didn’t have a damn thing that he could offer her.
Why even think about that, moron? he told himself, yanking on his clothes. Sex without commitment, he was used to. Somehow those words in relation to Lily sounded dirty. What he had felt with her wasn’t. Not even close.
He had nothing to offer her. Not a woman who had been as happily married as she clearly had been. Not a woman with a cute little girl like Annmarie. He’d done that once before—acquired the ready-made family he had been so sure he wanted. One word described that experience. Disaster.
He raked a hand through his hair and went to the window. Thanks to the sunshine, the water in the cove beyond the house sparkled and the islands in the distance rose from the water like mountains. The scene was so idyllic he was tempted to hope for the possibilities that skipped through his mind.
The daydream lasted for about a second. Until the old accusation, so true it hurt, ripped through his head. You’re too damn scared to let anyone love you. However much you’re hurting me…you’re killing yourself. You just don’t know it.
Oh, he knew. His ex-wife had been right on all counts. No way could he risk going there again.
His emotions in turmoil, he glanced around the room to make sure he had all of his things. Shoes in hand, he pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. To his relief, the door to Annmarie’s room was closed—with any luck, Lily was still asleep. Coward that he was, he didn’t want to face her.
He crept down the stairs. Uncertainty crawled through his gut, reminding him of being a child in a strange house with people he didn’t know, sure that soon he’d be sent somewhere else because he always was. He hated the feeling and reminded himself he was a man, no longer powerless like the scared boy he had once been.
Downstairs, he went through the hallway to the kitchen. As soon as he put on his shoes, escape was within reach. Seconds away.
“Hi, Mr. Quinn,” Annmarie said from the kitchen chair where she was sitting, a coloring book in front of her. “I’m having hot chocolate. Do you want some, too?”
“I…” His gaze darted around the room. “Where’s your mom?”
“Sleeping.” She sighed and took another sip of her 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
