hot chocolate, carefully lifting the mug to her lips with both hands. “Everybody is sleeping, ’cept you, me and Sweetie Pie.” Annmarie set the mug down and pointed toward the cat who was on the windowsill, her attention riveted on the bird feeder visible through the window.
“I see.”
“Is your head still hurted, Mr. Quinn?”
“Only a little.” He sat across the table from her and began to put on his shoes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Annmarie put one of the crayons in the box, then select another one.
“I can make hot chocolate all by myself. Uncle Ian showed me. Blowing up the marshmallows is the best part.”
“What?” When he looked up from tying his shoe, she grinned.
“You put ’em in the microwave, and they get real, real big. Uncle Ian says that I can do it by myself, but I have to follow the rules.” She leaned closer to him. “So, Mr. Quinn, you want hot chocolate and marshmallows, don’t you?”
“I do.” Clearly he had lost his mind. What he wanted to do—needed to do—was to leave before anyone else was up. Still, this little girl with her impish smile made him want to linger—to pretend for a few minutes longer that he really could do the family thing.
He followed Annmarie across the kitchen, where she scooted a chair to the counter, filled a cup with water, heated it in the microwave, added chocolate mix and stirred carefully. Then she added a marshmallow and put the cup back in the microwave for ten more seconds, all the while telling him each step and finishing with, “See? Simple, huh?” and handing him the cup with a huge, puffy-white topping, the likes of which he’d never had.
“That’s very grown up,” Quinn told her as they sat back down at the kitchen table.
“I know,” she agreed solemnly. “And, if I don’t get a baby brother or sister soon, it will be too late.”
“Too late for what?” Quinn asked, focusing on the one part of the sentence that kept him from thinking about the very activity that could lead to Annmarie having that sister or brother.
“Well,” Annmarie said, swinging her legs back and forth, her fuzzy pink slippers making her feet look bigger than they were. “If Mommy waits too long, then I’ll be sixteen like Angela.”
“I see.” In fact, he didn’t see anything at all. “Who’s Angela?”
“Thad’s sister,” Annmarie said before returning with laser precision to the topic at hand. “And I asked Mommy why she couldn’t do it like last time, only she said things are different now. We can’t adopt Aunt Rosie’s baby like Mommy did with me because Uncle Ian wouldn’t like it. But he could still be the daddy and Aunt Rosie could still be the auntie.”
Quinn failed to follow the child’s logic even as he was sure things made perfect sense to her.
“So I’ve been thinking. Since Uncle Ian says you have to have a mommy and daddy, all I have to do is find a daddy. Mine died, you know.”
Quinn nodded at her matter-of-fact announcement.
“When you were a little boy, did you have a daddy?”
“No.” The question was as unexpected as everything else about the conversation.
“Oh.” A tiny pucker appeared between her eyebrows. “Did you want one?”
Had anyone else asked the question he would have lied. Instead he found himself telling this child a truth that he would have denied anyone else. “With all my heart.”
She smiled. “Me, too. But mostly I want a baby. This time maybe the baby can grow in my mommy instead of in Aunt Rosie. That should work, don’t you think?”
He didn’t know what to think, but he was sure of one thing. Agreeing with Annmarie in any way at all would likely land him in deep trouble.
“I think—” he glanced at his watch “—it’s getting late.”
“Yep,” Annmarie agreed.
“And I should probably go.”
“Before breakfast?”
He nodded, standing up, and she expelled a big sigh.
When he looked down at her, she said, “Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?” She pointed at the cupboard. “The cereal is way up there. The bowls are over there and, besides, the milk is very heavy.”
“Ah.” Things were beyond her reach, if he understood the problem. How could he leave without helping her out, especially since she had made hot chocolate for him? “Okay. I guess I can have cereal before I go.” He opened the cupboard and found a single box of cereal on the top shelf. Cocoa Puffs. He had been hoping for cornflakes or something similar.
She beamed as he poured cereal into two bowls and got out the milk. Within no time they were munching on cereal as Annmarie continued talking about babies. This time, thankfully, the subject was the cat that lived in Rosie’s greenhouse.
“Where’s my punkin’?” Lily called from the hallway.
Annmarie giggled as dread settled into the pit of Quinn’s stomach. He should have left. He shouldn’t be sitting here waiting for Lily, wanting to see her, wanting, just wanting, all the things he could never have.
Smiling, she came through the doorway an instant later, wrapped in that same thick robe she’d had on when she’d visited during the night. Until now, he hadn’t known it was lavender. The smile remained, but something changed in her eyes when her gaze lit on him. Was she glad to see him or wishing he’d left already?
“I’m having breakfast,” Annmarie returned.
“Cocoa Puffs,” Lily murmured, taking in the contents of the bowl. “Your Saturday treat on—”
“It’s not Saturday?” the child asked.
Lily tousled her hair. “You know it’s not.” She dipped a finger in her daughter’s hot chocolate, then licked off the gooey mess of the marshmallow before turning to Quinn. “I never would have figured you for a hot-chocolate kind of guy.”
He shrugged, images of licking her fingers destroying any hope he had of ignoring the flare of attraction between them. “When in Rome…you know.”
Lily moved away from him, wanting to put her arms around him and discovering that she had used up all her courage a couple of hours ago. Having him watch her with that troubled expression made her opt for pouring a cup of coffee. After adding cream and sugar to it, she sat next to him. “How’s your head?”
“Better.” He touched the bandage at his hairline. Without meeting her eyes he added, “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“I’m done,” Annmarie announced. “Can I give Sweetie Pie my milk now?”
Lily looked at her daughter, then the bowl of cereal-flavored milk she was holding up. “You may. Time to go get dressed, sweetie.”
Annmarie climbed down from her chair, set the bowl of milk on the floor near the window, then lifted the cat from the windowsill and set her in front of the bowl. When Annmarie skipped away, Lily glanced back at Quinn, giving in to her need and resting her hand over the top of his.
“Thanks to you,” she said, “I had the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.”
He grasped her fingers for an instant before letting them go, his gaze far too somber when he met hers.
She didn’t need the Ph.D. after her name to recognize the man was uncomfortable in the extreme. Her sisters had both lamented about awkward morning-afters. Personally, she had never experienced one. Though she had fallen asleep in the man’s arms, this morning didn’t count as a morning after, either.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded.