Bountiful

darkened copper penny watching me from a barstool. I’d seen him around a few times. He and his friends liked the booth in the back corner. Mr. Hot liked Vermont ales, and when his friends were around, they sometimes drank tequila. The top-shelf stuff. And they were good tippers.

He grinned. And then he did something even more unexpected. He reached over and pulled me into a brief, tight hug. “It’s good to see you again,” he whispered right into my ear. “I can’t imagine the time you’ve had.”

When I got a look at her expression, a small bark of shocked laughter escaped from my throat. Her face was miniature, but it was all business. Outta my way, mister. And her eyes—dark brown, with an intensity that was all her mother. The familiarity stole my breath.

“It’s him,” I said with a sigh. “Nicole’s sperm donor.”

Nicole’s thatch of red hair was a shock against his black T-shirt. The bright shade of her hair—like a new penny—was both a blessing and a curse.

But the truth was that I’d rarely gone down on anyone before Zara.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I kissed the strip of skin where her T-shirt rode up. I nuzzled her bellybutton with my nose and then kissed my way upward, toward her breasts.

“Nah,” I said softly. Zara loved her rules. Sex only. No sleepovers—she’d kicked me out every single time.

But even in my arms she kept a tighter lid on herself than any other woman I’d met. Sometimes when I looked at her, she seemed to be focused somewhere else—as if her soul was tuned in to a back channel that none of us mere mortals could hear.

It was almost as if he’d aired out the room with his calm presence.