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“Hank.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Call me Hank.”

Macie leaned back in her chair and studied his face for a moment. “Nobody calls you Hank.”

He held her gaze intently. “Not what I said. I want you to.”

“Why?”

“You ask more questions than a three-year-old.”

She shrugged. “Only way to get answers is to ask questions.”

“Good point. So I’ll ask one. You want kids someday, Mace?”

Macie choked on the sip of wine she’d just taken. “Damn, Coop. Warn a girl next time before you hit her with something like that.”

“Do you?”

“Well.” She paused. She hadn’t anticipated the conversation getting so personal, so quick, but then again, she hadn’t expected to be sitting in Hank Cooper’s kitchen tonight either, so what the hell. “Sure I do. I’d like to have a big family one day.”

He nodded. And remained infuriatingly quiet.

“Do you want kids?” she countered. She’d always assumed he hadn’t. After all, he and Sharon had never had a family and they’d been married twenty years.

“Yeah. I do.”

It was on the tip of Macie’s tongue to ask why he’d never had any kids with Sharon, but there was something sad in his eyes that made her hold back.

Prior to his wife’s death, Macie hadn’t known Coop very well. Their association had been pretty peripheral. They had lived in the same town all their lives. They knew the same people and every so often, their paths crossed, so they’d say hello, make some innocuous comment about the weather and move on.

After Sharon died, Coop began coming into Sparks Barbeque more and more often. Their conversations moved away from hello to those enjoyed by friends—gossip, jokes, affable arguments over sports and elections. Only in the last few months had their relationship shifted once again, moving from surface friends to good friends—the kind who shared confidences and slowly revealed more personal details, opening the door to who they really were, deep inside.

Macie had told him about her friend, Johnnie, about his childhood accident, his physical impairments, and his death. And Coop talked about Sharon’s original diagnosis and the years of ups and downs as they’d thought her cured, only to have their relief shattered when yet another tumor appeared somewhere else.

Regardless of that, Coop had never insinuated that he was interested in her romantically, and he’d never talked about wanting kids.

The timer went off just as Macie had worked up the nerve to ask why they’d never had kids. Coop rose and returned to the stove. He pulled out a noodle and tossed it against the door of one of the top cabinets. It stuck.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Checking to see if it’s done.”

“Couldn’t you accomplish the same thing by just eating one?”

Coop ignored her question. “Top up those wineglasses while I dip this out.”

She wondered if drinking more alcohol was such a good idea. She was already struggling to figure out what was going on. Besides, she was here without a car. She’d need a way to get home at some point. Regardless, she filled both of their glasses as Coop carried the plates to the table.

He resumed his seat and lifted his glass to hers. They tapped them without a toast and then began to eat.

“Wow,” she said after the first bite. “You’re a liar. You’re a wonderful cook. This sauce is incredible.”

He nodded once with a grin, clearly pleased by her compliment. They spent the next few minutes discussing what he put in his sauce and what vegetables he grew in his garden. Macie polished off her first plate, wishing she had just a bit more. Her appetite was more than healthy, but she didn’t want to look like a glutton. This was her first date with Coop—was there even going to be a second?—and she figured she should at least pretend she couldn’t out-eat pretty much every guy in town.

Then Coop grabbed her plate and his, taking them back to the stove to pile them up with seconds. Despite her better judgment, she fell a little bit in love with Coop when he brought the plate back to her.