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said for the military, Fred thought as he led them into the tidy kitchen. In fact, sometimes the Sinclairs reminded him of an African-American version of his own family—a bunch of boys destined for the armed forces.
    The kids crowded around the bar he’d built to separate the kitchen from the living room while he barked orders.
    â€œTremaine, bowls. Jackson, spoons. Kip, milk.”
    They hopped to it, and in under a minute they were each perched on a stool and had a bowl in front of them. He poured the raisin bran—Jasmine knew perfectly well he didn’t keep Froot Loops in the house—and ignored the groans of complaint.
    â€œEat quietly, or no lesson,” he warned.
    They all instantly went silent. As a threat, it worked every time. They loved their jujitsu lessons. In the silence, his phone rang. He took it into the living room and lowered himself carefully onto his couch.
    â€œHello?”
    A brisk female voice answered, “Hi Poochie. It’s me.”
    Fred nearly groaned out loud at the horrible nickname. Where had Courtney gotten Poochie? And why had she never asked if he minded? And why was she calling him? “Hi, Courtney. How did your exam go?” Courtney was getting her business degree. After that, she wanted to get married. On their third date, she’d told him that he fit all her criteria for a husband. He hadn’t felt complimented; he’d felt cornered.
    â€œKilled it.”
    He pictured her aiming a shotgun at her exam book. Courtney almost always got what she went after, as she was fond of boasting. The only thing she hadn’t gotten yet was a commitment from Fred. No matter what Fred told her, she couldn’t quite believe that he didn’t want to link his future with hers.
    But he didn’t. He wasn’t in love with her and was never going to be. As soon as he’d figured that out, he’d begun the breaking-up process.
    â€œI saw you on TV. You’re a superstar.”
    â€œNah, just another day at the office.”
    â€œThey didn’t make it sound that way. And they kept referring to you as a Bachelor Fireman.” She sniffed, which evoked a vivid picture of her. That sniff usually went with a curl of her lip and a twitch of her perfectly highlighted blond ponytail.
    â€œThat’s just a stupid media thing, Court. Sells papers, or ad spots, or whatever.”
    â€œI’m not complaining about it. It’s a good business opportunity. You’re famous, and we should be profiting from it. I have some ideas for us.”
    Ideas for us . As if they were still together. Would always be together. What part of “I want to break up” had she blocked out? All of it?
    An image flashed through his mind—the crushed interior of the limo, and Rachel’s wide eyes alive in the darkness, like the petals of a violet. Even though she’d fought him like a wildcat and bloodied his nose, he could still feel the supple weight of her in his arms. He’d felt more captivated in those few short moments than he ever had with Courtney.
    Bad, Fred, bad . Why was he thinking of some girl he’d never see again while on the phone with the woman he’d been dating up until two weeks ago? He dragged his attention back to the phone call.
    â€œCourtney, we broke up, remember? There is no—”
    â€œLet’s not have this conversation right now,” she interrupted. “Are you trying to upset me?”
    He clenched the phone in his fist, resisting the urge to slam it against the counter. How did she always manage to make him feel like the bad guy, no matter what he did or said?
    In a huge stroke of luck, his other line beeped. For a wild moment, he wondered if it was Rachel. Maybe she was calling him with an apology for the nosebleed. “Gotta go, Court. I have another call coming in.”
    â€œCall me back, okay? We’re not done.”
    Oh yes, we are , he thought. And one of these days