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really? This was not a date. So what was she thinking?
    “He really needs to learn how to play,” Sam suggested. “All work and no play makes for a dull boy.”
    “You think Maxwell is dull?”
    “Far from it. There’s enough going on in that kid’s brain to entertain masses. What I mean is, well, I shouldn’t say anything. I’m not a parent.”
    “No, you’re not.” She had raised her son just fine without unwanted advice from the peanut gallery.
    “Right, though I do have some experience with kids. My younger brother, Jeff… Well, I feel like kids need to run around, toss a ball, maybe fall off a bike once in a while. Heck, Maxwell is only nine and he thought he was too old to watch a cartoon.”
    “He said it was about a toaster who could talk.”
    “Yeah, but did he tell you about the toaster’s awesome quest? And the blankie? Such a great actor, that blanket.”
    “Still. Like you said, you’re not a parent, and I think my experience trumps yours.”
    Sam’s heavy sigh tweaked Rachel’s conscience. She’d been direct with him, but it was a practiced defense. The fact that it bothered her was a revelation.
    Take it down a notch, Rachel, she admonished herself. Just chill.
    “You know what happened first time I hit a ball?” Sam asked.
    “Something worthy of Funniest Home Videos? ”
    Sam chuckled. “No crotch shots, but I did take out my mother’s gnome. Sheared that ugly red hat clean off the bugger.”
    Rachel laughed and Sam slid his hand into hers. When he pulled it up to rub her fingers against his cheek, she suddenly went quiet.
    “You smell like a grape Popsicle,” he said. He looked down and smirked, as if he’d just thought of something funny, yet wasn’t sure if he could share.
    “What is it?”
    He kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll have you know your son gave me permission to kiss his mother.”
    “Is that so?”
    Her cunning little boy was playing matchmaker? She would have words with him later about his sneaky tendencies.
    Or perhaps not. Could she rush right from being cold, her emotions walled up, into open and ready for a kiss? Everything about Sam oozed sensuality, from his liquid brown eyes to that soft smirk and his wide, strong hand clutching hers.
    A kiss? Kisses never harmed anyone.
    “So, Handy Sam, what are you going to do with that permission?”
    “Let’s see.”
    He kissed the side of her hand, where she knew he could taste the sticky grape juice, and then leaned closer. She followed his cue, her heart thudding as the warm masculine heat of him invaded her pores and his breath hushed over her lips.
    The kiss was slow and tender, and it felt right, like the summer sun when she took her first step out onto the grass in the morning. Sitting beneath the breeze-tossed willow leaves, she felt she was in a dream she’d never had before, because it would have seemed silly to even imagine such a moment. But there was nothing silly about Sam Jones and his unrelenting kindness toward both her and Maxwell. Or this delightful kiss.
    Behind them, they heard Maxwell whisper triumphantly, “Yes!” and the kiss was broken as their mouths opened to laughter.
    But Rachel’s quickly faded. It had been irresponsible to take such a step with her son so close. And with her heart feeling tender right now, so…out of sorts. Sam Jones toyed with her carefully erected walls, and even though he’d just knocked down a few bricks, she wasn’t about to surrender. She’d been there before, and a failed romantic relationship always ended up hurting Maxwell more than her.
    “That was too fast,” she whispered, glancing toward her son.
    Sam seemed momentarily perplexed, then nodded. “Probably. Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
    “I did encourage it. I just…” Need to go slower . “It’s getting late. I have to start supper.” She stood up, collected the Popsicle stick and left Sam sitting beside Maxwell while she hurried into the house.
    Too fast, the logical part of her brain