He winced as she stormed from the room. Strike one, he thought. And he hadn’t even seen the pitch.

But the game wasn’t over, he thought grimly, until the fat lady sang.

Zoe was still steaming when she came home from work. Of all the arrogant, interfering, self-absorbed idiots she’d ever known, J. Cooper McKinnon took the gold medal. Imagine him telling her that marrying him was a good idea, then ticking off all the advantages she’d gain.

Oh, he thought he was a prize.

One day he’s telling her to get any ideas of sneaking him into a relationship out of her head. As if she’d been baiting traps for him. The next he’s taking pity on her and offering her a big male helping hand.

She should have bitten it off.

Not once, not once had he said what she would bring to him, what he felt for her, what he wanted. Not once had he brought up the fact that he could or would accept another man’s child as his own.

She jerked open the front door, slammed it. He could take his half-baked proposal and sit on it.

“Mama! Hey, Mama!” Keenan zipped into the living room and grabbed her hand. “Come on, come on. We’ve got a surprise.”

“What surprise? What are you doing home, Keenan? You’re supposed to be at the Finklemans’.”

“Coop’s here.” He tugged manfully on her hand. “We have a surprise. And we have a secret. And you have to come now!”

“All right, I’m coming.” She braced herself and let Keenan drag her into the kitchen.

There were flowers, banks of them, vases and baskets overflowing on the counters, on the floor, on the windowsills. There was music, some soft, dreamy classical sonata, on the radio. The table was set, crystal she’d never seen before glinting in the sunlight, a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket. And Coop was standing there, in a neatly pressed shirt and slacks.

“It’s a surprise,” Keenan announced gleefully. “We made everything look nice so you’d like it. And Mrs. Finkleman said we could use the glasses and the plates. And Mr. Finkleman made his special chicken ’cause it’s resistible.”

“Irresistible,” Coop said, his eyes on Zoe. “You, ah, said you didn’t need flowers and candlelight, but I’ve never taken you out on a date. I thought this was the next best thing.”

“Do you like it, Mama? Do you?”

“Yes, it’s very nice.” She bent down to kiss Keenan. “Thank you.”

“I get to go to the Finklemans’ so you can have romance.”

“Ah, come on, kid.” Coop scooped Keenan up. “Let’s get you started. You were supposed to keep quiet about it,” he muttered when he carried the boy outside.

“What’s romance?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Satisfied with that, Keenan draped his arm around Coop’s neck. “Are you gonna tell Mama the secret about us all getting married?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And you’ll live with us and you can be my Daddy and that’ll be okay?”