Hank, worn out by a day of celebrating, was asleep on the couch, his head resting on Shay’s lap. Mitch grinned, remembering the game of Dungeons and Dragons he and the boy had played earlier.

To keep from looking at Shay again, he watched Alice, who was sitting in a rocking chair, knitting a bright red sweater. These two women and the boy made up a family Mitch wanted very much to be a part of, but he couldn’t risk proposing to Shay again; their relationship was too delicate for that.

Sitting on the floor, Mitch cupped his hands behind his head and leaned back against the chair he didn’t feel like sitting in, grinning when Alice caught him staring at her and winking mischievously in response.

Shay finally finished reading and set the manuscript aside. Her eyes were averted and there was a slight flush in her cheeks and Mitch sat bolt upright.

“You don’t like it,” he said, hating his own vulnerability to this woman’s opinion.

Shay met his gaze with a level stare of her own. “You detest this guy, Mitch. The other chapters were okay, but this one is a—a vendetta.”

“Of course I detest Roget! He’s a murderer!”

“Your emotions have no place in the book, Mitch. You’re a journalist and you’ve got to be objective.”

Hank stirred and muttered something and Mitch thrust himself to his feet, bending to gather the little boy up in his arms. “I’ll put him to bed,” he said through his teeth.

Shay smiled. “My, but you take criticism well, Mr. Prescott.”

Mitch carried Hank into his room, helped him out of his clothes and into bed. “I wish you were around all the time,” the child said with a yawn as Mitch tucked the blankets in around him. “It’s almost like having a dad.”

Mitch smiled and rumpled Hank’s hair with one hand. “I’m doing my best, fella,” he said quietly. “I’m doing my best.”

“Are you going to marry my mom?”

Mitch thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I hope so,” he finally said.

Hank snuggled down into the covers and yawned again, his eyes closed now. “I hope so, too,” he answered.

When Mitch returned to the living room he was shocked to find Shay standing on the couch, holding out a chair, lion-tamer style, and pretending to brandish a whip with one hand. “Back, back!” she cried. To Alice, she said, “There’s nothing more dangerous than a writer who’s just been told that his last chapter stinks!”

Mitch was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “Oh, so now it stinks, does it?”

Shay clamped her nose with two fingers and Mitch was lost. He laughed, wrested the chair from her and pulled her down off the couch and into his arms.

“I think the pie’s done,” Alice chimed, beating a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

Mitch kissed the bridge of Shay’s nose. “You wanna know what makes me maddest of all, lady? You’re right about that last chapter. Still, you could have spared my feelings.”