“Can I let Moe back in?”

Zoe drilled a finger into Simon’s belly. “Keep him out of my closets.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to give your mother a hand with the dishes first,” Brad said.

“You don’t have to do that. Really,” she insisted even as Brad cleared his plate like Simon had done. “I’ve got a system in here, plus Simon’s been looking forward to the match all day. He’s only got an hour before he has to get ready for bed.”

“Come on. Come on.” Simon grabbed Brad’s hand and tugged. “Mom doesn’t mind. Right, Mom?”

“No, I don’t mind. Everybody out of my kitchen, and that includes the dog.”

“I’ll come back and dry as soon as I beat the midget,” Brad told her. “It won’t take long.”

“In your dreams,” Simon sang out as he pulled Brad from the room.

It did her heart good to hear her son enjoying himself while she went through the routine of straightening the kitchen. Simon had never had an adult male take a sincere interest in him. Now, with Flynn and Jordan and Bradley, he had three.

And, she had to admit, Bradley was his favorite. There’d been some click between them, she thought. Some mysterious male chemistry. It was something she not only had to accept, but also should encourage.

Before she did so, though, she had to make certain Brad understood that whatever happened, or didn’t, between them, Simon wasn’t to be shrugged off.

She finished the kitchen, then brewed a pot of coffee and arranged a tray for it and a plate of chocolate biscotti.

When she carried it in, there was Brad, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Simon. The dog was snoring away with his head propped on Brad’s knee.

The room was reverberating with the sounds and sights of WWE Smackdown.

“Meat! You are meat!” Simon chanted as he frantically worked the controls.

“Not yet, buddy boy. Take that!”

Zoe watched an enormous blond wrestler heave his burly opponent onto the mat and deliver a punishing body slam.

Next came grappling, grunts, horrible shrieks—and not all of them from the speakers.

Then Simon collapsed onto his back, arms spread, mouth gaping.

“Defeat,” he groaned. “I have tasted defeat.”

“Yeah, get used to it.” Brad reached over, drummed a hand on Simon’s belly. “You’ve met the master and now know his greatness.”

“Next time you die.”

“You’ll never take me in Smackdown.”

“Yeah? Here’s a sample of what’s to come.”

He flipped over, and with a whoop leaped onto Brad’s back.

There was more grappling, Zoe noted, more grunts, and the kind of shrieks that warmed her heart. She didn’t even flinch when Brad flipped Simon over his head and pinned him on the rug.

“Yield, small, pathetic challenger.”

“Never!” Simon hooted it out, and laughed from the gut, being ruthlessly tickled while he tried to twist his face away from Moe’s slurping tongue. “My ferocious dog will chew you to pieces.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m trembling with fear. Give up?”

Breathless, tears of laughter streaming, Simon wiggled and squirmed another ten seconds. “Okay, okay. No more tickling, or I’ll puke!”

“Not on my rug,” Zoe said.

At her voice, Brad turned his head, Simon squirmed. And his elbow connected, point first, with Brad’s mouth.

“Oops.” Simon sucked in a snicker.

Brad dabbed at the little cut with the back of his hand. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said in a dangerous tone that had Zoe’s fingers jerking on the tray.

In a blur, Brad was on his feet, and horrors flashed into her mind. She was already opening her mouth to shout, already moving forward to protect her son, when Brad hauled him up, hung him upside down, and had him howling with laughter again.

As her knees went weak and the muscles in her arms began to tremble, she set down the coffee tray with a clatter of dishes.

“Look, Mom! I’m upside down!”

“So I see. You’re going to have to get right side up again and go brush your teeth.”

“But can’t I—” He broke off, as Moe licked his face.

“School night, Simon. Go on, get ready for bed. Then you can come out and say good night to Bradley.”

Though he was watching Zoe now, Brad rotated Simon until the boy’s feet hit the ground. “Get going. I’ll give you a rematch soon.”

“Sweet. When?”

“How about Friday night? You can come over, bring your mom along. We’ll have dinner at my place, then suit up in the game room.”

“All right! Can we, Mom?” Anticipating her answer, he flung his arms around her waist. “Don’t say we’ll see. Just say yes. Please!”

Her knees were still knocking. “Yes. Okay.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a fierce hug. Whistling for the dog, he danced out of the room.

“You thought I was going to hit him.” It was said with such complete astonishment that Zoe felt her stomach pitch.

“I just—you sounded so . . . I’m sorry. I know better.”

“I don’t make a habit of knocking kids around.”

“Of course you don’t. It was knee-jerk.”

“Did somebody else hurt him? Were you involved with someone who hit him?”

“No. No,” she repeated, struggling for calm now. “There’s never been anyone who’s paid him enough mind for that. And I’d like to see somebody try to raise a hand to him when I’m around.”

Apparently satisfied by that, he nodded. “Okay. You can rest assured it won’t be me.”

“I insulted you. I don’t like to insult anyone—well, not by mistake anyway. It was just that it happened so fast, and you sounded mad, and . . . your lip’s bleeding.”

“I was just messing with him. And as I recall, my own mother used to say if you start all that horseplay, somebody’s going to get hurt.” He tapped a finger on his sore lip. “You people are always right, aren’t you?”

“And now you’re trying to make me feel better.” Following her instincts, she picked up a napkin from the tray. Without thinking, she put a tip of it in her mouth to dampen it, then dabbed it on his lip. “When I walked in just now and saw the two of you together, it was nice. You could’ve let him win, too, but you didn’t. And that’s nice, because I don’t want him growing up thinking he should always win. You’ve got to know how to lose, too, and . . .”