“Your editor’s a woman? How does it work? Do you work with her all the way through a book, or does she tell you what she wants you to do, or . . .” She trailed off, shook her head. “Sorry. Way, way off topic.”

“It’s okay. Do you want to write?”

“Write? Me?” The idea had her exotic eyes going wide before she laughed. “No. I just like knowing how things work.”

“Speaking of work, we’ve got a full day of it tomorrow.” Malory gave Flynn’s hand a pat.

“That’s my cue. I’ll go round up Moe for you,” Flynn told Dana.

“I’m running low on dog food. He eats like an elephant.”

“I’ll drop some off.” He caught her face in his hands. “Keep him close, okay?”

“He doesn’t give me a lot of choice.”

“Flynn, would you round up Simon, too?” Automatically, Zoe began stacking dishes. “He’s probably attached to Moe at the hip, so he shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

“Sure.”

“We’d better cut out too. I’m going to see if I can get this one started on his homework.” Dana jerked a thumb at Jordan. “Any tips for that, Zoe?”

“Bribery. That’s my method.”

Brad stepped over, laid a hand on Zoe’s. And made her jump like a rabbit. “You don’t have to bother with those.”

“Sorry.” She instantly set the plates down. “Habit.”

It seemed to Brad that the woman deliberately misinterpreted every second word out of his mouth. “I just meant you don’t have to pick up. Anybody want coffee?”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Dana gave Jordan a nudge toward the doorway. “It’s work for you, pal. You can have coffee when you’ve gotten a couple of pages done.”

“Bribery.” Zoe nodded approval. “It never fails.”

Moe bounded into the room, a wild blur of fur. In his delight to see everyone, he leaped, licked, swept glasses off the coffee table with an exuberant tail, and nosed his way into a plate of cocktail shrimp before he could be controlled.

“Sorry, sorry.” With one hand hooked in Moe’s collar, Flynn dragged the dog, or was dragged by him, toward the door. “I’ll put him in Jordan’s car. Bill me for damages. See you. Oh, Zoe, Simon needs a few more minutes to finish a game. Jesus Christ, Moe! Hold up!”

“This is my life now,” Malory said happily. “It’s kind of great. Thanks, Brad, sorry about the dishes. See you tomorrow, Zoe, Dana. ’Night, Jordan.”

“I have to go save my upholstery.” Jordan grabbed Dana’s arm and pulled her toward the door. “Later.”

“Stop yanking me. Smooches, Brad. See you in the morning, Zoe.”

The door slammed behind them, and there was absolute silence.

It had all happened so fast, was all Zoe could think. She’d never intended to be the last one to leave. It was horrible. Horrifying.

She considered running into the game room and grabbing Simon, but she wasn’t exactly sure where it was. And she could hardly stand where she was and shout for him. Still, she needed to do something.

She bent down to pick up the glasses Moe had knocked to the floor. At exactly the same moment, so did Brad.

Their heads bumped. Each of them straightened quickly, then stood taut as bows.

“I’ll get them.” He crouched, gathered up the glasses, set them on the coffee table. He was close enough to catch her scent now. It was always different, sometimes earthy, sometimes light, always very female.

It was one of the fascinating things about her, he mused. The variety of her.

“Coffee?”

“I really should just get Simon. It’s nearly his bedtime.”

“Oh. Well. Okay.”

When he just stood, looking at her, Zoe felt embarrassed heat creeping up the back of her neck. Had she done something wrong? Left out something?

“Thanks for having us.”

“Glad you could make it.”

During the next long pause, she had to make a conscious effort not to bite her lip. “Simon? I don’t know exactly where he is.”

“The game room. Oh.” Amused at both of them, Brad laughed. “You don’t know where the game room is. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

The more Zoe saw of the house, the more in love with it, and intimidated by it, she was. To begin with, there was so much of it, all of it charming or stunning or just lovely. She imagined the things she noticed on tables or shelves were several levels up from knickknacks.

Brad veered off through an archway into what she assumed was some sort of library. The soaring ceiling was done in wood and made the room feel open while still managing to be cozy.

“There’s so much room.” She stopped, appalled that she’d spoken out loud.

“The story is, once my father got started, he couldn’t stop. He’d get another idea, add it into the design.”

“It’s a wonderful house,” she said quickly. “So much detail without being fussy. You must’ve loved growing up here.”

“I did.”

He stepped into another room. Zoe already heard the roar of engines, the vicious gunfire, the breathless chant—come on, come on, come on—of her son.

The video game was some sort of urban car war that flashed over an enormous wall-size TV screen. Simon sat cross-legged on the floor rather than in one of the cushy recliners in a room that fulfilled every boy’s fantasy.

A pool table, three pinball machines, two video-arcade games. Slot machines, a soda machine, a jukebox.

The ceiling here was coffered, framed in honey-toned wood that shielded strips of lights.

There was another fireplace, with cheerful flames snapping, as well as a small, glossy bar and a second television with an entire cabinet devoted to various components.

“Gosh. This is Simon Michael McCourt’s personal version of heaven.”

“My dad loves toys. We spent a lot of time in here.”

“I bet.” She stepped up behind her son. “Simon. We have to go.”

“Not yet, not yet.” His face was fierce with concentration. “This is Grand Theft Auto Three! I’m really close, really close to having them call out the National Guard. Tanks and everything! I’m kicking Swat Team butt. I could set a record. Ten more minutes.”