A/N: Happy birthday, Anon! (Rosie I think?)!

Chapter Eleven

"Hey, Dad, it's almost seven thirty," Declan said as he entered Shane's bedroom.

Shane sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "I know."

"You wanted me to let you know." Declan sat on the edge of the bed. "Are you going on a date?"

"A date? No, no, it's not a date," he said hastily, smoothing the hair he'd ruffled. "It's just dinner."

"A dinner date."

"Dinner," Shane insisted. It hadn't been his idea, originally. All the blame went to Stephanie, who had signed him up for one of those god-awful dating apps she had been harping about. To his horror, she had completed his profile and let it loose across the world, where anyone could see that he was a recently divorced father of three. It screamed desperation to Shane, and he had flat-out refused to use the app on his phone. Of course, Stephanie being who she was, only a day had passed before he had downloaded the app and logged in. And, to his shock, he had found that women actually wanted to talk to him.

Rather, they wanted to talk to Brandon. Stephanie had used his middle name. And the photos she'd put up on his profile were ones of him from behind, most with the boys. Which, he was sure, probably made people thing he was a borderline Quasimodo.

Out of curiosity, and a longstanding need to make his sister happy, he had engaged in chats with a few. The first had told him in no uncertain terms that she was just looking for a casual hookup. The second was on the hunt for her true love. The third was in the country on a temporary work visa and was desperate to find someone that would marry her so she could get a green card. To his surprise, the fourth had said she just wanted to make friends.

Her name was Rose. Her profile said she had lived in New York for years. The picture of her wasn't of her at all, but was an artsy shot of a woman silhouetted against the sunset. She was new to the area, and apart from her job she only knew one of her neighbors and the barista at her favorite coffee place. Their chats had shown her to be humorous and intelligent. And, to her credit, she hadn't pressured him to meet immediately or exchange phone numbers. So after almost a week of chatting through the app, he had drummed up enough courage to ask her to dinner. Just dinner. She'd agreed, considering her schedule allowed, and they had arranged to meet at an Italian restaurant.

The reservations were made. They had a signal so they would know each other – he had reserved the table for two in the quietest corner of the restaurant. She was looking forward to it. He was looking forward to it.

But now, staring at himself in the mirror and seeing his eldest son's peculiar expression, he wanted to cancel.

"It's okay to date," Declan said. "Dad, I'm not a kid anymore."

Considering the boy still slept with the tattered old Pooh bear that he'd had since he was born, Shane doubted that statement, but knew better than to say so. Instead, he grunted and reached for his belt.

"I'm not," the boy repeated. "I knew you and Mom were having problems. I'm not stupid—"

"I have never said that you were," Shane pointed out. "And I've never thought it, either."

"I know." Declan smiled and walked over to sit on the dresser. "All in all, you're a pretty awesome dad, you know?"

Shane sighed and ruffled his son's hair. "I wasn't a hundred percent sure, so thanks."

"What's her name?" Declan asked, picking up a bottle of cologne and removing the cap to get a whiff.

"Rose."

"Is she divorced?"

He paused, thinking back. He was pretty sure she wasn't. Her profile hadn't mentioned it, and neither had she during their chats, when he'd brought up the fact that he was. "I don't think she is…"

Declan reached for another bottle of cologne. "Is she hot?"

"Declan," he groaned, taking the bottle from him. "Do you remember the rules while I'm gone?"

"No cooking, no movies above PG-13, don't answer the door, and call you if anything happens." Declan paused to think. "You'll be gone no more than two hours, we can eat anything in the snack cabinet, and no soda for Rogan."

"And?"

"And make sure Rogan brushes his teeth."

Shane nodded. He didn't understand why he was so nervous about leaving the boys alone. They'd been left alone – for less than an hour at the time – when they still lived in New York. And nothing had happened. He supposed the anxiety came from his date. Dinner, he reminded himself, pulling on his shirt. "Get the laundry out of the—"

"Daddy?"

He turned at the sound of Rogan's voice. Alarm bells started going off. Rogan hadn't called him 'Daddy' in months. His voice sounded off, too. And, when he saw the boy shuffling into his room clutching his favorite blanket, he saw his son's face was unusually white. "What's the matter?" he asked, moving forward to scoop him up. His lips bumped against a blazing forehead and he knew.

"I don't feel good." Rogan groaned and tucked his head on his father's shoulder. "I think I'm gonna…"

Shane turned to rush his son into the bathroom, lurching to a stop just inside the door when Rogan's body shuddered. Frozen, he could only hold the boy as he vomited. The sounds and smell caused his own stomach to curl.

"Whoa," Declan breathed, having followed to witness. "What did you eat that was blue?"

Rogan coughed, and Shane felt the mess slide down his back. "A blue raspberry sucker," he rasped.

"Okay," Shane said, pulling Rogan off him and gently placing him on the edge of the tub. He peeled off the ruined shirt and looked to Declan for help. "Get some towels… And bleach." Once he had headed off to do as requested, he knelt in front of Rogan and placed a hand to his forehead. "What hurts, buddy?"

"My stomach… And my head…" Rogan sniffled and wiped his arm across his mouth.

"Let's get your temperature, then we'll get you cleaned up and go from there, okay?" Shane kissed the boy's forehead. It was still blazing, and there was a thin coating of cold perspiration.

"You've got a date with who?"

Cat smiled in the direction of her phone, which was propped up on her dresser. Turning this way and that in front of the full-length mirror, she decided the little black dress looked nice. "His name is Brandon."

"How did you meet Brandon?" Kerry, her oldest sister, sounded suspicious. "At work?"

"No, not at work," Cat promised. "I finally gave in and tried out one of those dating apps. We connected on there."

Truth be told, she had only given in after Stephanie McMahon, of all people, had all but insisted she do it. She still wasn't sure if she had signed up because she halfway wanted to herself, or only to keep Shane's sister happy. But, sign up she had. Within days she had been matched with Brandon. Within days of being matched, she felt like they were on the fast track to…something. He came across as likeable. Intelligent. He had an uncanny ability to make her laugh. When he had suggested dinner, she had been ecstatic.

"A dating app?" Kerry groaned. "Really? Don't you know that only the most desperate, depraved people use those things?"

"Gee, thanks, sis," Cat deadpanned. Stepping into the pair of high heeled Louboutin pumps she had chosen to wear, she gave the hem of her dress a tug and moved to get a pair of earrings. "I'll update my profile and put that in. Desperate, depraved single woman seeking equal-minded man!"

"I didn't mean you – Shannon, sweetie, go help your sister set the table. But what do you know about him?"

"Well, he's divorced. He has three kids. He's originally from the area and just moved back—"

"Wait, divorced with three kids?" Kerry made a sound of disgust. "Why did they get divorced?"

"I'm pretty sure it's because his wife walked in on him cutting up the body of a hooker." Cat rolled her eyes. "We've only been chatting for a few days, sis. It's not like he opened with the reason behind his divorce."

"Three kids though. How old is he?"

Cat hesitated. Despite the fact they were on the phone, and despite the fact that Kerry was a safe hour and a half away from her, she could see the "big sister" look and groaned. "I don't know."

"God, he could be ancient."

"He's not. The pictures on his profile show him with three boys. I think. One of them has long hair and could be a girl…" She doubted it, though. The pictures had been of Brandon and his kids at the beach, at a Yankees game, at the Grand Canyon. She couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't shown his face. Maybe, like her, he'd been too nervous to do so. "Anyway, he's not ancient. He's probably late thirties?"

"Something must be wrong with him if he's on an app looking for someone. What if he's a rapist? Or a sex trafficker? Or—"

"Or what if he's like me and just wanted to meet new people?" Cat suggested, securing the silver hoops in her ears. Picking up her phone, she turned off the speakerphone and tucked it against her ear. "Stop worrying."

"He probably used someone else's pictures on his profile," Kerry muttered. "And don't tell me to stop worrying. I always worry about you. Ever since you up and moved to New York. Ever since you started seeing Chad—"

"Ever since I proved that I tend to fuck things up, I know," Cat groaned. Should she have put more makeup on? She hadn't wanted to overdo it. But it was too late to add more now. Throwing her lipstick and wallet into the small purse she'd dug out of her closet. "You'll be happy to know I'm not going to date anyone at work. Well, I was going to, but—"

"Who?" Kerry chirped.

"A really nice guy." She sighed, grabbing her keys off the dresser and leaving the apartment. "But there wasn't any… You know."

"Sex?"

"No!"

"He's gay?"

"No…"

"Impotent?"

"Kerry!"

"I don't know, what isn't there any of?"

"I can't explain it. I mean, I liked him. I still do. He's a nice guy. Handsome. A little quirky. Good figure. He's a wrestler, you know. But we kissed and…" She gestured even though her sister couldn't see. Falling silent, she maneuvered her car into a parking spot near the restaurant. Thirty minutes early. Maybe she was desperate after all.

"And?" Kerry prodded after two long moments of silence.

"I felt nothing. Neither did he."

"Then you must have done it wrong."

"Your support gives me life," Cat said breezily. "But no, I did it right. We even kissed again to be sure, and… Nothing."

"Okay. But surely he's not the only handsome, nice guy in the company?"

"Did you not just say you worried about me seeing the guy I worked with at my last job?" Cat heard the tone that indicated an incoming call. "Look, I've got to go. I need to get to the restaurant and I've got a call."

"I want details about this dating app stud first thing in the morning," Kerry insisted.

"I'll be sure and video the entire dinner just for you. Love you," Cat crooned before ending the call and switching to the one incoming. "Hello?"

"Cat. It's Shane. I know that I said I'd—"

"What's wrong?" she asked, brow furrowing. Shane had told her that he wouldn't call after hours anymore. Thinking back on the awkwardness of those few moments when he'd apologized for calling her and for the something-that-hadn't-happened, she frowned. He sounded anxious. "What happened?"

"Rogan's sick. And if you're not—"

"Does he have a fever?"

"A hundred and two. I—"

"Is he throwing up? Diarrhea?" Putting her car into gear, she drove away from the curb.

"He's thrown up twice. Nothing else. Could you—"

"Have you given him anything?"

"Just some ginger ale. Do you—"

"I'm out, I'll go by the drug store and pick up something for him," she offered. And she would go back and get some of her mom's chicken soup, which she kept in the freezer. Many a cold night during her childhood, bleary-eyed with fever and unable to keep anything else down, she had been soothed by the aromatic broth swimming with fresh vegetables, bits of tender chicken, and thin noodles. "Do you have anything at the house he can take?"

"No. I hadn't thought about it. I really—"

"Put a cool damp cloth on his forehead, and make sure he's wrapped up. I'll be there soon." She had plenty of time. Traffic was light, so she would be able to get to the drug store, to her place, to Shane's, and back to the restaurant before eight.

"Cat," he called before she could lower the phone.

"Yeah?"

"I… Thank you."

When she got to his building thirty minutes later, it was to find the door was slightly ajar. She eased it open and entered. Placing the bags on the island counter, she moved to close the door when Shane stepped into the kitchen. "Hey," she greeted softly. She could just hear the TV playing in the living room. "How's your patient?"

"Patients. Kenny's got a fever too," he sighed.

He looked exhausted. Frowning slightly, she impulsively moved closer and reached to press her palm to his forehead. Normal. "Just checking." Beginning to unpack the bags, she lined up the medicines on the counter. "I wasn't sure if he had other symptoms, so I grabbed a few different ones. I got some more ginger ale, too. And I ran home to get some of Mama's chicken soup."

"You didn't have to do that…"

"Mama's chicken soup is a miracle cure. Legend has it that she brought four girls from the cusp of death with just one bowl." Relieved to see his smile, she carried the containers of frozen soup to the counter next to the stove. "If they aren't perked up by tomorrow, I'll make some more for them."

"She trusts you with the recipe?" He was reading one of the boxes of medicine.

"It was the first thing I learned to cook." She looked around the kitchen. "Where are your pots?"

"Cabinet next to the stove. But Cat—" Shane cut off when she ducked to retrieve a pan. "Thanks for doing this, Cat."

"I don't mind." And she didn't. Earlier determination that she would avoid coming to his place had dissipated as soon as he'd called. Besides, he needed help. After shaking the frozen blocks into the pan and turning the stove on low, she turned away and shrugged out of her raincoat. "Where are they?"

"On the couch. Declan's hiding in his room to keep the germs away…"

He was staring at her. Glancing down to make sure her dress hadn't turned itself inside out, she headed into the living room. She took off her heels before crossing to the couch. Kenyon and Rogan were on opposite sides, both covered with blankets. Clicking her tongue in sympathy, she adjusted Rogan's blanket. "How you feeling, champ?"

"Ugh," the boy groaned. "Cold."

"I'm heating up some soup for you. It'll warm you up." Unable to resist, she smoothed his bangs from his forehead. "And your dad's getting something that will help your fever."

"Were you at a party?" Kenyon asked when she turned to adjust his blanket.

"No, just dinner."

"What did you eat?"

"Nothing. I'll get some soup when it's ready," she assured. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Dad said we could have ginger ale."

"Coming right up."

Going back and forth to fix them drinks and then bring them soup felt natural. Just as it felt natural to carry Rogan to his bed when he began to doze. He snuggled close to her as she carried him, and her heart gave a tug. Impulsively, she pressed a kiss to his forehead before tucking him into bed, then watched to make sure he was falling asleep before leaving the room. She left the door ajar in case he needed to call his father.

She walked right into Shane, who was coming out of the room across the hall. "He's asleep," she whispered. "Kenny?"

"Asleep." He stepped back so she could pass, and she thought she heard him sigh as she walked away.

In the living room, she gathered the empty cups and carried them to the kitchen. Shane took them and tossed them into the dishwasher, which he closed. Leaning against the counter, he heaved a sigh.

She looked at the time and inwardly cringed. She had been sure she would just bring the things Shane had asked for and gone back to the restaurant in time for dinner. Brandon had probably left long ago. She wondered if he'd sent her a message through the app criticizing her for standing him up. Groaning, she glanced at her purse.

"Something wrong?"

"I had a blind date," she muttered. She would look at her phone later. After she left. "I'd just gotten to the restaurant when you called… Oh well."

"Yeah, I had one too." He sighed. Dragging a hand over his face, he pushed away from the counter and opened the freezer door. She was surprised when he pulled out a pint of ice cream. Without a word, he popped off the lid and got a spoon from the drawer. When he set the carton on the counter she saw he'd actually grabbed two spoons. He nudged one in her direction and she stepped forward to pick it up.

"A blind date?" she asked.

"Yeah…" He nudged the carton closer to her. "Help yourself."

Strawberry. She stabbed her spoon into it. "Probably for the best that I skipped it," she muttered, wiggling the spoon so she got a good portion. "He seemed too good to be true."

"Probably so," he agreed, waiting for her to get her spoon out before getting some ice cream for himself.

"I mean he was on a dating site. That just screams something's wrong with him."

"Definitely a wife beater. Or he weighs like seven hundred pounds. Or he's got a micro penis…"

"And your date was probably a bleached blonde teeny bopper with a platinum card fetish and hates kids," she informed him, holding the spoon in her mouth for a long moment. She didn't like the surge of dislike she felt for whatever woman he had planned to go out with.

"So you're saying if I swipe my gold card between her tits she'll do anal?" he asked, eyes wide with innocence.

She snorted. "No. For that you have to swipe it down her ass crack and buy her a pair of Louboutins."

"Oh, really?"

"I'm just saying if a man buys me a pair of Louboutins, I'd be very open to anal." The words fell naturally out of her mouth, and she quickly looked to the ice cream as she scraped more out with her spoon. "But she probably thinks a backbreaker is what you have after a long night of sex, and a backstabber is a former friend who steals her man."

"You know…" he trailed, studying the ice cream on his spoon. He popped it into his mouth, holding up the spoon to indicate she should wait for him to finish. Then, tongue swiping his lips, he smirked. "If I'm swiping ass cracks and buying Louboutins, I want more than just anal."

"Well, I'm sorry," she huffed, tugging the carton closer to her. "Your assistant position is already filled."

"And yet… I still don't get anal…"

She gaped at him, then lightly punched his arm. "I think that's my cue to leave."

But she didn't want to go. She wanted to stay. To eat the ice cream with him and keep up the verbal teasing. She couldn't think of a reason to stay, though, and allowed herself another spoonful of ice cream before carrying her spoon to the sink.

He picked up the carton, and she heard his spoon scraping the bottom. "You—" He cut off and cleared his throat. "I really appreciate you helping out, Cat."

"I didn't mind at all. They're great kids," she told him, slowly tucking the cleaned freezer containers into her bag. "Even when they're sick."

"I know, but… Thank you." His spoon scraped inside the carton, and she watched it come out with the last bit of ice cream. To her surprise, he leaned across the counter and extended the spoon to her.

She parted her lips, unable to look away from his eyes as he fed her the ice cream. Telling herself that the shiver that rippled its way down her spine was from the coldness of the ice cream, she held her breath while he pulled the spoon away.

"Is it okay if I go check on them before I leave?" she asked softly when he'd straightened.

"Of course."

She did so, not daring to venture past the door to Kenyon's room. She could hear his gentle snores. She had a feeling he would rest comfortably through the night. Turning to peek in on Rogan, she was surprised to see his lamp was on. He was shifting around on the bed, so she tiptoed in. "Hey," she whispered, lightly placing a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh." He wriggled around to face her. "Can't sleep."

"How about a story?" she offered. When he nodded, she adjusted his covers and sat on the edge of the bed. "You know how hot it gets in summer, right? Well, double that, and that's how hot it was that summer…"

Shane stepped out of his bedroom, expecting to find Cat in the living room getting ready to leave. Instead, he saw her discarded shoes were still where she'd kicked them off. Going down the hall to the boys' rooms, he wondered if one of them had needed more medicine. First he peered into Kenyon's room, then crossed to Rogan's.

To his surprise, Cat was sitting up in the bed, Rogan cuddled close. The lamp was on, and her head was tucked close to his son's as she talked softly.

"…the creek. Of course, only an idiot would think of doing that, right? So of course I thought of it." She was smiling, and so was Rogan.

Not wanting to disturb what was obviously an enthralling story, he stayed in the hall, leaning against the wall so he could listen in.

"My bike wasn't the best. It was old, and it didn't have fancy speeds and handlebar brakes, but you know what?"

"What?" Rogan asked in awe.

"I loved it. Because it was mine. One of Daddy's friends gave it to him and he fixed it up just for me. He painted it my favorite color and even recovered the seat. And he put streamers on the handlebars." She sighed dramatically. "It was probably my favorite bike that I ever had."

She went on, describing a hot summer's day and a babbling creek. And a crazy girl who decided she would jump the creek in her favorite bike. Smiling, Shane wondered how much of the story she was making up. But, knowing Cat, he had a sinking feeling that all of it was true. Especially the wicked gash in her leg and the broken arm.

"See these little white dots here? That's where they put the stitches. They had to go in and put screws in my bone."

"Wow!"

Shane grinned. If she was hoping to get Rogan to sleep, she was doing a poor job. He would be talking about injuries and scars all night long. But her voice grew soft as she told of how one else ever tried jumping the creek. And how every summer she went back to it…

Whispering. They were whispering. Tuned in to every noise in the room, he heard movement. Rustling bedsheets. Peeking in, he saw her bending over to kiss Rogan's cheek. His heart tugged painfully in his chest at the sign of affection. She switched off the lamp, then tiptoed out of the room, closing the door fully.

He was back in the living room already, pretending he'd been gathering the blankets from the couch. "Rogan okay?"

"He couldn't sleep so I told him a story. Here, let me get those."

She took them before he could protest, and he followed her to the small laundry closet. Eyes on her bare legs while she put the blankets in the wash and leaned to get the detergent, he wondered where on her leg the gash had been. Up high, he supposed, seeing no hint of scars on the portions of legs exposed to him. Or maybe it had been on the front…

"Can you get the detergent?" she sighed. "It's too high for me."

Chuckling, he stepped forward to get the box down. "It's not too high for me, and I'm the one that washes clothes."

"Yes, well, you're tall. I'm short."

Not too short, he thought. In her bare feet, she reached the center of his chest. When she put on a pair of those damned heels, she was probably close to his chin. Leaning to get the box for her, he instinctively braced his other hand on the edge of the washer. And froze at the feel of her body pressed to his. Rhode Island – Providence. South Carolina – Columbia. South Dakota – Pierre… He inhaled, drinking in the scent of her hair, and held his breath when he felt her wriggle.

Fuck, he thought, dropping the box down on the lid of the washer. She tilted her head and he saw her parted lips, her widened eyes. Not in fear, he realized with a surge of relief. Surprise. Longing. Desire? He knew he felt all three, and then some, just as plainly as he could feel his jeans growing tight. His mind swirled with images of her turning around, of her initiating a kiss. Of her, perched on the edge of the washer, skirt hiked up. Of her legs sliding around his waist and pulling him in. He felt his cock twitch.

Her eyes widened further and he knew she'd felt it, too.

"Fuck," he whispered, pushing away. Turning his back to her, he clutched the back of his head with both hands, willing his body to calm itself. "I'm sorry."

She said nothing, but he could hear her breathing. As uneven and rapid as his own.

"I didn't call you so I could… Do that," he muttered, forcing his legs to carry him away from the laundry closet. Turning, he saw she was still facing the washer. Still gripping the edge. "I swear, Cat, I didn't mean… I just…"

Still she said nothing, slowly releasing her hold on the washer. When she swiveled around, her lips were still parted. Her eyes were still wide. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath. And she stared at him.

"I mean," he went on, still floundering for an excuse for his behavior. Even though nothing had happened, he felt she deserved an explanation. "You're a beautiful woman, but it's more than that. It's… You're funny and kind and you're intelligent. And you're great with my sons and… I know you probably don't feel it, but—"

"I do," she whispered, so faintly he thought at first he had imagined the words. "I do, Shane."

Thank god for that, he thought, releasing his breath slowly. But an earlier conversation came to mind, and he met her eyes. "You said you'd only felt that zing twice."

"You…" She blinked, a look of disbelief crossing her face. "You didn't… You idiot," she finally blurted. "The second time was you."

Oh. Oh. He almost stepped forward, but halted himself, feeling his heart drop. "I would be a mistake?"

She shook her head. "No… I don't think you would. You're probably the furthest thing from a mistake there could be."

He wondered if he should take that as a compliment. "Cat…"

"But it can't happen," she stressed.

Shocked to see tears forming in her eyes, he stepped closer. His heart twisted for her, and for himself when she ducked and slipped away. Following her, he gently grasped her arm as she turned the corner into the kitchen. She gasped as he brought her to him, and he bit his tongue when her breasts pushed against him. "Why?" he asked gently.

"Because it can't." She closed her eyes. Pressed her lips tightly together. "You deserve so much better than me."

"Cat, that's—"

"Let me go." Her voice was strained, and he watched one tear spill onto her cheek. "Please."

He let her go.

He watched her jam her feet into her shoes. Watched her fight with her raincoat. He knew better than to help and shoved his hands into his pockets when she groaned and threw the coat over her shoulder. He had millions of questions running through his mind but could vocalize none of them. When she snatched up her purse and several coins spilled out and clattered on the kitchen floor he stooped to retrieve them, hating every second of silence. He held the coins out to her, lifting his gaze from the floor to her face. She took them, fingers barely grazing his, and was gone before he could straighten up.

Just as the door was swinging shut behind her, he saw her hand shoot out to catch it, and felt a tiny bit of hope rise when she walked back inside. She said nothing, though, and the hope faded while she retrieved the bag of containers she'd left on the counter. When she reached the door, she hesitated, then turned a pair of sad blue eyes to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Then she was gone.