
A gentle breath of wind rustled against the exposed back of her neck. A breath of peace. And permission.
“It’s okay.” Cooper pressed his lips together. “I’ll give you a moment if you need one. Really.”
No, she didn’t need a moment. She would laugh at the memory of Aaron hyperventilating if she felt like it. She would stop looking through the peephole of her own life and open the door—even if only a crack.
“Okay, I think I’m good.”
At the ticket booth, again Cooper produced some kind of magical pass that got them past the long line to the unoccupied second counter.
“Does being in the Cooper family get you a Proceed-to-the-Front-of-the-Line card?”
Cooper’s expression darkened. “Something like that.” He checked his watch. “C’mon. We have a little less than an hour to do whatever we want.”
“Including the Texas Star?”
He cracked a smile. “Especially the Texas Star.”
Mission accomplished. With both the smile and the Star.
The first thing Sloane noticed was the unmistakable sweet smell of batter hitting hot oil. It was glorious. They walked past booths and vendors and makeshift buildings until they reached a T in the path where a large pair of painted plastic boots stood. Sloane looked straight up.
And up.
And up some more.
She got the full breadth of the Texas state fair mascot, the giant cowboy Big Tex’s height. “I think I’m going to have a seizure.”
“You can write your medical bills off as workers’ comp.” Cooper motioned to their left and started walking. “They can send the invoice to J. Marian Restaurants, care of the CEO.”
Sloane laughed at the image of his red-faced father seated in a plush mahogany office somewhere getting that bill.
“So what’s the number-one fair tradition you judge the most?”
Sloane fidgeted with the matted cuffs of Cooper’s too-long jacket as they walked. “I’m not quite sure what you mean?”
“Is it the abundance of mullets? The exorbitant price you pay to stand in line most of the time? The fried foods?”
She wrinkled her nose at his last suggestion.
“The fair food? C’mon, everybody loves the fair food!” he said.
“I’m just not sure I agree with their mantra that literally everything is better fried.” They approached a bank of food vendors with bold red marquees listing their offerings. “I mean, a deep-fried bacon cinnamon roll?”
“Eat one thing.” Cooper’s tone dared her. “Just one. I’m buying.”
Did he know how many miles she’d have to run to burn off one of those things? She was pretty sure there wasn’t a calorie counting app in existence that could tally the damage of a fried bacon cinnamon roll.
Oooh. Her tune changed when she saw the Fried Cookie Dough emblazoned above one of the vendors. And unfortunately, the words slipped right out of her mouth.
“Okay, it’s settled.”
“Settled that I’m not eating anything? You’re exactly right.”
Someone walked by with one of those cardboard boats, wafting the scent straight through h
er nose to her brain and taste buds. The sight of those twin orbs of dough fried to a golden crisp and sprinkled with powdered sugar drew her closer. The drizzle of chocolate sauce did her in. Perfection.
“You’ll share it with me?” Sloane turned to Cooper who was already standing in a mercifully short line.
They devoured the fried cookie dough as they walked. It was sweet then savory. Crunchy then creamy. Like he’d been doing all night—maybe ever since she met him—Cooper had somehow convinced Sloane to ignore the ramifications. To kick her reservations to the curb for a little while.
Cooper tossed the container into a wide plastic bin. “Ready for another one?”
Sloane shook her head. “I’m actually enjoying myself tonight. And I want it to stay that way.”
She almost didn’t hear Cooper’s low voice against the chatter and carnival music around them. “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
They walked in silence for a while, watching the people who passed them. “You know, I was afraid this was going to be rough. This many people.” She scratched her forehead. “I don’t know if you’ve gathered this, but I’m not exactly a big crowds kind of girl.”
Cooper dipped his head a little then nodded.
“But it’s been fun. Thanks for talking me into blowing off work. I might let you do it more often.” Her breath lodged in her throat when her brain caught up with that last bit. “I mean, um, I’m learning to be more flexible. The whole work-fun balance and everything.”
Just stop.
He grinned at her the way he’d grin at a baby deer, all spindly legs, bumbling around. “You don’t have anything to be afraid about with fair people. They don’t bite. Well, at least most of them don’t—oh, man.”
“What?”
Cooper had stopped in front of a bank of fair games. “The High Striker.”
“The what?” He didn’t answer her, glazed eyes fixed on the flashing lights that resembled a really tall thermometer. “Oh, the hammer thing?”
He nodded, jaw working. “I used to love this. My brother and I always argued over who got to swing first. And then our dad would move us aside and hit it all the way to the top every time. We thought he was the strongest dad in the world.”
“You should try it.”
“Yeah?”
Sloane planted her hands on his firm back and nudged him in the direction of the game, catching the attention of the balding fair worker who was polishing off a turkey leg. The erratic fiddle of a country song came over the loudspeaker.
“Step on up and take a swing, sir.” The carny tossed the turkey bone into the trash and scrubbed his hands down the sides of his blue polo. “Or young lady?”
She took a step away from the dingy plastic handle he offered her and flashed the politest smile she could muster. There was no way she was touching that thing without some kind of hazmat suit.
Cooper paid and unzipped his cotton hoodie, handing it to Sloane. He took the mallet from the man, muscles contracting through his thin T-shirt down his triceps and forearms as he twisted it in his hands and squared up to the High Striker. He balanced on the balls of his feet and tested the motion before swinging it with the explosive force of a lumberjack splitting firewood. In an instant, the gong at the top sounded, and computerized arcade music drowned out the country twang.
Cooper whirled, fists pumping at his sides. A laugh bubbled from Sloane at the triumph in his expression, drowned by the booth worker’s booming cry. “Winner!”
He tugged her elbow to the display of stuffed animals and prizes and pointed at one. The booth worker pulled a small stuffed black puppy from the row. And the look in Cooper’s eyes obliterated the visions of germs and dust mites squirming in Sloane’s mind as he extended the puppy to her.
“From me and Maddie.”
She couldn’t ruin this gesture. Not when he’d been so kind to her. If the puppy were riddled with contaminates, surely the spicy, apple cider warmth that rushed from Sloane’s core up to her earlobes and down to her fingertips would neutralize it. Right?
“Thanks.” She tucked the puppy into her purse so its head was barely visible between the straps. “He can, um, hang out in here.”
They walked toward the midway, Sloane’s grip tight around the handle of her bag. It’s just a puppy.
But if it was just a puppy, why did looking at Cooper feel like a risk? The answer was easy and so complicated at the same time.
Because one glance would undoubtedly turn up the burner on the unfamiliar stir-fry sizzling in her middle.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COOPER DEBATED CANCELING his Saturday plans with Davon.
His father had shown up to the restaurant unannounced the day before to “check in” on some outstanding emails—and probably to ensure Cooper hadn’t been drinking—effectively ruining his postfair good mood. After working late to catch up, Cooper was snapped like a wishbone between conflicting urges to take some serious tension out in the weight room or settle into his sofa for a shoot-’em-up movie marathon on TV. His third option prickled the back of his neck like the sensation of being watched, unvoiced because the minute those words came to life in his mind, his willpower would be gone.
What would Simone say if she saw him like this, or worse, pouring fifty dollars down the drain and stashing the bottle? She was always good for a dose of tough love. But she’d probably roll her eyes and tell him he was being “ree-dee-cu-LOSS.”
It had to stop. Cooper had to figure out some way to stay on top of things at work and still get everything done for the restaurant launch. And there were a lot of things to do.
So instead, he went to the restaurant to check on employee training and get off on the right foot with the people who’d be operating his restaurant. He trusted Janet to run a tight ship with an enjoyable work atmosphere, and the employees she’d hired seemed to have it together already.
Cooper’s phone was a permanent fixture in his grip, tethered to his temptation to call in sick with Davon and the itch in his fingers to dial Sloane’s number and satisfy his curiosity. He’d been introduced to a whole new dimension of her at the fair. Would she revert to the starched suit when they met later tonight to work on some more recipes?
Focus, Coop. There was no way he was going to set the precedent of bailing on Davon, even if he hadn’t exactly signed up for this. Plus, it would mean Davon’s mother would have to find other child-care arrangements for her study session.
So Cooper left early and, as the Defender rolled into the crumbling parking lot of Davon’s apartment complex, his attitude completely changed.
Davon answered the door before Cooper could knock. “Cooper! You’re here!”
“Yeah! Ready to go have some fun?”
He nodded so fast it would have given anyone else whiplash, his green eyes enormous. “I forgot! I want to show you something.” He disappeared down a hallway.
The excitement on the boy’s face made Cooper feel at once like a million dollars and an inch small. How could he have even considered not showing up?
Davon’s mother, Alicia, stood in the doorway of the apartment’s kitchen, drying a plate. “Do you want to come in? Can I get you some water?”
“Oh, I’m all right. But thanks.” He stepped onto the chipped yellow kitchen floor, which smelled like lemon cleaner.
They’d met before—twice now—when Cooper dropped off Davon. Each time, Alicia donned a contagious smile, her brown eyes, though tired, still shining bright.
Davon returned with a basketball, smaller than the NBA standard size, striped with the Dallas Mavericks’ blue and green. “Look what I won at school!”
“Cool. Is that an autograph?”
Davon rattled off the name of a player Cooper had met a few times with Owen and explained that the player had visited his school.
Cooper filed away a mental note. If Davon was this excited about meeting a player from the Dallas Mavericks’ bench, what would he think about sitting courtside at a game? Meeting the team in the locker room? Maybe getting to keep one of the players’ old shoes? Sometimes Owen’s shameless desire to tout his connections really did pay off.
“Where are y’all headed today?” Alicia looked between Cooper and Davon.
“Oh, just to the Treasure Center.” Cooper wiggled his eyebrows, but was met with a blank stare from Davon. How could he not know what the Treasure Center was? It was one of the most fun places for kids in the Dallas-Fort Worth metro.
Alicia nudged her son. “You’ve heard of it, Davon. Remember, that commercial you saw? The go-karts?”
Davon’s eyes lit up at the last word. “Go-karts? We get to ride go-karts?” He hurried to the door. “See ya, Mom!”
“Oh, uh-uh.” Alicia donned a practiced mom attitude that made Cooper grin. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
Davon checked to see if Cooper was watching. “Yes, ma’am.” He trudged to his mother and gave her a hug and a kiss. “I love you, Ma.”
“I love you, too. You be good for Mr. Cooper.” She turned to Cooper. “If he doesn’t act right for you, I want you to bring him home that instant, okay?”
Cooper gave her a two-finger salute. “Yes, ma’am.” Somehow he didn’t think that was going to be a problem.
Davon could hardly contain himself on the way, shifting in the backseat every few seconds, it seemed. Fortunately, they didn’t have far to go before the animated alligator mascot of the Treasure Center appeared in the distance. It had been updated since Cooper had last seen it, but still sported its trademark pirate eye patch.
The last time he’d been to the Treasure Center was during grad school at an after-hours party. The details of that night were all sort of staticky, but he’d had to foot the bill for some serious damages. And he was pretty sure they’d banned alcohol from the premises after that. Surely that manager was long gone, though, right?
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