Hannah tackled the float valiantly. Chin in palm, I watched her, deep within my dark mood, but after a while I shifted my chair closer to hers. I spooned mascarpone into her mouth. Brandy syrup drizzled down her chin. She licked it away and I kissed her. So sweet, those lips, and the way her mouth worked against mine.

Because we were alone, I gripped her thigh and dragged it over my lap.

Her short dress rode up. Her leg brushed my cock.

We laughed and let go of one another.

“Even I wouldn’t try that here,” I said, “with our poor waiter hovering somewhere.”

“Hovering in terror.”

“What?” I licked a daub of cream from her cupid’s bow. We got tangled up again, kissing and snickering.

“You were so mean to him!” She shook with giggles. Her brows drew down in mock severity. “‘We want’”—laughter bubbled out of her, her faux male voice trembling—“‘we want to see the dessert menu! Now! Where is her fucking float?’”

“Ha!” I leaned back and admired Hannah’s amusement—the way it lit her face.

“You know, I’m surprised the prospect of a one-man audience disturbs you.” She stroked her chin. “I read something somewhere about exhibitionism…”

“Not now.” I glowered at her.

“Oh, I know. I haven’t actually agreed yet.”

“Yet?”

She shrugged and sipped her float. Pretty, mischievous Hannah … I smiled at her.

“You don’t have to agree,” I said. “You know, I’ve never done that with anyone.”

She glanced at me quickly. “No?”

“No. It’s something I want … wanted to try, that’s all.” I narrowed my eyes. “With you.”

The image, the idea of exposing Hannah—and enjoying her in front of others—blinked into my mind. I breathed out slowly. Fuck …

“Let’s go,” she whispered in my ear. “It’s too warm in here. I’m tipsy.”

I left our waiter an exorbitant tip. Hannah approved. We held hands and strolled around Denver, both of us a little drunk. I told her about Marion, the realtor Pam recommended.

“We spoke on the phone. She seems very capable. I gave her our price range and she’ll send us some listings before the weekend.”

“What’s our price range?” Hannah smirked. “One million to—”

“I said two-fifty and up.”

“Two hundred and fifty … thousand?”

“Mm. The price of your average suburban shanty. Happy?”

“So happy.” She hugged me around the middle. I lifted her feet off the sidewalk.

“It’s heaven to make you happy,” I whispered into her hair.

Hannah prevailed upon my good mood, asking if she could deliver the food I’d bought for Chrissy. “And the check, too.”

“Sure.” I shrugged. “I suppose so. That whole-grain bread is awful anyway.”

“Let’s get a dog when we have a house.” She swung our joined hands like a child.

“Fine,” I said, “but no cats. I hate cats. A dog would be all right, so long as he doesn’t bother Laurence.”

“He!” Hannah laughed. “What if I want a girl?”

We exchanged a fast, alarmed look. Were we still talking about dogs? I quickened my pace, waving a hand.

“He, she … I’m fine with whatever.”

I felt Hannah’s eyes on me, but I refused to look at her.

“Matt, I—”

“Please. Not now.” Children. I had wanted to talk about this, and now I was afraid to talk about it. What if she said something finalizing and I couldn’t change her mind?

“I know what you were thinking about,” she said.

She pulled me to a stop. We sat on a bench and watched the nighttime traffic.

“I’m not ready.” Her tone was cautious.

“Mm.”

“I might never be.”

I looked at her. Now it was Hannah’s turn to avoid eye contact.

The weight of her words settled on me—never—and I sat in silence, stunned by how much I wanted what she didn’t. A little Matt-Hannah person. A family. Fucking hell …

“I only thought…,” I started. “Well, I wanted—one day—it’s only occurred to me lately—”

“I basically raised my brother and sister.”

“What?” I frowned.

“Yeah. Um, Jay is nine years younger than I am. Chrissy is six years younger. Honestly, I thought it was normal … until I made friends in high school and realized, well, that it wasn’t normal.” She shrugged. “Dad worked really hard and Mom had some anxiety issues when we were growing up. She was a stay-at-home mom, technically, but a lot of times she just … wasn’t around. I knew how to change a diaper when I was seven. I got, like, CPR certified at ten.”

“Is that even legal?”

Hannah nodded. “The older I got, the more Mom relied on me. She would come home and I had fed the kids and put them to bed. And they would ask me stuff before even thinking to ask her. Could they go to a friend’s house, have a snack before dinner, watch TV?”

“Damn…”

“Yeah. By the time I went to college, Jay and Chrissy could fend for themselves, and Mom got some of her issues figured out. She got on medication and started working and stuff. But from ten to nineteen”—Hannah looked at me earnestly—“I sort of had to be a mother, and I didn’t like it. I don’t know if it would be different if the child was mine, or if it would be the same … crushing responsibility, total loss of freedom…”