“I’m not— He’s not—” But even as Coop stammered, she was drifting away.

Family? he thought as a ball of ice formed in his stomach. They weren’t a family. Oh, no, he promised himself as he walked around the house to his steps. He hadn’t taken that on.

He liked the kid, sure. What wasn’t to like? And he was damn near nuts about the mother. But that didn’t make them a family. That didn’t make things permanent. Maybe he’d volunteered to spend time with the kid, taught him a few things about ball, pitched him a few, but that didn’t make him Daddy.

He headed straight for the refrigerator, popped the top off a beer and took a long pull.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed having the kid around, and Lord knows he enjoyed being with Zoe. He’d even been sort of pleased when a woman at the pool mistook Keenan for his and commented on what a handsome son he had. But that didn’t mean he was going to start thinking about family health insurance or college funds.

He was single. He liked being single. It meant coming and going as he pleased, planning all-night poker games, spending all day with the sports channel blaring.

He liked working in his own space—that was why he did the bulk of his writing at home, rather than at the paper. He didn’t like people messing with his things or structuring his time or planning outings.

Family life—as he remembered from his childhood—was lousy with outings.

No way was he changing his nice comfortable existence to accommodate a family.

So he’d made a mistake, Coop decided, and stretched out on the couch with his beer. He’d given Zoe and the kid a little too much of his time, a little too much of his attention. It hadn’t been anything he didn’t want to give, but he could see now that the gesture could be misconstrued. Particularly since Zoe had once brought up the L word. Only once, he reminded himself, and he’d like to think that had just been a woman thing.

Still, if he didn’t back off, they might start to depend on him. He shifted uncomfortably as the idea flitted through his mind that he might also come to depend on them.

It was time to reestablish himself as the tenant upstairs.

Keenan raced out of the house next door the minute his mother pulled her car into the drive.

“Hi, Mama, hi! I held my breath for twelve seconds under water!”

Zoe caught him on the fly and swung him twice. “You must be hiding gills in there,” she said, tickling his ribs. “Hi, Mrs. Finkleman.”

“Hi yourself. We’ve had ourselves a fine hour. I sent Coop up for a nap when they got home. He looked like he’d had a rough day.”

“Thanks.” She kissed Keenan’s waiting lips, then smacked her own. “Mmm . . . Cherries.”

“Mr. Finkleman baked them, and they were good.”

“I bet. Did you say thank you?”