Free Sweets to the Sweet by Jennifer Greene

as brilliant and fake as paste diamonds. She moved toward the door, away from both men. “Come in. I’ll make a quick pot of coffee.”
    Alone in the kitchen, Laura couldn’t find the coffee. It was on the shelf where she always kept it. Spoons clattered together; she had no cream—and then remembered that neither Owen nor Peter took cream. She spilled the sugar as she poured it into a porcelain cup, then couldn’t find a tray… In the other room, Mari let out a protesting wail. Laura bolted for the door, and then stopped. Peter had the right to hold his daughter. And Owen—as long as Owen was there, she knew she didn’t have to worry about anything happening to the baby.
    Bracing her hands on the counter, her head bowed, Laura claimed just a minute alone. Peter’s low baritone filtered back to her; she heard him chuckle at something Owen said. The men were getting along fine.
    It mattered. She didn’t want Owen to think she’d married a bastard. Peter wasn’t a bastard, and Laura had her share of pride…a pride she was holding on to by a thread, at the moment. Oh, no, you don’t. You’re going to handle this, and you’re going to handle it well.
    Obviously, she’d known she’d have to see Peter again because of Mari. It was just…if she’d known he was coming, she could have prepared herself emotionally. As it was, a volcano of memories threatened to erupt inside her. She’d forgotten…too much. Her relationship with Peter had been an exercise in humiliation. She’d felt as if she were imposing on a man who only pretended to want and need her.
    She hadn’t been very smart. She’d been even less smart in the woods that afternoon with Owen. Grown women didn’t still believe in Santa Claus. Pretending she could start a serious relationship…no. One look at Peter had shot to bits any illusions she might have had about embarking on a new sexual relationship. Wanting was easy, but to need someone wasn’t enough—not unless you were needed back. In time, yes. In time, she wanted to believe she would have the courage to seek love again, but not when the baby needed all her emotional energy, not until she had built up enough strength to spring back from the blow Peter had dealt her.
    Pull yourself together, Laura.
    Abruptly, she stiffened her spine, schooled her features and opened the refrigerator. When Owen suddenly appeared in the doorway, she was wearing a cheerful, calm expression…but she could feel a betraying color jump to her cheeks when he noticed the bottle of wine in her hand. “The coffee’s almost ready, but I thought at this time of night I should probably offer wine as well.”
    “Yes.” They both knew that she was the one who needed the wine—and that she hadn’t touched the bottle since the afternoon of the accident. “I’ll pour you a glass and carry the tray.”
    “You don’t have to do that.”
    So they were back to you-don’t-have-to-do-thats. Owen considered taking the bottle from her hand and smashing it. He considered snatching Laura up and spiriting her off. And he again considered smashing Peter’s face in, for whatever hell he’d put her through to make her as tense and miserable as a kitten suspended over a well.
    Instead, he poured a glass of wine for her, followed her in with the tray and deliberately took the chair between Laura and Peter. When he had her alone, she was going to talk, whether she wanted to or not.
    Until then, he lazily stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair, communicating in body language that this was a hunky-dory evening, that no one had any reason to be upset, and that anyone who tried to cross the barrier of his legs to get to Laura was not going to live long.
    As Owen initiated a smooth flow of conversation with her ex-husband, Laura gradually settled back on the couch.
    It clearly mattered to Laura that he like Peter, and after talking with him for better than a half hour, Owen’s first impression confirmed that Peter was a