“That’s great,” I said.

“Thanks,” John said dryly. Okay, maybe I did sound a little like I was praising DJ for using the potty. He strolled toward me. “How was the farmers’ market?”

“Busy. Lots of people Christmas shopping.” Just talk to him, Jo urged in my head. I cleared my throat. “I saw Lisa Roberts. Patrick and Jason’s mom?”

“Jason’s a good kid. Good wrestler. No pin, but he scored a couple takedowns. Won on points. He keeps it up, he could make Regionals.”

“His mom seemed really glad you were there with him. She actually thanked me.” Nobody ever came up and thanked me because my husband had arranged financing for their car.

“Sorry I couldn’t watch the kids today. I hope they were okay.”

“The kids were fine. Everything was fine. John, what I said about Lisa . . . I was proud of you.”

Faint color stained his cheeks. He shook his head, dismissing the compliment. “Did you see your buddy Carl today?”

“He stopped by.” I changed the subject. “And Sallie Moffat took the twins to the park.”

“Nice of her.”

“Yes.” I searched for something else to say, some topic to bridge the gap between us. Something that would make our conversation less like a bad first date. “She and Ned are going to Hawaii in January.”

He gave me an unreadable look. Nodded at DJ, sleeping in my arms. “Daisy in the car?”

“Yes. They fell asleep at Mom’s,” I said apologetically.

“I’ll get her.”

“Thanks.” He moved around me. Not touching. Even when we weren’t connecting, he was a dutiful dad. “Thank you for the flowers,” I added softly.

He stopped in the doorway. “I couldn’t find a vase.”

He’d jammed the bouquet into the pitcher I used for iced tea. I smiled, my heart unfurling like one of those roses. “That works.”

“You need to fix them to make them look better.” His gaze met mine. “You’re good at that.”

Was that what he thought? That I had to rearrange everything? “They look beautiful to me.”

He smiled a little. “Glad you like them.”

“I do.” Two simple words, like the echo of a promise.

He leaned his forearm on the doorway above my head. I felt a little flutter, a tingle of the old attraction. “I bought a bottle of wine, too.”

“Wine is good.” Wine made it easier to talk. To say yes. Yes to laughter and vulnerability, to love and letting go. I moistened my lips. “Sorry I wasn’t home for dinner.”

He leaned closer. He smelled good, warm and familiar, like fabric softener and sweat. Like John. “We can open it later.”

His gaze dropped to my mouth. The tingles spread. I raised my face for his kiss.

DJ mumbled and burrowed deeper into my neck.

John straightened, his hand dropping briefly to our son’s head. “Better get this little guy to bed.”

I swallowed my disappointment. “Aren’t you coming up?”

“As soon as I get Daisy.”