starving.”
“We can have a floor picnic, Mommy.” Finn held up the checked tablecloth.
“I love that idea, Finny.” She pushed to her feet with an effortless ease that had Cole both envious and horny as fuck. Even in kneepads, Jane Spencer’s fix-it-woman look totally floated his boat. “How about over there?”
She pointed to the midsection of the remaining tiles, far away from any potential spill hazards to the exposed parquetry. Finn lifted the stick and skipped over to the indicated area and proceeded to spread the tablecloth on the tiles. Jane headed toward her son; so did Cole.
“You can sit here, Mommy.” Finn pointed to where he wanted his mother to sit, and Jane dutifully sat. “And you can sit there, Cole.”
An imperious little finger pointed at a spot next to Jane. It wouldn’t have been where Cole would have sat, but it wasn’t exactly a huge tablecloth, so there wouldn’t be much distance between them wherever he sat his arse down.
“You want me to take that?” she asked, holding out her hands to take the tray.
Cole’s instinct to say no battled with the practicalities of his predicament. There was no way he could sit and take the tray with him. He was going to need the assistance of his stick to get all the way down on the floor. A well of frustration rose in him, but Jane smiled gently and waggled her fingers a little.
It wasn’t in Cole’s nature to appear weak to anyone. Over a decade in professional sport had taught him that weaknesses could be exploited. But he’d already exposed his vulnerabilities to this woman—both his pain and his desire for her—and she didn’t look like she wanted to exploit him. Just…help.
Clearing his throat, Cole muttered, “Thanks,” and handed over the tray.
“Finn, pass Cole his stick,” Jane said as she settled the tray on the cloth.
And, just like that, no fuss, the stick was passed over, and Cole had lowered himself to the floor. No one was asking him how he felt or watching him with trained eagle eyes. No one was making notes. There wasn’t a camera recording the moment, and some annoying journo wasn’t going to write about his fitness.
Just this woman and this boy and a floor picnic.
“Did you make these?” Jane asked her son as Cole found a position of comfort. “I thought I smelled cookies.”
“I did,” Finn said. “But Cole helped.”
Cole smiled. If Finn’s definition of helping was to eat as much of the cookie dough as possible, then he’d helped—a lot.
She picked up a cookie and a glass of milk. “I hope you didn’t give away the secret family recipe, did you?”
Finn shook his head solemnly. “No, Mommy. Cole dooddled it.”
Jane raised an eyebrow, then winked at Cole as she dunked her cookie in the glass of milk. “Did he, now?”
That wink, the amused tilt to her mouth, were something else. Like they were both in on a joke together. Her genuine delight reminded him of the night she’d talked about her work with him, and this whole domesticated scene made Cole feel…like he was part of something. Part of this little circle. Not a duo plus an outsider—a trio.
Warmth flooded his chest. Then she bit into the cookie and shut her eyes, and warmth flooded an area a little farther to the south. She sighed exaggeratedly, her eyes fluttering open to look at Finn.
“Mmm,” she said. Her tongue flicked out to lick at the crumbs on her mouth, and Cole honest-to-god forgot to breathe for a second. “These are dee-licious.”
Finn nodded as he also dunked his cookie and took a bite. “Cole said I’m a good cook.”
She glanced at Cole and smiled a small smile that clearly said thank you. “Well, he’s right.” Jane shifted her eyes back to Finn. “But look at all these cookies. How are we going to eat them all?”
“You’re lucky; there are supposed to be more,” Cole said. “But somebody—I can’t tell you who—” He bugged his eyes at Finn. “Likes cookie dough very, very much.”
She feigned a shocked gasp and said, “Oh no, I don’t believe that,” in an exaggerated manner, waggling her eyebrows at Finn, who laughed, completely unabashed by his consummation of half the cookie mix. Jane laughed at her son’s glee, and hell if Cole didn’t laugh, too.
“Mommy likes the dough, too,” Finn said as their laughter settled.
A very indecent image—Jane licking cookie dough off her fingers—sprang into his head fully formed. Followed closely by another of him licking cookie dough