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Her eyes cut away from him, and she swiveled around to catch a little girl’s hand just as she darted forward, making a beeline for the sample tray on top of the pastry case. “No sugar,” she admonished quietly. Her voice was rough, slightly husky like she had a cold, and Blake found himself wondering for no apparent reason whether she did or if that was how she always sounded.
Blake’s gaze traveled up and down her body, amazed when he saw two other kids in tow. Dark jeans hugged her long legs, and she wore a fitted red blouse that clung to her curves. Did all women who had borne three children in such close proximity look that good?
Grant snapped his fingers in his face. “Yo, dude. Hello?”
Blake jolted. When he met his brother’s gaze, he cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from the brunette to his coffee. “Were you saying something?” he asked, trying to act as though he weren’t just completely lost in a full-on ogle of another woman. He wasn’t exactly helping his cause. There he was talking about marrying Jen and proving his love to her, and he’s checking out another woman so hard his eyes were about to fly from their sockets.
“Here.” Grant shoved a napkin in his face. “For the drool.” He motioned to the corner of his mouth.
“Funny,” Blake said with a tight smile.
“She is fine, though, isn’t she?” Grant asked, craning his neck in her direction. His eyes sparkled as he cut them toward the woman.
Blake told himself he wouldn’t look. Grant was taunting him, and he knew it. It’s not like she was the only attractive woman in the city. He’d seen plenty of women just as gorgeous, if not more so, in his lifetime.
Grant’s smirk widened, mocking him until he caved and followed his gaze. The woman spoke with the barista, placing her order. Unbeknownst to her, one of the two boys left her side and scaled the pastry case like Spider-Man, greedy fingers grappling for the sample tray.
The woman did a double-take. “Brady!” she hissed, but before she could make her way to him, the poor kid torpedoed back to the ground in an impressive cannonball, taking the plate with him.
With an ear-piercing crack, the porcelain plate shattered over the floor, and bits of scone and muffin went flying like shrapnel.
Blake winced. The woman’s creamy skin turned the same shade of red as her blouse as she rushed toward the boy, picking him up and brushing him off, checking for wounds. Her toffee eyes widened with panic before she launched into a lecture on climbing things and eating too much sugar. By the time Blake’s common sense prevailed, and he glanced away again, the barista handed her an iced coffee and came around the counter to sweep up what was left of the morning samples, looking only the slightest bit annoyed.
“Yikes,” Grant said with a raised brow. “See? That’s exactly the kind of thing you’d be dealing with. You won’t last a day. And then what? Is Jen going to dump you because you failed at wrangling some other chick’s kids? What if they end up being Satan’s spawn and it’s an impossible task?”
Blake’s gaze flicked from the woman back to him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Grant lifted a shoulder, then dropped it, looking pleased. He didn’t deny it.
“I wanna go now,” one of the boys whined behind them as the woman headed toward the counter to fix her drink.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the black iced coffee she held, ice rattling as the little boy tugged on her arm. She proceeded to add cinnamon, vanilla powder, a hefty amount of cream, and sugar to the mixture—a poor man’s iced latte. “You said you were taking us to a movie!” the boy shouted.
“Later. Quiet,” the woman hissed.
Blake tried to focus on his conversation with Grant. This wasn’t his business, and the poor woman looked humiliated as it was without having strangers eavesdropping.
Where were they . . . He opened his mouth to speak when he sensed her moving past like a threatening storm. Goosebumps prickled the back of his neck. He shook it off, and just as he remembered where he and Grant had left off in the conversation, he heard a yelp beside him, and he jumped.
His head turned just as the woman crashed into their table. Her body flew forward as her feet tangled in the mass of kids on the floor. The coffee lid popped like a firecracker. Sticky liquid gushed everywhere. A flood of it rushed down the side of the table, dripping onto the crotch of Blake’s pants. He hissed and slid his chair back, but the leg caught one of the kids in the stomach, and they screamed.
Across from him, Grant stood and helped right the woman who lay half-splayed on the wet table like a starfish. Collecting himself, Blake shook off the excess coffee, gratefully accepting a heap of napkins from someone passing by, and bent down to help the children up.
“Are you okay?” Blake asked the woman, standing.
“I tripped over Brady, and . . . “ Her words cut off as her gaze zeroed in on Blake’s drenched pants. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did I ruin them?”
“No worries.” Blake shrugged. “The pants will wash and the jacket’s leather.”
The woman nodded. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, her expression weary as she hurried to the counter and grabbed a heap of napkins then began to mop up the spilled drink. “Good thing it wasn’t hot,” she mumbled to herself. “Or I’d be getting sued.”
“Mom, I have to go potty,” the little girl whined and tugged on the woman’s shirt.
“Not now,” she cried as she frantically spread napkins over the floor. “I have to clean up this mess!” she half shrieked. She waved her hands in the air above the sticky mess, then began frantically blotting at it.
“Why’d you spill it?” the little girl asked.
“I didn’t. Your brother tripped me and I—” she started, then snapped her mouth shut.
