Busily mixing cookie batter, Zoe glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Three minutes past three. Exactly three minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked. Her back, neck, knees, hands and nerves felt as if she’d been through a war. This had to be the longest day she could ever remember.
Every task had taken ages to accomplish. She’d spent an hour making a snowman, and approximately five hours getting the kids in and out of their snowsuits. At home, she could have tossed in a wash and made a few beds in minutes; those simple projects had stretched to an hour because of little boy-type interruptions. Four games of Go Fish had lasted forever. She’d pushed Magneto around in a mock battle with Wolverine on the living room rug for at least a lifetime, but of course all of that was an exaggeration. She knew darn well she’d never been out of the kitchen for more than four minutes between drinks, spills, lunches, cocoa and cookie baking.
She glanced at the clock again. Four minutes past three. Rafe wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She certainly didn’t want him home; she wanted him busy at work building a serious relationship with Sarah, but she felt so…stranded.
Was it normal for two four-year-old boys to try to kill each other every fifteen minutes? What was the appropriate thing to say when one discovered them practicing their aim from three feet away from the toilet? Had Janet really let them eat their lunch upside down? How much cookie batter could she remember her mother letting her lick without risking her getting sick?
She’d die if the kids got sick.
“How’s that look, Zoe?”
She glanced at the cookie sheet. Some of the blobs of batter would have filled a teaspoon; others would have filled half a cup. “Wonderful,” she said.
“What are we going to do after this, Snookums?”
Die. Nap. “I could read you a story,” she suggested.
Reading a story, she discovered, was a ritual. Thumbs went in mouths; each boy glued himself to one side of her; and since she had to put her arms around both of them, the boys took turns holding the book. Interruptions like oven buzzers for burned cookies were followed by a vigorous resettling in the same spot on the couch. They were so quiet that she vaguely worried that they’d both gone into a catatonic state, but that posed yet another question to ask Rafe. Where was the nearest children’s bookstore?
At four forty-five, the kids seemed reasonably settled in front of the television, and Zoe slipped into the bathroom to wash her face. Her appearance in the mirror appalled her. She not only felt as if she’d been through a war, she looked it. Hastily, she washed, tucked, brushed and was just reaching for her mascara wand and lipstick when both boys showed up at the door.
“Whatcha doing, Snookums?” Parker demanded.
“I thought you liked that cartoon…”
“The screen’s all wavy. What’s that?”
“Mascara.” Zoe carefully removed a lipstick tube from Aaron’s hand.
“What’s it for?”
Alarmed, she saw Aaron was ready to cry. “To make your eyes look bigger,” she said distractedly to Parker.
“What’s wrong with your eyes the way they are?”
“Why can’t I put some on?” Aaron demanded. “Mommy let me put hers on.”
“Look, you can spray perfume on me, okay?” Zoe said desperately to Aaron.
“What’s perfume have to do with eyes?” Parker looked irritated. “Look, numbskull, I’m trying to talk to Snookums.”
“Oh, shut up, Parker. What’s this?” Aaron had discovered her cosmetics bag, and he wasn’t content until he’d seen for himself exactly what every item was.
As a result, Zoe was made up for a formal ball when Rafe walked in the door, and all three of them were wearing perfume and sporting powdered noses.
His nostrils flared slightly when both boys ran to him with a whoop of a hello. Zoe flushed clear to her toes and headed for the kitchen. Cookie pans sat on the counter; she’d forgotten them. She’d meant to have everything cleaned up by the time Rafe arrived. She’d also meant to have dinner started.
Rafe followed her in, toting the twins. Hurriedly rinsing dishes and wiping off the counters, Zoe heard an embarrassing stream of conversation about her eyes, which needed black stuff, her lopsided snowman and her inability to win at Go Fish.
On top of that, her heart started thumping the minute he walked in the door and hadn’t stopped since. She was only glad to see him because of the boys, of course. Except that when those blue eyes pounced on her, she was inclined to completely forget the boys and Sarah and remember nothing but the night before…how intimately he’d held her, how strong and warm his embrace had been, how comfortable and natural it had felt to turn to him.
“Nope, we’re not having macaroni and cheese again,” Rafe told Parker. “We’re taking Zoe out to dinner.”
No wonder her knees went weak. Not that Zoe wanted to be put to the test, but there was a good chance she’d have sold her soul to the devil rather than wash any more dishes. “You think we can manage them? I mean, out in public?” She felt she had to voice a token objection.
“Of course we can. You boys go wash your faces.” Zoe headed for the door with the troops, but Rafe grabbed her hand. “Not you,” he said gravely. “You look fine. In fact, you look incredibly good.”
The compliment startled her, but not for long. “You don’t understand. No rational person would leave them alone in a bathroom together.”
“Nonsense.” His thumb dawdled on her wrist, tracing the delicate veins, quickening her pulse. She glanced down to see her palm lying in his, limply accepting a touch that was dangerously close to a caress, inviting more. Had a few hours with a couple of small kids really made her feel that desperate for contact? Hand, would you move? Please? “How was work?” She had to find something to say.
“I was surrounded by magnetometers and scintillation counters. Now how did you survive today?”
“Fine.”
“No, you didn’t. How bad was it?” When she opened her mouth to deny any problem, he shook his head. “Look, there’s no reason to lie, not with me. I already know how you feel about kids, but it isn’t just that. You think I can’t appreciate how hard your day has been? I don’t know any more about parenting than you do, and I think I made it pretty clear that there’s no way in hell kids could fit in my lifestyle. Kiddo, if you can complain to anyone, it’s me.”
“Rafe, I don’t think it would be as impossible as you think to have them fit into your life-”
“The only reason it’s working at all is because you’re here,” he said firmly. He knew that if she thought for a minute he could cope with the boys alone, she’d run away. With deliberate emphasis, he continued, “If I’d wanted kids, Zoe, I would have taken on the responsibility long before this.”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She’d hoped so much that his feelings were at least starting to change. “You know, they behave like angels for you.”
“Yeah. Because I’m six feet three. Only one of these days, the little devils are going to discover that I’m scared witless of them.”
He made her smile. In fact, he made her smile all through dinner. He never even blinked when a French fry went flying through the air or when Parker let out a burp that sent both boys into fits of giggles. He answered what seemed like four thousand questions beginning with the word why, wiped up a spill and escorted each little boy to the men’s room at least nine hundred times.
With Zoe, he barely exchanged five words. Who could talk? Zoe hadn’t been in a family restaurant in a long time. Mothers were wolfing down their food in the vague hope they’d finish before the kids got antsy. Fathers were radiating patience. The route to the bathrooms needed a traffic light. The noise level rivaled that of a baseball stadium on opening day.