Just Maybe (Home In You Book 3)

by Crystal Walton

  The possibility nearly bent her in half as she took in this precious, perfect baby boy.

  A song she hadn’t thought about in ages swelled inside her. Maybe it was from visiting her childhood home yesterday. Or maybe it was so ingrained in her after all the times Dad had sung it to her, it’d become a reflex. Whatever the reason, Quinn knew she had to sing it over him. She set her coffee down and leaned both arms on the crib railing.

  He woke up to her singing, and she would’ve sworn he smiled at her as if understanding.

  “That’s a beautiful song.”

  Quinn flung a hand to her mouth to squelch a gasp. She turned toward Cooper, leaning into the doorjamb with eyes on her like he was admiring a confounding art piece.

  Her hand slid to her chest. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

  “Maybe if you stopped leaving me standing in doorways, enthralled, I’d have a chance.”

  Heat climbed her neck at his compliment. Even more at the sight of him in his chic dress clothes, looking like a confident power executive.

  She swiped at her coffee and a plausible excuse for the stupid flush reaching her cheeks now. “Thanks for the latte. Don’t tell me you flew this in from Hatteras.”

  “You don’t think I would?”

  “To impress a girl?” She snorted. “Probably.”

  The corners of his mouth reached for his dimples. “Who said I was trying to impress you?”

  She coughed through a swallow. “No one. I didn’t mean . . . I was just . . .” And there went any chance of extinguishing the heat soaring clear past her hairline. She snagged Brayden from the crib. “I need to change him. Unless you want to do the honors.” She held him out.

  Palms raised, Cooper backed up. “I have to get to a meeting with a client.”

  “Good.” She exhaled.

  “Good?”

  Shoot. “Not that I want you to leave or anything. I mean, it doesn’t matter one way or another. I was just thinking it’s probably good for you. You know, to take care of business . . . stuff.” Yeah, that sounded intelligent all right.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I should be off then.” His lips quirked. “Taking care of business stuff.”

  For all his money, the guy really should’ve built a secret chamber in this place so she’d have somewhere to escape to right now.

  Still grinning, he disappeared around the frame, and Quinn’s chin sagged to her chest. Classy, Thompson. Even Brayden seemed amused. She looked from him back to the door, Cruella’s call slithering to mind. “Wait!” She whirled around the trim. “Can we talk?”

  “Would love to.” By the front door, Cooper shucked on a suit jacket and pushed back the cuff to check his watch. “But I only have a few minutes.”

  “Right, yeah.” She tried to play it cool. “Of course. We can talk whenever you get back.”

  He studied her, probably reading everything she was supposed to keep hidden. “You sure? ’Cause if it’s important . . .”

  With a practiced smile secured, she adjusted Brayden on her hip. “It’s nothing that can’t wait. Besides, little man and I have a date of our own.”

  “If you’re positive.” Cooper hesitated a moment longer before opening the door. “But call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

  “We’ll be fine. No rush.” In fact, the sooner those piercing hazel eyes were behind that door, the better. She took Brayden’s hand in hers and waved a happy goodbye.

  The expression on Cooper’s face as he waved back gutted her down the middle. He could deny it if he wanted to, but he was falling for his son. She’d been watching it happen every day.

  No sooner had he left when a knock at the door echoed into the foyer. Relief swept through her as she whisked it open. “Good, I wanted to say—”

  “There he is.” Instead of Cooper, a grandmotherly woman stood on the porch, red lipstick curving in a bright smile fixed on Brayden. “How’s my surrogate grandbaby doing?” She reached for him. “You mind?”

  Not that it mattered if Quinn did, because the woman already had Brayden up in the air. She lowered his belly to her mouth and gave him a loud raspberry.

  Quinn pulled on her ear. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

  She lowered Brayden to her hip, while his pudgy fingers went straight for her glasses. “Just look at me, forgetting my manners. I’m Cooper’s neighbor, Sheila.” Extending her free hand, she looked Quinn up and down. “And you must be the reason he hasn’t called lately.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sheila gestured toward the inside of the house in a silent request to come in. Considering she still had Brayden hostage, what was Quinn supposed to say? She held the door back to let the woman pass and grimaced at the cloud of perfume ambushing her.

  “Cooper’s been a lifesaver to the neighborhood. He helped mend my fence this past fall.” She slid her glasses down as though getting ready to tell her something she shouldn’t. “Refusing to accept payment in return, of course. But when this baby of his showed up . . .” She bounced him on her hip. “Well, I just knew it was my chance to return the favor.”

  Quinn’s arms came uncrossed. “You’re the one who’s been coming over to change Brayden’s diapers?” And here, she’d accused him of luring bimbo girlfriends over to do his dirty work. Guilt wormed through her rib cage.

  “Can’t blame a single father for being a little overwhelmed. And I certainly understand him wanting to keep his privacy. People treat you differently when they know you have money. Believe me, I know.” She tugged Brayden’s fingers free from her necklace with a jewel-clad hand. “So, I help out wherever I can. Even make some dinners on occasion.”

  Meanwhile, Quinn only made assumptions—ones Cooper was consistently breaking.

  “He does better than he thinks he does, though.” Sheila finally surrendered her glasses, which ended up straight in Brayden’s mouth. “One day, he’ll see it. Just needs to give himself a little time.”

  Time. The one thing they were running out of. But she was right. Quinn had been watching Cooper become more and more connected to Brayden.

  Hope rose through the ashes of her own problems and formed an entirely different plan than the one she needed to be working on. Maybe she couldn’t save face with Cooper, but she could at least save a son’s relationship with his father. They both deserved that chance. She just had to make Cooper see it before it was too late.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Home

  At his front door, Cooper loosened his tie while holding his phone to his ear. “What exactly constitutes ‘good cause’?” And how had he even ended up in a position to be talking about terminating parental rights. It all still felt surreal, like someone had thrust him into another person’s life without giving him the slightest forewarning.

  It sounded like Jim thumbed through a stack of papers. “In North Carolina, ‘good cause’ could be anything from abuse to neglect, the inability to provide proper care, even abandonment.”

  He rattled off the list like everyday events—probably ones he was accustomed to seeing more than anyone should.

  “So, basically, you have to be a crackpot father.” Now, there was a legacy.

  Jim wheezed through the line. “Parents often want to get out of their financial obligation. The courts see it all the time.”

  “Is that what they think I’m doing?” Financial support was the only thing he could offer Brayden.

  “It’s nothing personal, Cooper.”

  He tugged his collar away from his sweaty neck. “Well, maybe it should be.” If they knew him, they’d understand.

  Cooper exhaled. He shouldn’t be taking his frustrations out on his lawyer. “Listen, I’m just getting back from a meeting and need to take care of a few things. Why don’t we talk later?”

  Four hours with a high maintenance client had been draining enough. Sure, Cooper might’ve missed a few aspects of corporate life. But never-ending meetings? They were definitely supposed to be a thing of
the past—a glorious perk of being a one-man operation.

  After hanging up, Cooper rotated his tense shoulders, relieved to be home.

  Home. The word sent a pang tightening across his chest. He stretched a palm against the siding, hung his head, and released another lengthy breath. This heat must be getting to him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be thinking—

  Cutting off that train of thought, Cooper slid his phone into his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose. His last coffee had obviously worn off one too many hours ago.

  Through the door, a burst of cold air whirled around his collar onto his overheated skin, trailed by a sweet aroma of something honey-like. He smiled. Quinn must be baking again.

  He stopped in the entryway at the sight of Brayden in his high chair, eating a concoction that looked almost gourmet, while Quinn sat crisscrossed on the couch, writing voraciously on a notepad.

  Brayden flailed his chubby legs and slapped his sippy cup on the tray in front of him, face alight. “Dada.” He waved orange-coated fingers at him.

  A warmth like Cooper’d never experienced spread through him as he returned Brayden’s wave. And just like that, the weight of the morning lifted.

  Quinn obviously noticed. She looked from Brayden to Cooper, a thin sheen forming over her eyes at hearing him say “Dada” for the first time.

  An onlooker who didn’t know any better might’ve thought he was a husband and father coming home to his family. Was this what it was like for Dad?

  Shaking off the unsolicited emotions, he dumped his briefcase on the narrow table in the hall.

  “Put that away.” Quinn’s expression shifted back to whatever had been weighing it down before he walked in.

  His lips quirked. “Yes, dear.”

  She twirled her long hair into a twist and jimmied a pencil through it. “I did some cleaning today.”

  “So I see.” The place was practically spotless—no clutter, all boxes organized and out of the way. His forehead pinched. “You know that’s not part of the deal, right? I mean, I don’t expect you to be my maid.”

  She met his eyes then. Soft, genuine. “Busywork helps me think.”

  “Like baking.” His stomach growled on cue.

  “Guess so.” She wiped Brayden’s face and hands and sat him on the floor by his foam blocks. “Though, I didn’t get around to baking today.”

  “Really?” He jutted a thumb toward the kitchen. “But that smell . . .”

  “What smell?”

  He started toward her. “You don’t . . . ?” The honey-like scent swirled around him with the answer to his own question. The scent wasn’t Quinn’s baking. It was her—subtle, sweet, and dangerously alluring. Even worse, it was beginning to smell like home. The one he was getting ready to walk away from.

  An errant strand of hair slipped loose from her twist as she tilted her head at him. “Are you all right?”

  Hardly. “Fine.” He undid the second button on his dress shirt and loosened his collar even more.

  Quinn slipped her fingers through the handle on her coffee mug and moved to sit on the very tip of the opposite couch arm. In an old Button Your Fly T-shirt she must’ve brought back from her parents’ house, she looked like the teenage girl in the photos lining her parents’ living room walls. All she needed was that cowgirl hat.

  He suppressed a laugh. Before this was all said and done, he’d get her to admit she missed that part of her life.

  Quinn closed her eyes, visibly lost in her own thoughts, and stretched her legs into a sunbeam while balancing her mug in one hand.

  Cooper laughed. “You know, the coffee table’s over here, right?”

  “But the sunshine’s right here.”

  Glowing, she looked more at home in that one spot than he’d ever felt anywhere.

  Man, that smile. He turned before she caught him reciprocating it. Doubtful it held her finesse anyway. He scratched his cheek. His five-o’clock shadow was getting out of control. As were his thoughts.

  A text chimed from his phone. He glanced at a message from his realtor about needing his appraisal paperwork. He ignored it, not in the mood to duke it out with Ray, but the interruption had already changed the atmosphere.

  With a long sigh, Quinn plopped back into her spot on the couch among stacks of notes. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough morning.

  “Long day?”

  She flung a magazine over top of her notepad as he neared. “I’ve been working on the party for Ginny,” she rambled off a little too quickly. “The band she wants is too expensive. She’s going to be crushed when I tell her. Since it’s so close to the Fourth, maybe doing fireworks would make up for it. Ooh, and sparklers.” She shook her head. “Or is that too lame for kids her age? It is, isn’t it?”

  She tapped the end of a pen ferociously against her thigh. “You have way too many pens, by the way. Seriously, if the stockbroker thing doesn’t work out for you, you could start a business selling refurbished office supplies.”

  “Uh-huh.” The girl’s rambling stress mode was more than a little cute, but it didn’t compensate for the underlying ache behind it. He sat on the arm of the chair beside her. “Quinn, listen, if money’s an issue, why don’t you let me—?”

  “No.” She curled the corner of the magazine in her lap back and forth. “I appreciate it, really, but I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You aren’t.” He leaned down to meet her gaze. “I’m offering.”

  The hints of amber in her eyes brightened but only for a moment. She looked away. “All the same, I’ll figure something out. You’ve been generous enough already,” she added so softly, he almost didn’t hear her.

  “If anyone owes something, it’s me.” He scooted forward to the edge. “Money doesn’t come close to what you’re doing for Brayden and me. You know that, right?”

  Her brow furrowed, the pen falling from her fingers into the crease between the cushions.

  He reached for her hand without thinking. “Quinn?”

  When she finally faced him, a glimpse of the fractured girl inside that she strained so hard to hide looked back at him. She slid one leg out from the other and smiled that girl away. “Do you need more coffee as much as I do?”

  More like he needed a sledgehammer if he was ever going to break through her walls. Resigning for now, he took her empty mug, stood up, and ruffled Brayden’s soft hair on his way to the kitchen. “I’ll make us a pot.”

  Once the coffee finished brewing, Cooper shuffled back into the living room with two filled-to-the-brim mugs in tow. He handed her one. “Hey, while you were cleaning, did you happen to see a paper about the appraisal I had done a few weeks ago?”

  “I put it in a folder with the other house sale paperwork. It’s in your office by your laptop.” The corner of her mouth curled above the rim of her mug. “Where it should be.”

  Of course it was. He headed to his office. “You sure you don’t want me to start calling you Pepper?”

  “Try it once and see what happens,” she called.

  Laughter tipped his head back. Title or not, she definitely made things easier around here. At least, when it came to business. His heart was another story.

  He turned to his study. “I’ll be in my—Whaaat is that?” Briefcase against his stomach, he tried not to spill his coffee and whipped a glance from a random black cat rubbing its cheeks on the doorframe back to Quinn.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Most people call it a cat.”

  “Thanks for clarifying.” He gave her a stiff smile. “What’s it doing in my house?”

  “She’s not yours?”

  The cat trotted over and brushed up against his pant leg. Cooper shooed it away. “That would be a negative.”

  The moment Quinn called it, the cat ran for her and settled into her lap like it was a favorite vacation spot. “I found her out on your deck the other day.”

  “So, you decided to let her in?”

  “She seemed at home.” Quinn
nuzzled her nose to the cat’s. “Figured she’d been here before.”

  If she’d been around the yard, Cooper had never noticed. “Yeah, well, she can feel at home back outside. I don’t do strays.”

  Quinn feathered two fingers over her scarred ear. “Aw, come on. She’s adorable.”

  “She’s missing half her whiskers.”

  “She’s scrappy.” Quinn stroked a hand down her back as it nestled the top of her head under Quinn’s chin. “I’m gonna call her Trooper.”

  He coughed to drown out his snicker.

  “You don’t think a girl can be a trooper?” With her arms crossed, she wriggled up the back of the couch an inch taller with each punctuated word. “Maybe she’s tough and smart and resilient.” She glowered at his growing smile. “What?”

  “Nothing.” If she admitted she was talking about herself, he’d add downright attractive to the list. “I’m sure the cat can hold her own . . . outside where she belongs. No use in her getting attached here. We’ll all be gone soon.”

  The words nearly sawed him in half with their pressing reality. He’d do good to heed them himself.

  Backing up, Cooper bumped into the table behind him and almost spilled his coffee again. Smooth. He pointed to the doorway. “I’m just gonna . . .” Pretend she wasn’t getting to him.

  Quinn gave him a thumbs-up, unaware she didn’t give him even half a chance.

  In the safety of his office, he lowered his briefcase to the floor, set his mug on his desk, and slumped into his leather chair with a heavy exhale. What was wrong with him?

  A yellow sticky note sat beside his laptop with a message from a girl he’d gone on two dates with a month ago. Nice girl, but after the second date fell flatter than the first, he politely ended things before they ever started. She shouldn’t still be calling.

  He dropped a folder over the note and wrenched backward in his chair. Why did he get himself in these situations?

  A glance up intersected another sticky note—a bright pink one that read You’re Welcome adhered to an overflowing cup of pens Quinn must’ve collected from around the house. He tore it off, laughed. She may be right, but being a pen hoarder was the least of his problems.