He pulled it out for her, and was pleased when she narrowed her eyes to study it. “I do a column. J. Cooper McKinnon on sports. ‘All in the Game’?”

“Oh.” It meant nothing to her. The sports page wasn’t her choice of reading material. But the smile had appeased her. He didn’t look so much like a thug when he smiled. And the smear of paint decorating the lean, tanned face added just enough comedy to soothe her. “I guess it’s all right, then. I wasn’t expecting to show the apartment for a couple of days yet. It’s not ready.” She held up the can, set it down again. “I’m still painting.”

“I noticed.”

She laughed at that. It was a full-throated, smoky sound that went with the natural huskiness of her voice. “Guess you did. I’m Zoe Fleming.” She crouched down to dampen a rag with paint remover.

“Thanks.” He rubbed the rag over his cheek. “The ad said immediate occupancy.”

“Well, I figured I’d be finished in here by tomorrow, when the ad was scheduled to run. Are you from the area?”

“I’ve got a place downtown. I’m looking for something with a little more space, a little more atmosphere.”

“This is a pretty good-sized apartment. It was converted about eight years ago. The guy who owned it had it done for his son, and when he died, the son sold it and moved to California. He wanted to write sitcoms.”

Coop walked over to check out the view. He moved fluidly, Zoe thought, like a man who knew how to stay light and ready on his feet. She’d had the impression of wiry strength when her body tumbled into his. And good strong hands. Quick ones, too. She pursed her lips. It might be handy to have a man around.

“Is it just you, Mr. McKinnon?” She thought wistfully how nice it would be if he had a family—another child for Keenan to play with.

“Just me.” The place felt right, he decided. It would be good to get out of a box that was just one more box in a building of boxes, to smell grass now and then. Barbecue smoke. “I can move in over the weekend.”

She hadn’t thought it would be so easy, and she nibbled her lip as she thought it through. She’d never been a landlady before, but she’d been a tenant, and she figured she knew the ropes. “I’ll need first and last months’ rent.”

“Yeah.”

“And, ah, references.”

“I’ll give you the number of the management company that handles my building. You can call Personnel at the paper. Have you got a lease for me to sign?”

She didn’t. She’d checked out a book from the library, and she’d meant to type up a scaled-down copy of a lease from it the next morning. “I’ll have it tomorrow. Don’t you want to look at the rest of the apartment, ask any questions?” She’d been practicing her landlady routine for days.