The exit beckoned Willow again, but then Cooper pulled her into the narrow booth and shoved the curtain across.
“Wha—”
“Gotta test it one more time if you don’t mind,” he said, pulling her down onto his lap. “Look at the camera, beautiful.”
Beautiful. Distracted once again, she stared at his profile. Click.
Her head snapped forward. Click.
His jaw pressed against her temple. Click.
“For old time’s sake,” he murmured, and turned his head so his mouth found hers. Click.
When the dazzle finally died out, she found herself standing outside Fun & Games, alone, the strip of photos in her hand. She glanced over her shoulder. Well, then. This showed…progress?
Unlike her usual M.O., she’d confronted what might have proved uncomfortable.
But based on her reaction to being in his arms again, to her dazed response to his kiss again, it also meant she couldn’t fool herself about calling their night together anything less than unforgettable.
Cooper hadn’t come up with a solution to his Willow problem at the moment when he left her at the lake, nor when he first saw her again at Fun & Games, and especially not when he’d surrendered to temptation and kissed her in the photo booth.
Basically, he figured he was sentenced to some period of misery. Given his lack of experience with the inconvenient feelings she’d provoked in him, he could only imagine it was like a bout of flu. Heat, chills, a need for hydration—several nightly beers—and then it would move on, to leave in its wake a lingering fatigue and a vague memory of wild dreams.
There really was nothing else to do but wait for recovery.
I heard what you wanted and what you didn’t want from me.
He’d told her those words and that night at the lake he’d willingly accepted what she’d offered. He hadn’t expected more…didn’t want more.
Right?
Right.
Hell, he wouldn’t know what to do with more.
So he went on with his life, his routines, smiling, pouring beers—drinking beers—and working out in his condo complex’s gym to sweat out the booze.
This morning, more routine, he’d walked to Harry’s for coffee and checked the community bulletin board for notices of nearby garage or estate sales. His eye caught on one a short distance away and he headed out, mood improving. Discovering an overlooked treasure would prove he was in luck again.
Halfway down Shorebird Road he spied a handwritten poster stapled to a telephone pole and felt that little itch between his shoulder blades, telling him some special booty was within his grasp. Picking up his pace, he made for a stucco bungalow and its tidy front yard. The vintage metal rocker on the postage-stamp front porch hinted at the items he might expect to find inside.
Classic examples of board games, poker gear from any bygone era, and old DVDs were high on Cooper’s wish list. About five years before, he’d found a stash of blockbuster posters that had come from an old movie theater. Though he still regretted not keeping a single one, he’d sold the entire collection at a tidy profit that he’d sunk into the winery.
Ten minutes passed as he perused the built-in bookshelves in the living room. He didn’t need dusty copies of John D. McDonald or Graham Greene paperbacks. But who could resist the chance to study someone else’s reading choices? On the lowest shelf sat stacks of old National Geographic magazines which would have titillated his gang when they were curious eight-year-olds.
Leaving the reading matter behind, he wandered through a dining room—crystal and old porcelain ashtrays—then the kitchen. Gelatin molds, cookie cutters, and three fondue pots. Huh. He lingered over those, wondering if Sophie might have a use for them in her catering business. Being a good brother, he took a photo and texted it along with the details.
Fellow browsers searched for their particular interests and he followed a dad and young boy on their way out the rear door. According to what they chattered about, rumor had it some interesting tools and games were housed in the backyard shed.
With another pleasant buzz of intuition, he let the screen door slap behind him, and took in the well-tended space. Yard equipment of the manual sort—lawnmower, hedger, rakes—and a hoard of tennis rackets. Not for him, nor the three hibachis that might have last been used in the Stone Age.
Frowning, he turned his head, looking for what might have set off his happy spidey sense…and there.
There.
Willow, back to him, her hair a mad cloud of brown and gold, her cute ass in more tight jeans, feet in sneakers. Arms full of some big plastic kiddie thing.
Her head turned as she tried shaking her hair from her face. Her profile, small nose, that pouty lower lip.
God.
Cooper rubbed his chest, his feet rooted to the floor.
His world, once again, rocked.
Damn, was it supposed to hurt like this?
And was it supposed to take command of him as it was doing now, causing him to jog down the steps and over to the lady, pulling the kiddie thing out of her hold?
She blinked, the befuddlement cute as hell. “Cooper?”
“At your service,” he said, then looked down at the item in his arms. Yeah, plastic. A blue curved bowl the shape and size of a small pond held up by foot-high bright green legs. “Are you planning on buying this?”
“I already did,” she said.
“You’re going to use it to raise frogs? Or perhaps it’s a portable lingerie laundering tub?” Lingerie laundering tub. Geez. No doubt about where his mind wandered to when around her. At the lake that night, she’d worn two tiny scraps of white next to her naked skin. He shoved the memory away and cleared his throat. “Really, Willow, what is it?”
“A water table, I was told it’s called. It’s a toy—you can fill it with liquid or even sand.” She shrugged. “I think Rachel’s younger kids will love it.”
“Okay. I’ll carry it to your car,” he offered. Then I’ll take my pining ass out of her proximity, because it’s pitiful how much I want to hold her, kiss her, take her straight back to bed.
“I walked. And it’s not far to Rachel’s.”
Yeah, as if he’d toss it back to her and watch her amble away from him. “Which direction?” he asked, looking around. “Do we go back through the house?”
After a minor protest, she pointed him to a gate built into the fence. It led through the side yard to the street, and they traveled in the direction she indicated. He shifted his burden to get a more comfortable hold.
Willow slanted him a concerned look. “Are you sure you can manage?”
He was no hulking figure, like Brad her—ex?—but Cooper refused to break a sweat. “Of course,” he said, then realized he’d been suppressing thoughts about that asshole former man of hers.
If “former” still held true.
Were they already back together? His suddenly tight stomach eased when he noted her left hand remained bare of a ring. “How about you?” he asked. “Are you, uh, managing?”
She slanted him another look. “I’m doing fine, thanks.”
Which told him nothing. What if she’d been spending her evenings yearning for someone who’d rejected her? An image of Willow, alone and lonely, came to life in his head. His chest ached again and he, who’d spent a bachelor’s lifetime intentionally skating the surface of the inner lives of his bedmates, found himself studying her profile, trying to detect more detail in her neutral expression.
Until he tripped.
He caught himself, but only barely, as the plastic in his arms clattered to the sidewalk.
Willow turned, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Only a ding to my dignity,” he said, bending to reclaim the water table.
Her hand closed around his forearm. “Let’s take a break over here,” she said, towing him toward a pocket park that was a crescent of green grass and a single concrete picnic table and benches. “Sit,” she ordered. “Catch your breath.”
>
With the toy on the ground again, he hoisted himself atop the table. She followed suit and he snuck another look at her. He didn’t need breath, he needed answers, or he wasn’t going to be able to sleep at night, worrying about her and heartbreak.
The sun beamed warmed on the top of his head and shoulders and he took a moment to strip off his T-shirt and toss it to the cement surface. “Hot today,” he muttered, looking at her again.
To find her staring at his bare chest.
Oh.
That expression on her face didn’t need an expert in interpretation. His belly tightened, his thighs too, and he could feel the blood rushing toward his cock. “Like what you see?” he murmured, pleased as hell. He may have smirked. Sue him.
She looked away, ducked her head. “You know I do.”
The admission made him so damn happy. And presented a new idea. Maybe he didn’t need to do the recovery thing alone. Maybe he and Willow could indulge again—and again and again—by embarking on a fling that would be all that he was comfortable with while burning out all those other, extraneous emotions that he was definitely not comfortable feeling.
The best of both worlds!
Genius.
Not one to waste time, he shifted toward her. “Willow.”
Her head turned, their eyes met. Heat shimmered in the air between them.
Yeah. So good.
“Sweetheart.” He took her hand and ran his thumb over the knuckles.
“Yes,” she said, and gave a delicate shiver.
Another shot of well-being shot through him. Waiting around for a problem to resolve itself had never been his way. This route promised action—and the kind of action he liked—as well as resolution. “Yes,” he echoed, and smiled at her. “That’s the exact word I’m looking for—”
Movement at the corner of his eye halted his proposition. He glanced over to see a minivan pulling up the curb beside them. The passenger window rolled down. “Hey!” a woman called. “What are you up to?”
“That’s Rachel, my foster mom,” Willow said, slipping her hand from his and jumping to the ground. She raised her voice. “On my way to you as a matter of fact.”
“Well, climb in,” the older woman called out, and the side door slid open. “I’ll drive you there.”
Cooper didn’t take that as a cue for his separate departure, no sir. Without allowing time for argument, he scooped up the water table and loaded the piece into the rear after the hatch popped open. Then he clambered inside the vehicle, causing Willow to slide down the final row of seats to make room for him. He threw a grin at a gawking little kid in the second tier, whose head was turned owlishly on her neck to stare. “Hey,” he said with a salute.
“Cooper Daggett,” he added, pitching his voice so the woman in the driver’s seat could hear him. “Friend of Willow’s. Nice to meet you.”
The child giggled but there wasn’t time for more conversation before they were pulling into the driveway of a two-story house with gray siding and white trim. Very traditional. Toys on the front lawn and the yawning garage filled with bicycles and sports stuff. Very family oriented.
Upon direction, he carted the water table to the backyard and watched as the little kid in the van was joined by another little kid from the house and a hose was dragged near. This time he didn’t wait to be asked, but filled the toy’s big bowl then recoiled the hose and came back to observe the kids dump a selection of toys into the water—a boat, and then a set of small pots and pans.
Within minutes, a plastic baby with an unfortunate case of blue-marker acne had a near-drowning accident, but Willow stepped in to save a life.
“Whew,” he said, brushing imaginary sweat off his forehead. “I thought I was going to have to perform CPR and I think my dolly certificate just lapsed.”
She slowly turned, her expression warm, her kissable mouth curving. “You’re funny.”
“He is,” Rachel said, arriving with three glasses of lemonade, two that she passed out to him and to her foster daughter. “It’s good to meet you, Cooper Daggett.”
They stood in the shade cast by the house to watch Randa, age five, and Ollie, four, enjoy the new plaything. Soon enough, Willow had set aside her drink and was elbow-deep in water, her T-shirt nearly transparent as she joined in some imaginative battle with the youngsters.
“My money’s on the stegosaurus and the baby doll,” he told Rachel. “I can tell that cowboy and his squeaky-toy sidekick are all hat and no cattle.”
The older woman grinned at him. “You like kids?”
He blinked. “Who doesn’t like kids?”
She shrugged. “When Willow cam to live with me, I had some older fosters who were already off to college so she was pretty much raised an only. Now I’m married and she’s crazy about her little brother and little sisters.”
“Still part of the family,” he said, to confirm what he already knew.
“Always part of the family,” Rachel confirmed. “My daughter since the night the caseworker brought her to me, clutching the emergency kit put together by the victims’ assistance people.”
The victims’ assistance organization is near and dear to my heart. They help people, especially a lot of kids, at the lowest point of their lives. He remembered Willow saying that.
“She looks happy now,” he murmured, smiling as she dumped a mini stockpot full of water over Ollie’s head.
“Yes.” The woman took a breath, as if she was about to speak, then closed her mouth.
It occurred to Cooper that he didn’t know how much Willow had shared with her. Did she know about the broken engagement—surely—and that Cooper had played stud that one unforgettable night? Shoving his hands in his pockets, he inspected the rest of the yard, and its every homey touch—the swing set with attached playhouse, the herb garden, the discarded roller skates and the mini soccer goal and soccer ball.
Family Central.
Even as he thought it, the scent of baking cookies came wafting from inside of the house. His head swung that way.
Rachel laughed. “My older daughter likes to bake. Stick around and you’ll get a sample…if you stay for lunch.”
“Sure.” He seized the invitation, because he still had the happy goal of getting Willow into bed again and that required sticking close. Rocking back on his heels, he let his gaze fall on her once more, goofing off with her younger siblings, looking relaxed and delectable and so…so fu—flingable.
Yeah, they could burn through this thing between them and get everybody back to normal in…what? Two days, no, two weeks tops, he decided. Okay, three.
Four.
Or, hey, just dedicate himself to a Willow summer. That sounded pretty damn wonderful. He loved a plan of action.
“Cooper?”
“Hmm?” He glanced over at Rachel, who was studying him, a thoughtful expression on her face. Uh-oh.
“Knowing where she stands is important to Willow,” she said. “Since her chaotic childhood and then especially after what just happened with—”
“I know about that.” The ex didn’t have to come into this, did he?
“Then you know not to promise things you won’t deliver.”
Guilt stabbed him in the ribs. That’s what Brad had done, of course. But Cooper wasn’t planning on promising, just propositioning! Still, Willow didn’t want fling. She wanted forever. And maybe it wasn’t fair to muddle that up with his own hedonistic impulses.
If he pursued a Willow summer it would only prove he was as shallow as he and everyone had always thought.
And it wouldn’t take her into consideration.
“How about a rain check on that lunch invite?” he suggested to Rachel, steeling his resolve. “I’ve got…something to do.”
Like being a better man for once, and thinking of Willow before himself and his own feelings.
Chapter Ten
A few days after the breakup with Brad, after the visit to Fun & Games, after the morning she brought the water table to R
achel’s kids, Willow’s emotions crashed. She’d been moving at warp speed before that, working on designs, writing up proposals, avoiding deep talks with her foster mom with quick and trivial phone chats, avoiding her own deep thoughts by wearing headphones and blasting music that was unfailingly upbeat.
Then she found an envelope pushed through her mail slot. And inside rested her engagement ring. Brad’s message alongside it read: This still belongs to you.
She didn’t think he meant to send the message that he believed they still belonged to each other. He only wanted her to keep the piece of jewelry as a token of their past lives together.
Mourning that notion took nearly four days, a full box of tissues, a hot shower, and a true crime show marathon lasting into the wee hours. Upon awakening the next morning she felt hulled out.
Without expectation or optimism or identity.
But she had an afternoon meeting she couldn’t miss, so she’d dressed in olive ankle-length trousers, a black-and-white checked shirt, and black high heels. With her curling iron she’d set heavy waves into her hair and then pulled it back at her neck. Makeup disguised the ravages of a crying jag and a soft pink lipstick added a final touch.
The only way to move on was step-by-step.
At Harry’s, the coffee crossroads of Sawyer Beach and its vicinity, she found her new clients. Carol Daggett had been enthused over the couple of ideas she’d suggested via email to update their lake house, and decided she wanted to pursue more ambitious plans. To that end, Willow was here to talk with Carol and her husband. On the agenda was a discussion of their wish list and available budget.
She joined them at a corner table, pinning on a game smile and acknowledging that her favorite coffee drink awaited. “Thank you,” she said, taking a quick grateful sip. Then she opened her leather portfolio to draw out her sketches of the existing floor plan and of some of her ideas, as well as a notepad and pen.
“I’m so glad you could fit us into your schedule,” Carol said. She wore jeans, a T-shirt that matched her blue eyes, and a pair of walking shoes that looked ready to rack up serious miles. Though she had grown children, she vibrated youthful energy and her charming smile was obviously the source of her younger son’s.
ANTE UP (7-Stud Club Book 3) Page 13
