BOONE WAS READY to sell his soul for functional breasts.
He’d spent the last half hour walking the floor with Jamie, who had made it abundantly clear that he had as much interest in the bottle as he would have in, say, pizza, or beer, or anything that wasn’t attached to Kate. Boone had promised himself he wouldn’t cave at the first sign of distress. Kate had put on a brave face, but he’d known she was nervous enough about leaving as it was. However, they were rapidly approaching the forty-five-minute sobbing limit he had set for himself when the first tears had appeared.
If he’d known it would go on this long, he would have set that deadline a lot lower.
“Come on, kiddo. You’re fine, really. Stop chewing your hand, bud, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Jamie’s response was to look up at him, blink, and crumple once again.
Singing. Singing had worked last time. The thing was, thirty-plus minutes of howling had driven every tune Boone knew out of his head. He tried to remember the songs he’d heard Kate crooning as she went about her day, but other than wheels and buses and bunnies, he was lost.
“Maybe something by someone who knows their stuff?” He jiggled Jamie over to his laptop, did a one-handed navigation to YouTube, and clicked on the first playlist that came up. It wasn’t until he heard the repeated doorbells that he realized he was entertaining his son with the soundtrack from The Book of Mormon.
Oh, that was Father of the Year material, for sure.
Except—it seemed to be working. The sobbing didn’t exactly stop, but it did dial down a bit. Only for the first song, though. Once the doorbells of the “Hello” song stopped, Jamie’s lip started quivering again.
“Whoa whoa whoa, buddy. Hang on. You want the bells again?”
Back to the first song. Back to the chimes.
Back to a semihappy kid.
Jamie shoved his fist in his mouth and chewed again, but the most pitiful cries had stopped. As long as Boone kept a solid loop of the doorbell song playing, life was grand.
“That’s it, buddy. We’re getting this. You’re doing great, aren’t you? You want to try the bottle aga—whoa, whoa, no, don’t cry. I’ll take it away.”
He moved the bottle out of sight, then stopped as a crazy idea came to him.
Two shakes of the bottle, and there were a few drops of milk on his thumb. He brushed it over Jamie’s lips.
“Maybe you need to taste skin, too, huh, Jamie? You have a refined palate that can’t be fooled by—”
One little mouth fastened around his thumb. One little human vacuum cleaner switched on.
“Holy—good God, kid. And your mother has that attached to her...”
But Jamie had figured out that he was being fooled. And he was far from happy about it.
Things couldn’t possibly get worse, so Boone slipped the bottle into the open and protesting mouth. Maybe it was because there was milk on the nipple already. Maybe it was because the doorbells were still chiming in the background. Maybe it was because Jamie had finally decided that something was better than nothing. But this time, he began to suck. Just a couple of times at first, punctuated with enough stops and sobs to convey the message that he was seriously pissed off about this development, but he drank.
The relief that washed through Boone left him looking for a place to sit, fast. He lowered the two of them into a kitchen chair, adjusted his grip around Jamie’s stomach and kissed the top of his son’s head.
“That’s my boy,” he said softly. “That’s my Jamie.”
Jamie grunted but continued eating.
“Okay, kiddo. That’s the end of the song. Shh, I’m gonna start it again, don’t worry. You’re not watching the screen, are you? Mind if I check my email?”
Receiving no protests, Boone carried on.
“Let’s see. We have some ads for real estate investment. Yeah, their marketing department needs to work on refining their search skills, don’t they? Something from Jill—oh, it’s just more stuff about Fashion Week. Okay. And what’s this?” His pulse jumped a notch. “Hang on. I applied for a consulting job with these folks. That was... Oh.”
Thank you for your interest in our organization. Unfortunately, at this point we are unable to...
He closed his email, just stopping himself in time before he accidentally ended the music, as well.
“That’s the third one this week, Jamie. I’m not even getting interviews.”
Like you seriously expected anything different?
He knew there were other jobs out there, that he could surely find something to boost his pitiful income. He had years of experience helping mold Project Sonqo into the established organization it was. There had to be other groups, other charities that would be willing to pay for some of that expertise.
But logic was having a hard time making itself heard over the steady drumbeat of not helping, not helping, not helping that was even louder than Jamie’s cries.
* * *
KATE WAS DRIVING home in a slight daze when she realized she had made the mistake of going too long without something to drink. It hit the way it always did, in the form of a wall of fatigue. Luckily for her, she figured it out when she was just a couple of blocks from Bits and Pizzas.
Five minutes later she walked through the door, waved to Allie and Nadine behind the counter and headed straight for the cooler.
“Oh, wow,” she said after draining half a bottle of water in one never-ending swallow. “That was seriously overdue.”
“Someday you’re going to listen to me and set an alarm on your phone to remind you to drink every hour.” Allie’s tone was that potent mix of exasperation and ridicule that only sisters could pull off.
Kate wanted to protest but figured it would be a waste of breath, what with the way she was going through more water than Sea World.
“Where’s the cutest little guy in the whole world?” Nadine asked.
“Home with his dad.”
Nadine crossed her arms. “So it really wasn’t a virgin birth?”
“Seriously, Nadine?” Allie grabbed more water and a ginger ale from the cooler. “Come on, Kate. Let’s hang out in my office for a minute.”
“I don’t want to drag you from—”
Allie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It’s the middle of the afternoon, there’s three people here, and Nadine knows how to yell if she needs me. Right, Nadine?”
“I don’t know, Allie. You might be setting the bar too high.”
“Also, if anyone did give Nadine trouble, she would sass them into submission while waiting for help.” Allie pushed the drinks at Kate. “You want a slice?”
“No thanks, I’m—”
“Nadine, could you please bring us a couple of slices of the house special?”
“Sure thing. But it’ll cost you an extra hug from Jamie next time he’s here.”
“Deal,” Allie said, while Kate listened with astonishment.
“Did you really just use my baby’s affections as a bargaining chip?”
“Damn straight,” Allie replied with cheer while pushing Kate toward the back rooms. “So, is this your first time leaving the munchkin with Boone?”
“Yep.”
“And your first outing is to my place? I’m honored.”
Kate was on the verge of telling her the truth—Well, I actually went to the lawyer, but then I figured out I was in love with Boone. So even though I kept the appointment because I was already there and I have to talk to Boone about it all and everything is a mess, it might have been a colossal waste of money—then decided she couldn’t do it. Not yet. For one thing, it was all too fresh and new. For another, Allie worried enough already. There was no need to give her more reason to fret and fuss.
“That’s right. You were the chosen destination.” She waited for a beat while Nadine scuttled in with slices on plates, set them on the battered metal desk and saluted Allie on her way out. “So. You and Cash. Have you told him about our plan?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“He’s disappointed, but he understands.”
“Well, yeah. You’re awesome. Who wouldn’t want to have you around nonstop?”
Allie blew her a kiss. “He likes the thought of me being with you, though. Said something about that working to his advantage.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I’m not sure. I asked him, but he just laughed and then...um...” Allie raised her eyebrows, Little Miss Innocent. “He got distracted.”
Distracted. That seemed like the word of the day. Because Kate was certainly incapable of focus. Well, on anything except going home and putting Jamie down for a nap and getting a little distracted herself.
Because her whole reason for keeping things platonic with Boone was to stop herself from falling for him, but she had done that anyway. So what was the point of continuing to deny herself?
“Oh, and you can’t change your mind now, because I broke the news that I wouldn’t be renewing the lease. Shattered my poor landlady’s heart.”
Kate had been trying to protect her heart. But now, everything that lay ahead—Boone’s departure, the divorce he probably still wanted, his insistence that he wasn’t made for a real family—pointed to a guaranteed broken heart in the very near future.
“I’ve even done some packing. Some stuff is going to Cash’s, but can I start moving things into your place?”
And since she was already in love...and since she was going to get hurt, no matter what...what, precisely, was the point of separate bedrooms?
“Absolutely.” She picked up her pizza, already anticipating the pleasure that awaited her. “I’d say it’s definitely time to get moving.”
* * *
KATE KEPT QUIET about her change of heart for the rest of the day. Very, very quiet. The last thing she wanted was to tell Boone she’d changed her mind, only to decide that making love would be a mistake after all.
Well, actually, the last thing she wanted was to have to wait until nighttime before she jumped him. But leading him on was a close second.
She decided to use the interminable hours to make sure of her decision. It didn’t take long. Any doubts were swept away in the late afternoon, when she left Boone in charge for a few minutes. When she returned, she found him balancing Jamie in one arm, while with the other hand he “helped” Jamie hammer in a nail.
“That’s it,” Boone said. “You’ve got it. Soon you’ll be fixing things all by yourself.”
Neither of them had any idea that she was watching, so she let herself soak up the sight while she could. In those moments, two things became very clear to her. The first was that she didn’t think it was humanly possible to love anyone more than she loved the two of them.
The second was that Boone was lying.
Oh, not deliberately. She had no doubt that his past had led to all kinds of reasons he feared parenthood. But after spending years watching teachers and parents interact with children, she could spot a natural with no problem. Boone had it. No one could go from being afraid to touch their child to this moment—in this short a time—without having that solid core of caring and comprehension of what kids needed. Boone had all the instincts to become an excellent father. He just had to believe in himself.
Easier said than done, she knew.
But once she had reaffirmed that she truly loved him, the rest of the equation was a no-brainer. If she had only a few weeks to be the family she wanted to be, then she wasn’t wasting another night.
The one decision that remained was to figure out how to get things going.
An hour later, paintbrush in hand, she debated. She could take the direct approach: put Jamie down for the night, walk up to Boone, and say, “Hey sailor, want to have a good time?” There was a certain simplicity that appealed to her.
But while her body was all for anything that would reduce the distance between upright and horizontal as fast as was humanly possible, her heart resisted. In many ways this would be their first time. She wanted it to be memorable, filled with as much wonder and laughter as their initial close encounter of the awesome kind.
The answer came to her as they finished dinner.
“I think I got more paint on me than on the walls today,” she said, as casually as she could manage. “How about if you give Jamie his bath while I grab a shower?”
First hint, delivered. She knew it had hit home by the way he glanced toward her and then dragged his gaze away, so slowly and forcefully that she knew he was imagining her beneath the water, the same way she pictured him in the clanking upstairs shower. Slick skin and firm muscles and a whole lot of soaping going on.
“Sure,” he said, but she heard the thread of need in his voice and grinned. Only to herself, of course.
She made a fast lunge around her room before she hit the shower, gathering a bucket of bath supplies which she carried out to the kitchen.
“Here you go,” she said. “You guys have fun.”
Boone kept his eyes steadily on Jamie as he said, “You, too.”
“Oh, I will.” She sighed. “It’s been months since I was able to have a shower without worrying about someone waking up or crying in his crib. I intend to take full advantage of it. There are parts of me that haven’t seen a loofah since I don’t know when.”
Was it wrong to revel in the way he closed his eyes and breathed in, sharp and fast?
She sashayed out of the kitchen and made a beeline to her bedroom and the tiny en suite bathroom, where she immediately stripped and jumped in. She hadn’t been kidding about the paint. More than that, she wanted every bit of skin to glow, to smell the way it had that first night—not like powder and spit-up, but like primrose and promises.
Thoroughly scrubbed, she turned her attention to her nails. The purple streak might be long gone from her hair, but she could still rock the Electric Violet polish on her toes. She left the water running as she worked, sending a mental apology to every drought-stricken part of the world.
“Just this once,” she whispered. “Just so he has longer to imagine me in there and get truly desperate.”
Toes properly pimped out, her next task was her hair. It was, alas, too short now to pull off the cinnamon-bun effect. But she could still fancy it up. The rhythm of a French braid came back to her fingers quickly.
She crossed her fingers that other rhythms would return just as easily.
A spritz of cologne. A hint of lip gloss. And then, at last, the white bathrobe she had worn that night she crashed the convention. Except this time, the only thing she was wearing beneath it was herself.
She turned off the water, opened the door a crack and listened. She couldn’t make out words, but the steady rise and fall of Boone’s voice told her that all was well. She stepped into the bedroom, made sure all the essentials were within easy reach on the bedside table, and patted the pillow.
“Be back soon,” she promised the bed, and off she went.
Heart thudding, she padded barefoot into the kitchen. Boone had Jamie on his shoulder, walking back and forth while doing the Ward Off Trouble jiggle.
“A few more minutes, buddy,” she heard him say as she approached. “I know you’re hungry, but your mom really needs a chance to—”
“Hey,” she called as she entered. “Everyone survived, I see.”
Boone turned. She assumed he had planned to say something. But he stopped in his tracks, mouth slack, eyes wide, as he took her in.
She waited, letting him look. She needed this. He needed this. This moment when nothing was said but everything was understood, when she was pretty sure he was physically incapable of speech or movement, when need thickened and perfumed the air as strongly as the first lilacs of spring.
“Kate?” he said at last, and the hope she heard there told her that she had been so, so right to play it this way.
“Come on,” she said, crooking her finger. “You’re going to learn how to put Jamie to bed.”
But he didn’t move. “Jesus, Kate,” he said. “Are you sure?”
“Not a doubt in my mind.”
“But you said—”
“I was wrong.” She couldn’t let him list the reasons she had given. If that happened, she would have to explain. And even though she longed to tell him the truth, that she loved him, she knew he wasn’t ready to hear those words. She wasn’t going to do or say anything that might push him away.
Instead, she padded into the kitchen, reached for Jamie, and slid one hand up Boone’s chest.
“You go ahead and shower while I feed him.”
He nodded and turned. Too late, she realized he was headed for the upstairs bathroom.
“Nuh-uh. Down here.” She hooked a finger over the neckline of his T-shirt and backed toward her room, pulling him in her wake. He still seemed befuddled, but when they stepped over her threshold he seemed to catch the mood.
“Maybe I’m just forgetful,” he said, “but I think we’ve already had a few lessons in how to put Jamie to bed. Are you saying you haven’t taught me everything?”
“More like parceling out the lessons. Teaching you each piece as you’re ready.”
“And you think I’m ready now?”
She deliberately dropped her gaze, then raised it to meet his with a smile. “Oh, I am one hundred percent positive of that.”
With that, she let go of his shirt, gave him a little nudge to turn him around and—slowly, deliberately—planted a kiss in the middle of his back. Even through the woven cotton she could feel the way every muscle tightened.
“Go,” she said, giving him a little push toward the shower, where she knew he would be surrounded by the lingering scent of her body wash.
“I’ll be teasing him without even trying,” she whispered to Jamie as she settled in the rocking chair. “Two points for efficiency.”
But it was more than that, she admitted as she rocked and hummed, burped and relocated. She might be used to having Boone watch while she nursed their child, but tonight, she didn’t want him to see her as a mother. Tonight, she wanted to be just Kate and Boone. She wanted the night to close down around them the way it had before, blocking out everything else but them.
She couldn’t wait.
In one of his rare instances of excellent timing, Jamie finished and she could put herself back together before Boone opened the door. Someday she would remember this and forgive the kiddo for forgetting to make his bed or pick up his toys, and he would never know why.
She realized, belatedly, that she hadn’t thought about fresh clothes for Boone. Though as she let herself openly and eagerly drink in the sight of his bare chest above the towel riding low on his hips, she couldn’t say she was complaining about that oversight.
He hovered in the doorway. Waiting to see if she had changed her mind? Oh, no, no. She was going to disabuse him of that notion right away.
“Come here.” She crooked her finger, drawing him over, pointing to the bed. Once he was perched on the edge she and Jamie snuggled in beside him. “Ready?”
It was a safe bet that the slightly strangled sound he made meant he had passed ready a long time ago.
“See, you know how to give him a bath and change his diaper and all that good stuff, but I haven’t done anything about the songs.”
“There are songs?”
“Yes, indeed. They’re the most important part of bedtime. At least, they will be until he’s ready for stories.”
“I can think of a few things that might be even better than stories.”
“Really? You’ll have to tell me about them later.”
Oh, how she had missed this. Sex was wonderful and awesome and mind-blowing and all those good things, and she was most definitely looking forward to having her entire being hijacked by everything that was Boone, but this playing, this teasing, this drawing things out—this was just as important in its own way. She was having fun.
“It’s not just wedding DJs who need to know the right song for the right time,” she explained with mock seriousness. “It’s one of the major parenting skills. Now, we can’t do any of the bouncy ones, because he just ate.” She refused to have her second First Time be accented with Eau de Spew. “But there are plenty of others. Like ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider.’”
“I think I’ve learned that one.” He raised his palms, stared at them for a moment, then added, “But I’ll be dipped if I can remember what to do with my hands.”
“Like this.” She held her hands in front of her—awkwardly, since she was reaching around a bobbing baby—and touched opposite thumbs to forefingers. “That’s right. Then you twist, like so.”
It took him a couple of attempts but he caught on. “Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Like riding a bicycle,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed. “Now.” She used her hand to draw circles in the air. “Next one. ‘The bum-ble bee, goes a-round the tree, with a bzzzzzz!’” She took Boone’s hand and guided it to Jamie’s tummy. Two sets of chortles—one deep, one delighted—surrounded her.
Oh, if she could freeze a moment to live forever, this could be the one.
They moved from spiders and bees to monkeys jumping on the bed and swinging in the trees, then to slower, quieter ones. Her pulse jumped as she felt the familiar heaviness against her arm that meant Jamie was on the verge of slumber.
But there was one last song she had to get through first.
“This is the one we do before I put him down every night. No actions, just words. And if Paul McCartney ever hears this, I won’t be responsible for the consequences.” She gathered Jamie onto her shoulder and swayed back and forth while she launched into the words she had cobbled together over long sleepless hours when the only songs she could remember were oldies. Which was why her son’s favorite lullaby was a slowed-down take on “She Loves You.”
“Mommy sings to you, and she loves to teach you ga-a-ames. Daddy’s in Peru, but he loves you just the sa-a-ame.”
She caught Boone’s eye. “Chorus,” she whispered, and he got the message, joining in.
“We love you, yeah, yeah, yeah. We love you, yeah, yeah, yeah. We love you, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.”
When she finished, Boone whispered against her ear, “I am never going to be able to listen to the Beatles again.”
A heady mix of anticipation, nervousness and uncertainty bubbled in her veins as she eased off the bed and settled Jamie in his crib. All of a sudden, she didn’t know what she should do next. The playfulness that had brought her this far seemed to have been sucked out of the room, leaving a giant looming pile of hesitation in its place. Not about whether or not she should do this. Oh, hell, no. But it had been so long that she wasn’t sure she remembered how to get from point A to point B.
“He, um, usually falls asleep pretty quickly,” she said in a low voice—easy, since Boone was standing directly behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “But we should probably move out of his sight.”
“Any place in particular we should go?”