"Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself when you fell?"

"Positive." Nothing but her pride, not that she would admit that out loud.

Sammie placed the cups—two hot chocolates and a small plastic cup of ice—on the table then slid onto the bench, moving over to make room for Clare. But her daughter clung to Jon instead, her head resting on his shoulder. He didn't even hesitate, just slid into the booth across from her and readjusted Clare on his lap.

Sammie frowned, tried to ignore the flash of hurt that pierced her. It was a good thing that Clare had bonded so quickly with her father. Right? Yes, of course it was.

Sammie slid back out then leaned over, her hands reaching for Clare's jacket. "Her coat needs to come off, so she doesn't get overheated."

"I've got it." Jon flashed her a smile then unzipped Clare's jacket, easily sliding the sleeves from her arms. Sammie stood there, feeling like a sudden outcast, as he tossed the jacket beside him and readjusted Clare on his lap. Not that he needed to do anything, because Clare willingly settled against him, like she was staking her claim on him and nothing would get in her way.

Sammie frowned again then sat back down, telling herself it meant nothing.

Maybe, if she said it enough times, she'd actually believe it.

She reached for Clare's cup and eased the lid off, blowing on the surface of creamy hot chocolate before taking a small sip. It was still too hot, even though she asked for it to be served warm. She grabbed a few ice cubes and dumped them in, stirring them until they melted, then replaced the lid.

"Ready for your hot chocolate, Boo?"

Clare nodded and reached across the table, her hands outstretched as Sammie handed her the cup. Jon frowned, his hand coming up to hold the bottom of the cup as Clare took it.

"Are you sure it's okay for her to drink? It's not too hot or anything, right? She's not going to burn herself?"

It should have been cute, even adorable, the way Jon sat there, hesitation and concern creasing his face. A doted father, putting his daughter's safety first.

It should have been—but it wasn't. It annoyed her instead, like he was questioning every little thing she did, questioning her ability as a mother. It was that irrational annoyance that made her words come out sharper than she intended.

"I'm positive, Jon. I'm her mother. I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing."

Jon sat back, his face going carefully blank. He watched her with those dark, intense eyes, completely void of any emotion. Then he blinked, and the vacant mask was gone, replaced by a flash of regret.

"I'm sorry. This is all new. I didn't mean to question you."

Sammie sighed, the irritation leaving her. She ran a hand through her hair then dropped it to her lap, the fingers curling against her palm. "I know. I didn't mean—I'm sorry."

She looked away, unable to meet Jon's gaze, and busied herself by glancing around. They were in the coffee shop at the town center where they had met the other night. The shop was small and cozy, with scattered seating areas nestled around the open space and a gas fireplace along the far wall. Customers lined up at the counter, ordering lattes and hot chocolates as they juggled shopping bags from one hand to the next. Other people, the ones who weren't in a hurry, relaxed in chairs and around tables, taking the time to enjoy their drinks as they sat and talked.

Had it only been four days since Jon had opened up to her? Right here, in the upper-level parking lot? Yes, it had—but it felt like so much longer, like so much had changed in that short amount of time.

No. Impossible. It had only been four days—no, that wasn't right. Four days since they had talked, yes, but only three days since she had taken Clare to see Jon for the first time. Not even three full days, not technically.

She took a sip of her drink and watched the two of them across the table. Jon's head was bent toward his daughter's, tilted to the side as he talked to Clare in low tones. Sammie had no idea what he was saying, but Clare was enthralled, listening to him with undivided attention, her brown eyes wide and focused on him.

Sammie cleared her throat and leaned forward. "What are you telling her?"

"Hm?" Jon looked up, as if just remembering that Sammie was there. She frowned again. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. "Just talking."

"Yeah?" Sammie tried to smile, tried to make her voice sound light and carefree, like she was only mildly curious. "What about?"

"Nothing. Just daddy stuff."

Sammie stiffened, shot a panicked look at Clare, to see if her daughter had picked up on the word. "Jon—"

"I know. Sorry. It slipped out."

Had it? Or had he done it on purpose? And did it matter? He was Clare's father. She didn't plan on hiding that from her, but she wasn't sure how to tell her, had no idea how to even bring it up. She had asked Jon not to say anything, not yet. Not until Sammie was able to figure out the best way to handle things.

If there even was a best way. Was she overreacting? Worrying too much? Maybe she should just let things run their natural course, wait to see how Clare handled Jon's sudden presence in her life.

Or maybe not. Looking at Clare now, curled up against Jon, it was obvious she was completely comfortable with him. And from the expression on Jon's face, from the quick flashes of emotion she glimpsed in his eyes, there was no doubt that Clare had him totally and completely wrapped around her little finger.

Sammie offered him a small smile then dropped her gaze to the surface of the wood table. "It's okay. I'm probably just overreacting."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do you look so sad?"

Sammie's head shot up, her eyes narrowing. "I don't look sad."

"Well, no. Not right now. But you did."

"You were seeing things."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. Positive."

Jon watched her for several long seconds, his gaze holding hers, refusing to let her look away. Then he shrugged, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Sammie's heart jumped in her chest, stopped, then resumed beating so fast and loud, she was certain Jon must be able to hear it. If he did, it didn't show.

Thank God. Because holy crappola, what had that been about?

"So, tell me about the Blades. How did you get started playing for them?"

The question caught her off-guard but only for a second. Why, she didn't know. It was a harmless question, nothing more than the start of casual conversation. And it was safe, much safer than the hundred other questions he could have asked, the ones she saw lingering just beneath the surface of those dark, intense eyes.

"There was an announcement in the paper for tryouts and I figured, why not? I went and then the next thing I knew, I was on the roster."

"Why do I get the feeling there's a lot more to it than that?"

Sammie smiled. "Maybe. I spent a lot of hours at the rink in Reisterstown trying to get ready. I thought my legs were going to fall off. And I never thought I'd actually make it."

"But you did. Good for you. I'm proud of you."

Warmth spread through her at the heartfelt words. She tried to shrug them off, told herself they shouldn't mean anything—couldn't mean anything. But they did, and she wasn't sure why.

"Thanks. But it's only the first season. And there aren't any guarantees we'll be back next year."

"How come?"

"Because it's not a rec league. Because they need to make money. Because ticket sales aren't that great and right now, they aren't making money. At least, not a lot. Lots of reasons."

"The stands weren't exactly empty last week when I was there."

"Yeah. But they weren't exactly filled, either."

"Maybe not, but it's only been—what, a couple months?"

"Not even. Our first game was in early October."

"Plenty of time, then. I wouldn't worry about it."

Yeah, that was easy for him to say. Jon didn't understand how much they all had riding on this. Didn't understand that there was no place else for them to go. Some of them—like Taylor and Shannon—were just as good, if not better, than some of the pro players Sammie had seen. And it was so unfair that they didn't have the chance to prove it, to show what they could do, simply because they were women.

Sammie didn't tell him any of that, though. It wasn't that she didn't think he'd understand—she just didn't feel like sharing that much with him yet. Those dreams and hopes and worries.

Jon steadied Clare's cup as she took another sip of her hot chocolate, then smiled when she shook her head and pushed it away. Clare gave a happy little sigh then snuggled closer to her father, one hand curled around the open V of his thermal Henley. Sammie felt a twinge of something dangerously warm at the sight and forced her gaze away.

"So tell me about that blonde."

Sammie looked up, frowning, then realized he must be talking about one of her teammates. "Which one?"

"Not your friend. The other one, the one who was laughing at you."

The warm feeling evaporated, replaced by an icy chill that went bone-deep. Sammie sat up a little straighter and frowned. "You mean Rachel Woodhouse."

"Is that her name? What's her story?"

"Why? Are you interested?" Sammie wished she could take the words back, wished she had taken just a second to think before speaking. It wasn't just the words—it was her tone of voice. Cold. Judgmental.

Jealous.

And Jon knew it, too. She could tell from the way he was looking at her, with that glint of amusement that flashed in his eyes and the faintest hint of a smile that played with one corner of his stupid, sculpted mouth.

"Would you care?"

Yes.

Sammie didn't say that, though. She couldn't—she didn't care, she wouldn't allow herself to care. And the last thing she needed to do was let Jon think—for even a fraction of a second—that there was even the slightest chance she might care.

She took a careful sip of her drink, silently composing herself, hoping Jon couldn't see the way her hand tightened around the cup—like the insulated cardboard was Rachel's neck and she was gleefully squeezing it.

She placed the cup back on the table then offered him a sweet smile. "You're a grown man. Who you do is your business."

Jon just sat there, watching her, his brows slightly raised in amusement. A second went by, then two, before Sammie realized what she had said. She yanked her gaze away from Jon's, heat rushing to her face.

"I mean what. What you do is your business."

"Hm-hmm. Sure."

"I didn't mean—"

"If you say so. Before you jump to more conclusions, I was only asking because she seemed a little…I don't know. Pushy. Forceful. Maybe desperate, even. Like she was trying to prove something."

"Ha. Like Rachel cares about proving anything to anyone. Trust me, Rachel is only worried about herself. Amanda's the same way."

"Who's Amanda?"

"She wasn't there today. I'm not even one hundred percent sure she's still on the team. I mean, I think she is but maybe not."

"What happened?"

"Turns out she was using drugs. She OD'd at one of the games a couple weeks ago so then they tested everyone and they kicked her off the team. Except I think they changed their minds and offered to help her with rehab because Chuckie told them it would be bad PR if they didn't."

"Chuckie?"

"Yeah. He's the head of marketing and PR for the Blades, and he's dating Taylor. Only he almost got fired, too. Well, not really. He almost sort of quit because they were going to permanently suspend Taylor because they were dating and—why are you laughing?"

Jon ran a hand across his eyes and shook his head. "No reason."

"You were laughing. Why?"

"Because you still do it."

"Do what?"

"Those little bursts you have."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But she did, and she wished she didn't. She thought she had changed that, thought she had broken that habit. And she had—until Jon showed back up.

"Sure you do. You'll sit there, all quiet and refined, then start talking a mile a minute, like you're making up for all the time you were quiet."

"You're imagining things."

"No, I'm not, and you know it." He leaned back in the seat, readjusted Clare in his lap before dropping a kiss on the top of her head, then looked back at Sammie. The teasing light was gone from his eyes, replaced by a seriousness that made Sammie shift uncomfortably in her own seat.

"I missed that. When I was overseas—"

"Jon—"

"I would just sit there sometimes, close my eyes, imagine hearing your voice. Your laughter. Remember the way you would gesture with your hands when you talked—"

"Jon, don't. Please."

"It's just the truth, Sammie. Why don't you want to hear it?"

"You know why. Because—" She swallowed, shook her head, gazed at the fireplace across the room. "It was your choice, Jon. Not mine. You can't tell me how much you thought about me after doing what you did."

"You know why—"

"I know. And maybe part of me understands. But part of me doesn't. And you don't get to tell me how you thought about me. Okay? I can't—I don't want to hear it."

"Fair enough."

They sat there for several long minutes, neither one of them talking, neither one of them looking at the other. Sammie shifted in her seat, looked down at her watch without really seeing the time.

"It's getting late. I need to get Clare home."

Jon reached across the table, his hand closing around hers. Big. Strong. Rough. But gentle, so gentle. Sammie swallowed against the emotion in her throat, forced herself not to move.

"For what's it worth, I'm not interested."

"What?"

"You asked me earlier if I was interested. In your teammate—"

"It's not my business—"

"The only woman I'm interested in is you."

Her eyes shot to his as a dozen different emotions slammed into her. Anger. Hope. Fear. Resentment. Desire. Need.

More hope.

She shook her head, pulled her hand from his, shook her head again. "No. Don't you dare do that to me. It's not fair."

"It's the truth."

"I don't care. It's not happening. It can't happen."

"Why not?"

"Why not? How can you even ask me that?" Sammie glanced around, pulled in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You walked away, Jon. You turned your back on me. On your daughter. You never gave me a chance to help you. You never gave me a choice. How can I trust you not to do the same thing again?"

"Because I learned my lesson the first time."

Sammie sat there, watching him, unable to look away from the gaze holding hers. Dark. Intense. Hypnotizing. Her heart pounded in her chest and her lungs burned with each short, rapid breath. And she realized, in between one heartbeat and the next, that she wanted to believe him.

Oh God, she wanted to believe him.

She closed her eyes, breaking the spell he seemed to hold over her, and shook her head. "I need to leave."

Had she expected him to argue? To put up a fight and try to convince her to stay? To try to change her mind? Not just about leaving but about…everything.

He didn't. He simply nodded and grabbed Clare's jacket, started helping her into it. Sammie slid out from the bench, tried to take Clare from him. "I can do that."

"I've got it."

"I said I can do it—"

"And I said I have it." Jon gave her one last, long look, one she couldn't read, then straightened Clare's coat around her and zipped it up. He stood up, sweeping Clare into his arms with a smooth, efficient, move.

Like he'd been taking care of his daughter for her entire life.

Sammie started to reach for her, needing to feel her daughter's warmth, needing to hold her. But Clare wrapped her arms around Jon's neck and shook her head, her curls bouncing back and forth. "No!"

Sammie blinked, surprised at the sharp command in Clare's voice, surprised at the sharp stab of pain she felt at that single word. She told herself not to read into it, reminded herself that this was part of a normal stage at Clare's age, that making a big deal of it would only make it worse.

But it still hurt.

Sammie forced a smile to her face then turned and led the way out of the coffee shop, the sound of Jon's heavy steps behind her as she walked to her car. She'd been lucky, finding a spot not too far away. She was even more thankful for that luck now, because it meant spending less time in Jon's company.

She needed to get away from him, to put distance between them so she could think. So she could convince herself she had only been imagining things, that she wasn't feeling anything. That she didn't want anything. She was simply tired and overwhelmed by the hectic pace and events of the last few days. That was it. Nothing more.

She dug her keys from her jacket pocket and hit the remote for the locks, then pulled open the rear door. She turned and reached for Clare, bit back the hurt when her daughter snuggled closer to Jon.

"No! Don't want to go with you."

"Clare, sweetie. Come on. Time to go home."

"No! Want to stay here."

"Clare—"

Jon shifted Clare in his arms, holding her so she had to look at him. "Hey, Little Bits. Don't talk to Mommy that way."

"But I don't wanna go."

"I know you don't. But you have to."

"No!"

"Hey, none of that. If you act up, Mommy won't let us hang out again. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

Sammie opened her mouth, ready to argue with Jon, ready to tell him that he was making her out to be the bad guy, but she stopped when Clare shook her head, suddenly looking serious.

"Noooo."

"Me either. So why don't I get you buckled in so Mommy can take you home, okay?"

"'Kay."

"That's my girl." Jon pressed a kiss to her cheek then stepped past Sammie, kneeling on the backseat as he got Clare buckled into her car seat. Sammie leaned closer, trying to make out the soft words of their conversation, but all she heard were the quiet murmurs of Jon's voice, followed by Clare's high-pitched giggle.

Jon finally straightened, closing the door then turning to face Sammie. Her body was caged by his, her back pressed against the driver's door. He braced his hands on the car's roof, one on either side of her, so she had nowhere to go.

"I want to see her this week."

"Fine. Call me. We can work something out."

"I want to see you, too."

"Jon—"

"Just until I'm sure I'm not going to screw anything up with Clare. You know, like making sure I don't feed her pizza and beer."

"Oh." He had meant he wanted her to be with Clare, not that he wanted to actually see her. Of course. How stupid was she to read into it? "Yeah. Sure. That's fine."

"Good."

She expected him to step back, to give her room to open the door so she could climb into the car and start it up and leave. But he didn't step back. Instead, he leaned forward, the heat of his body wrapping around her as he dipped his head toward hers.

Sammie stiffened, tried to turn her head to the side, but she couldn't move, realized she didn't want to move. How long had it been since she'd been kissed? Almost three years, the last time she had seen Jon, the day he had left. And she wanted to feel his kiss, wanted to see if it was the way she remembered, prayed that it wasn't.

Then Jon's mouth was on hers and she stopped thinking and just felt. The heat of his body pressed against hers. The surprising softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth as he kissed her.

Gentle. Soothing. Seeking.

Sammie held herself still for the space of a few heartbeats. Frozen. Unsure how to act. Afraid to react. Then she sighed and leaned against him, reached up with her free hand and curling it around the edge of his open coat.

And then he pulled away, ending the kiss as quickly as it began. Sammie sagged against the car door, her lips still tingling from his touch, and tried to focus on the man standing in front of her.

Tried to figure out what had just happened.

"Drive safe." He leaned forward and pressed another kiss against her cheek, just a quick one, then turned and walked away.

It took several minutes before she was coherent enough to open the door, and several more before she was finally able to get the keys in the ignition and start the engine.

She was still trying to convince herself that nothing had happened, that the kiss meant absolutely nothing, that she had only imagined her reaction when she pulled into her driveway twenty-five minutes later.