She served her drinks, took an order from another table and thanked God her break was coming up in five minutes.

When she saw Coop walk in, her first thought was Keenan. But the sick alarm passed almost as quickly as it had come. Coop was relaxed, obviously scoping the place out. When his eyes met hers, he nodded easily and made his way through the scattered tables.

“I thought I’d stop in for a drink.”

“This is the place for it. Do you want to sit at the bar, or do you want a table?”

“A table. Got a minute?”

“At quarter after I’ve got fifteen of them. Why?”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Okay. What can I get you?”

“Coffee, black.”

“Coffee, black. Have a seat.”

He watched her head toward the bar and tried not to dwell on how attractive she looked walking away. He hadn’t come in because he wanted a drink, but because she seemed like a nice woman in a tight skirt—spot, he corrected. A tight spot.

Get hold of yourself, Coop, he warned himself. He knew better than to let a pair of long legs cloud his judgment. He’d only come in to ask a few questions, get the full story. That was what he did, and he was good at it. Just as he was good at dissecting a game, any game, and finding those small triumphs and small mistakes that influenced the outcome.

“We’ve been busy tonight.” Zoe set two coffees on the table before sliding onto a chair across from Coop. She let out a long, heartfelt sigh, then smiled. “This is the first time I’ve been off my feet in four hours.”

“I thought you worked in a flower shop.”

“I do, three days a week.” She slid her cramped feet out of her shoes. “Around Mother’s Day, Christmas, Easter—you know, the big flower days, I can squeeze in more.” She sipped the coffee she’d loaded with sugar and let it pump into her system. “It’s just a small shop, and Fred—that’s the owner—only keeps on a couple of part-timers. That way he doesn’t have to pay any of the bennies, like hospitalization, sick leave.”

“That’s lousy.”

“Hey, it’s a job. I like it. It’s just Fred and Martha—she’s his wife. They’ve taught me a lot about flowers and plants.”

Someone pumped quarters into the juke. The room heated up with music. Coop leaned over the table so that she could hear him. For a moment he lost the thread somewhere in her big brown eyes.

“Have I met you somewhere before?” he asked her.

“In the apartment.”

“No, I mean . . .” He shook his head, let it go. “Uh, why here?”

“Why here what?”

“Why do you work here?”

She blinked, those long lashes fluttering down, then up. “For a paycheck.”

“It doesn’t seem like you should be working in a bar.”

“Excuse me?” Zoe wasn’t sure if she should be amused or insulted. She chose the former simply because it was her nature. “Do you have a problem with cocktail waitresses?”