"I know. That only makes it more seductive."
He caught her panicked glance toward the doorway when they heard Simon coming back. Casually, Brad moved aside and let Zoe turn back to the stove.
"Are we going to eat now?" Simon demanded.
"Just putting the spaghetti in. Go ahead and sit down. We'll start on the salad."
She set a pretty table, Brad thought. Colorful plates, festive bowls, linens in a cheerful pattern. There were candles burning, and since Simon made no comment about them, Brad concluded they weren't unusual at the McCourt table.
He thought she was relaxing into it, by degrees. The boy was responsible for most of that, of course. He was full of chatter, questions, comments, all of which he managed to get out even though he ate like a stevedore.
Not that Brad could blame him. Simon's mother made a hell of a plate of spaghetti.
He had a second helping himself. "I like your pictures in the living room," Brad said to Zoe.
"The postcards? I collect them from people I know who go places."
"We make the frames," Simon put in. "Mom has a miter box. Maybe one day we'll go places, and we'll send people postcards. Right, Mom?"
"Where do you want to go?"
"I don't know." She twirled pasta absently around her fork. "Somewhere."
"We're going to Italy one day, and eat spaghetti over there." Grinning, Simon stuffed more in his mouth.
"They don't make it any better than your mom does."
"You been over there and stuff?"
"Yeah. The picture you have of the bridge in Florence? I've stood there."
"Is it really cool?" Simon wanted to know.
"It's really cool."
"They've got a place over there that's got water for streets."
"Venice, Simon," Zoe reminded him. "They're canals. Have you been to Venice?" she asked Brad.
"Yes. It's beautiful. You go everywhere in boats," he told Simon. "Or you walk. They have water taxis and water buses."
"Get out!"
"Really. There aren't any cars in Venice, and no roads for them. I've got some pictures somewhere. I'll dig them out and show them to you."
He shifted his attention back to Zoe. "How's the work progressing?"
"Dana's bookshelves came in today. We dropped everything to set them up. It was a real moment for us. And the windows came in." She cleared her throat. "I want to thank you for arranging the installation. It was very generous of you."
"Uh-huh. Did you get my note?" She twirled the last of her pasta on her fork. "Yes. Despite that, it was generous of you."
He had to laugh. "Think about it this way. Indulgence has brought considerable business into HomeMakers over the last couple of weeks. This was our way of thanking you for your patronage. So, did they get all the windows in?"
"I imagine you know the answer to that already." He was a man, she was sure, who knew that whatever he ordered done was done.
He acknowledged that with a tip of his glass. "The crew said they looked good—and that they got cookies and coffee out of the deal."
Amused, she looked down at his plate. "Looks like you got two helpings of spaghetti out of it."
He grinned at her, and lifted the bottle to pour more wine into her glass.
"I'm stuffed," Simon announced. "Can we go play a video game now? Me and Brad?"
"Sure."
Simon popped up, and Brad noted that he took his dishes and set them on the counter by the sink.
"Can I let Moe back in?"
Zoe drilled a finger into Simon's belly. "Keep him out of my closets."
"Okay."
"I'm going to give your mother a hand with the dishes first," Brad said.
"You don't have to do that. Really," she insisted even as Brad cleared his plate like Simon had done. "I've got a system in here, plus Simon's been looking forward to the match all day. He's only got an hour before he has to get ready for bed."
"Come on. Come on." Simon grabbed Brad's hand and tugged. "Mom doesn't mind. Right, Mom?"
"No, I don't mind. Everybody out of my kitchen, and that includes the dog."
"I'll come back and dry as soon as I beat the midget," Brad told her. "It won't take long."
"In your dreams," Simon sang out as he pulled Brad from the room.
It did her heart good to hear her son enjoying himself while she went through the routine of straightening the kitchen. Simon had never had an adult male take a sincere interest in him. Now, with Flynn and Jordan and Bradley, he had three.
And, she had to admit, Bradley was his favorite. There'd been some click between them, she thought. Some mysterious male chemistry. It was something she not only had to accept, but also should encourage.
Before she did so, though, she had to make certain Brad understood that whatever happened, or didn't, between them, Simon wasn't to be shrugged off.
She finished the kitchen, then brewed a pot of coffee and arranged a tray for it and a plate of chocolate biscotti.
When she carried it in, there was Brad, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Simon. The dog was snoring away with his head propped on Brad's knee.
The room was reverberating with the sounds and sights of WWE Smackdown.
"Meat! You are meat!" Simon chanted as he frantically worked the controls.
"Not yet, buddy boy. Take that!"
Zoe watched an enormous blond wrestler heave his burly opponent onto the mat and deliver a punishing body slam.
Next came grappling, grunts, horrible shrieks—and not all of them from the speakers.
Then Simon collapsed onto his back, arms spread, mouth gaping.
"Defeat," he groaned. "I have tasted defeat."
"Yeah, get used to it." Brad reached over, drummed a hand on Simon's belly. "You've met the master and now know his greatness."
"Next time you die."
"You'll never take me in Smackdown."
"Yeah? Here's a sample of what's to come."
He flipped over, and with a whoop leaped onto Brad's back.
There was more grappling, Zoe noted, more grunts, and the kind of shrieks that warmed her heart. She didn't even flinch when Brad flipped Simon over his head and pinned him on the rug.
"Yield, small, pathetic challenger."
"Never!" Simon hooted it out, and laughed from the gut, being ruthlessly tickled while he tried to twist his face away from Moe's slurping tongue. "My ferocious dog will chew you to pieces."
"Oh, yeah, I'm trembling with fear. Give up?"
Breathless, tears of laughter streaming, Simon wiggled and squirmed another ten seconds. "Okay, okay. No more tickling, or I'll puke!"
"Not on my rug," Zoe said.
At her voice, Brad turned his head, Simon squirmed. And his elbow connected, point first, with Brad's mouth.
"Oops." Simon sucked in a snicker.
Brad dabbed at the little cut with the back of his hand. "You're going to pay for that," he said in a dangerous tone that had Zoe's fingers jerking on the tray.
In a blur, Brad was on his feet, and horrors flashed into her mind. She was already opening her mouth to shout, already moving forward to protect her son, when Brad hauled him up, hung him upside down, and had him howling with laughter again.
As her knees went weak and the muscles in her arms began to tremble, she set down the coffee tray with a clatter of dishes.
"Look, Mom! I'm upside down!"
"So I see. You're going to have to get right side up again and go brush your teeth."
"But can't I—" He broke off, as Moe licked his face.
"School night, Simon. Go on, get ready for bed. Then you can come out and say good night to Bradley."
Though he was watching Zoe now, Brad rotated Simon until the boy's feet hit the ground. "Get going. I'll give you a rematch soon."
"Sweet. When?"
"How about Friday night? You can come over, bring your mom along. We'll have dinner at my place, then suit up in the game room."
"All right! Can we, Mom?" Anticipating her answer, he flung his arms around her waist. "Don't say we'll see. Just say yes. Please!"