“Mom!”

“No problem. I had fun. See you tomorrow.”

She sighed, locked up behind him. “Coming,” she called when Liam shouted again. Probably better this way, she thought. She could hardly—maybe—with Beckett while her kids were right upstairs.

Beckett pulled into his slot in the parking lot behind Vesta.

When he started down the walkway to the stairwell, Brad, their plumber, called down from his seat on the dining porch. “Hey, Beck! Rough night at the poker table? Lose your shirt?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

In his apartment, he went directly to the fridge for a beer, then switched on the TV, flopped on the couch.

“Good God.” He felt like he’d just finished running the Boston Marathon.

How did she do it? How the hell did she do all that every day, and probably a lot more? But just the dinner, the squabbles, the mess, the sheer volume of stuff that needed to be remembered, done, handled with three kids. It was mentally and physically exhausting.

Fun, he admitted, but exhausting.

And she’d have to get up in the morning, get them up, dressed, fed. Then go to work. After work, she’d replay—basically—what he’d just done. And with all that, she still had to maintain the house and run a business.

Did women have superpowers?

Regardless, he was sending his mother flowers in the morning.

“When I heard he came home shirtless, I thought, that Clare. She’s a wild woman.” Avery leaned back on her elbows on Clare’s bed.

“More like wild boys.”

“Flying meatballs, bath floods.” Avery shook her head. “And he’s still taking you out tonight. Shows character.”

“Once I convinced Murphy to make me an honorary man, he spilled his guts. Plus I found a couple spaghetti sauce handprints Beckett missed.” She picked up the earrings Hope had selected. “He did great, really, and got out fast. Didn’t even wait for his shirt to dry.”

“Is that code?”

“Not entirely. Though I was going to ask him to stay awhile, maybe open a bottle of wine.”

“You are a wild woman.”

“You know you can put men and sex on the back burner.” To test the earrings, Clare tipped her head from side to side. “In fact, you can take them off the stove altogether. It’s not easy to fit them into the schedule anyway. But . . . once I started thinking about Beckett that way, and realized he thought about me that way . . .”

“The heat got turned up.”

“The pot’s simmering away. It’s not as easy to keep it on the back burner now.”

“Move it up front. Be proactive.”

“I guess I’d better see how it goes tonight first. We’re sure this works, right?” She did a little turn.

“You look fantastic. That shade of blue, turquoise I guess, looks amazing on you.”

Clare narrowed her eyes at her reflection. She liked the dress’s simple lines, just a little flow to the skirt that stopped shy of her knees. “With or without the sweater?”

“Start with, then you can slip out of it later. Yeah.” Avery nodded approval. “A very nice end-of-summer look. Nervous?”

“A little. And excited. I’m going on a date, and for the first time with a man I’m actually interested in.”

“Proactive,” Avery repeated.

“I started back on the pill. Is that proactive or aggressive?”

“It’s just smart. I’ve got to go. I’m closing tonight.” She took Clare’s shoulders. “Have fun, and call me tomorrow and tell me everything.”

“I will.”

She took another moment, studying herself from every angle. Three kids, she thought, but she’d kept in pretty good shape. That was a matter of vigilance and lucky genes.

If tonight went well, if the chemistry continued, she and Beckett could—probably would—end up doing what single adults with chemistry did.

“It’s called sex, Clare,” she muttered to herself. “Just because you haven’t had any in years doesn’t mean you can’t say the word.”

She didn’t even know if she was good at it. She and Clint had enjoyed a healthy, satisfying sex life, but he was the only man she’d been with. And they’d known each other’s rhythm, signals, bodies so well even with, maybe because of, the long separations.

And now, Beckett.

What would it be like with Beckett?

What would she be like with Beckett?

Don’t think about it, she ordered herself, or you’ll never be able to enjoy a simple date. Be in the moment. One step at a time.

She went downstairs. She could hear the boys in the playroom. Loud, but getting along. Saw them ranged around a superhero war as she walked by to the kitchen. Alva sat paging through a garden magazine at the table while the happy sound of popcorn popped in the microwave.

“We’re watching How to Train Your Dragon.”

“Again?”

“Good thing I like it.” Alva tipped down her reading glasses. “Clare, you look beautiful.”

“It’s nice to dress up for a date. Different, but nice.”

“You did a good job of it. And he’s right on time,” Alva added when the doorbell rang. “Want me to get it so you can make an entrance?”

“No, and too late,” she said as Harry shouted I’ll get it. “I’d better go save him from the pack.”

They outnumbered him right inside the door, battering him with questions, begging for a game. She realized she’d gotten used to seeing him in work clothes so it came as a pleasant jolt to study him in black dress pants and a steel gray jacket.

He held a bouquet of pink baby roses in his hand as he grinned down at her boys.

She knew, in that instant, she was a goner.

“Boys, let Beckett get in the house at least.”

His grin softened to a smile when he looked at her. His eyes warmed. “You look great.”

“Mom got dressed up ’cause she’s going out,” Murphy informed him.

“Me, too. These are for you.”

“They’re beautiful. Thanks.” She saw Harry’s solemn, searching look as she bent her head to sniff the blooms. Instinctively she ran a hand down his back. “Come on in while I put these in water. I’ll—”

“Mom.”

“Just a minute, Liam.”

“Mom, I don’t feel good. My belly hurts.”

As she shifted toward him, he bent over and threw up on Beckett’s shoes.

“Oh God.” She thrust the flowers back at Beckett. “Harry, go tell Mrs. Ridenour that Liam got sick, and ask her for a towel.”

“Wow,” Beckett said as Clare crouched to feel Liam’s forehead.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just let me—Baby, you’re a little warm.”

“I don’t feel good.”