"If it snows six feet, can you stay home from work?"

"If it snows six feet, I'll make a point of staying home from work."

"And we can have hot chocolate and play ten million video games."

"That's a deal."

"Do you wear a condom when you have the sex with my mother?"

All the blood in Brad's head drained out of the soles of his feet. "Do what?" "Because if you don't, you could make a baby. Would you marry her if you made a baby?"

"Holy Mother of God."

There was a tickle at the back of Simon's throat, a kind of sick nervousness. But he couldn't stop the rush of words—they had to be said. "The guy who made me with her, he didn't marry her, and I think it hurt her feelings. I have to look out for her now, so if you're not going to marry her if you make a baby, you can't have the sex." Because his belly was jumping, Simon looked down and gave the ball a good kick. "I just wanted to say."

"Okay. Wow. Okay, I really think I need to sit down." Before even the jelly his knees had become melted away. "Why don't we all go inside and do that… the sit down thing."

"I'm the man of the house," Simon said in a small voice.

"You're a hell of a man, Simon." In a gesture he hoped bolstered them both, Brad laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let's go inside and sit down and talk about this."

Brad prayed for wisdom, and whatever else would help while they peeled off their jackets. He figured the kitchen was best so they could occupy themselves with drink or food, or anything to make the discussion less horrendous for both of them.

Though he wanted a beer in the worst way, he poured them both a Coke. "About sex," he began.

"I know about sex. Mom said it doesn't hurt, but sometimes people yell and stuff because it's fun."

"Good," Brad managed after a moment, and worried that he could actually hear his brain cells dying. "Your mother and I… Ah. Adults, healthy, single adults often have relationships that—the hell with this. Look at me."

He waited until Simon lifted his head. All the doubts, the defiance, the determination were printed clearly on his face. Just, Brad thought, like his mother's.

"I'm in love with your mother. I make love with her because she's beautiful, and I want to be with her that way. I want to be with her in every way because I'm in love with her."

"Is she in love with you back?"

"I don't know. I'm hoping."

"Do you hang around with me so she'll be in love with you?"

"Well, you know, it's a pretty big sacrifice for me, seeing as how you're so ugly, and you smell so bad. Plus you're short, and that's really annoying. But whatever works."

Simon's lips twitched. "You're uglier."

"Only because I'm older." He laid his hand over the boy's. "And somehow, despite your many flaws, I'm in love with you, too."

Emotions rushed into Simon's throat and seemed to flood onto his face. "That's pretty weird."

"Tell me about it. I want both of you more than I've ever wanted anything."

"Like a family?"

"Exactly like that."

Simon stared down at the table. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, but he wanted to make it right. "Would you marry her, even if you didn't make a baby?"

So, it wasn't to be horrendous after all, Brad mused. "I'd like to make a baby, now that you mention it. But… Hold on a minute, there's something I want to show you. I'll be right back."

Alone, Simon rubbed his eyes hard. He'd been afraid he would cry, blubber like a girl or something. When you were having a real man-to-man talk, like Chuck's father called them, you didn't start crying.

He took a drink of his Coke, but it didn't settle his stomach. Everything kept wanting to jump around inside of him. He struggled to calm down when he heard Brad coming back, and wiped at his face, just in case.

Brad sat down again. 'This has to be just between us. Just the two of us, Simon. I need you to promise me."

"Like a secret?"

"Yes. It's important."

"Okay, I won't tell anybody." Solemnly, Simon spat on his palm, then held it out.

For a moment Brad could only stare. Some things, he thought—oddly comforted—never changed. He mirrored Simon's gesture, and they joined palms.

Saying nothing, Brad put a small box on the table and opened it, showed Simon the ring inside. "This was my grandmother's. She gave it to me when she and my grandfather had their fiftieth anniversary."

"Wow. They must be completely old."

Brad's lips quivered, but he kept his voice steady. "Pretty much. It was her engagement ring, and he gave her a new one on their fiftieth. She wanted me to have her first, and to give it to the woman I'd marry. She says it's lucky."

Lips pursed, Simon poked at the box and watched the ring beam. "It's really shiny."

Brad turned the box so he could study the old-fashioned ring with little diamonds in the shape of a small flower. "I think it's something Zoe would like. It's delicate, and it's different and it's proved itself. I'm planning to give this to her on Saturday."

"How come you're waiting? You could give it to her when she gets home."

"She's not ready. She needs some more time." He looked back at the boy. "She needs to find the key, Simon, by Friday. I don't want to push her, or do anything that distracts her before then."

"What if she doesn't find it?"

"I don't know. We have to believe she will. Either way, I'm going to give her this on Saturday and ask her to marry me. I'm telling you now not only because you're the man of the house and deserve to know my intentions, but because you and Zoe are a package deal. You're entitled to your say in this."

"Will you take good care of her?"

Oh, you marvelous child. "The very best I can."

"You have to bring her presents sometimes. You can make them, like I do, but you can't forget. Especially on her birthday."

"I won't forget. I promise."

Simon scooted his glass around in circles. "If she says yes and you get married, will her name be like yours?"

"I'm hoping she'll want that. Vanes are really proud of our name. It'd mean a lot to me if she took it."

He scooted the glass again, watched it intensely. "Will mine be like yours?"

Everything inside Brad lit up like one big candle of love. "I'm hoping you'll want that, too, because it'll tell everyone how you belong to me. Simon, if she says yes, and we get married, will you call me Dad?"

Simon's heart pounded so hard, he heard it ringing in his ears. He looked up, smiled. "Okay."

When Brad held out his arms, he did what came naturally and went into them. There were so many things to think about, and all of them seemed to want to jumble in her head as she drove along the river. The day was almost over, and that left only five more. Five more days to find the key, to open that final lock. Five days to search her mind, her heart, her life.

Nothing was the same as it had been. And when the week was up, everything would change again. All these new directions, she thought, so many roads, when before her route had been so direct.

Earn a living to make a home. Make that home so her son could have a happy, healthy, normal life. However arduous it had been from time to time, it had been relatively uncomplicated. You got up every morning, took the first step, and kept going until you got everything done.

Then you did it again, in some variation, the next day.

It had worked, and worked well.

But it was true, wasn't it? she admitted as she slowed to make a turn. It was true that under it all she'd still wanted more. The little things, the pretty things she saw in magazines. She'd found ways to have them by learning how to make them. Nice curtains, a table arrangement, a garden that lasted from spring till frost.

And the big things. The college fund she'd started for Simon and built on a little each month. The business she'd begun.

So however direct her route, she'd always had her eye out for a detour.

Well, she'd taken one now.

She pulled up at Brad's, saw Flynn's car, Jordan's. It made her smile. Her detour hadn't just brought two women she'd come to love into her life, it had brought three interesting men. And in less than three months, they had become more like family to her than her own.

She parked, waited for the guilt to creep in at that thought. When it didn't, she sat back and considered. No, she didn't feel guilty at all. She'd made this family, she realized. And through some miraculous twist of fate they understood her in a way her own never had. Probably never would.

She could love her mother, her sisters, her brother, she shared hundreds of memories and moments with them— good and bad. But she didn't feel, couldn't feel, the same connection, the same intimacy with them as she did for the family she'd made.

They were her more, she thought.

Nothing would ever take away what they'd built together over the past three months. Whatever happened next, she would always have her more.

Almost giddy with the sensation, she stepped out of the car and started toward the house. It felt good to stride up this walk, easy and natural to head for the front door not knowing quite what to expect when she opened it.

Dogs running, three men and a boy in a football coma, a male-generated disaster in the kitchen. It didn't matter what she found, because whatever it was, she was part of it.

Struck, she stopped. She was part of it, part of what went on inside this house. And the man who owned it. Slowly, she walked back to the banks of the river and turned, and looked.

She remembered the first time she'd seen the house, how she'd stopped her car just to stare and admire. She hadn't known Brad, hadn't really known any of them yet. But the house had caught her.

She'd wondered what it would be like to live there, inside something so wonderfully designed. To have some part in that perfect spot, woods and water, to call her own. And when she'd gone inside, she'd been drenched in delight and wonder. The warmth and the space had pulled her along. She remembered standing at the window in the great room and thinking how incredible it would be to live there, and to be able to look out that window whenever she liked.

Now she did. She could.

Her quest had brought her here, her and her son, to live inside that house with the man who owned it. With the man who loved her.

He loved her.

Breathless, Zoe pressed her fingers to her lips. Was this an intersection, she wondered, or a destination?

Eager to know, she ran toward it. She flung open the door, then held herself still, trying to interpret what she felt.

Ease, she thought, and comfort. And excitement, anticipation. A wondrous mix of the soothing and the giddy. Here, she thought. Yes, there was something here. Something that might be hers.

Moe dashed up, and she laughed as he bounded to plant his paws on her shoulders in greeting. "You'll never learn." She gave him a happy rub before pushing him down, and scooped up the puppy jumping over her feet.

"Let's go find our men." She tucked Homer on her shoulder like a baby, patting his back as she headed toward the noisy game room.

They were, as she'd suspected, sprawled everywhere in an intensely male Sunday afternoon tableau. The football game must have ended, but there was a new contest under way as Flynn took on her son in what appeared to be a vicious round of Mortal Kombat.

Jordan was slumped in a chair, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers, his long legs stretched out on a rug that was littered with potato chip shards, portions of the Sunday paper, and dog hair.

Brad had copped the couch, and with a bowl of nachos balanced on his belly looked to be catching a nap, despite the ringing sounds of battle from the screen and the floor.

Flushed with love for all of them, Zoe headed toward Jordan. He gave her a lazy smile, then cocked a brow as she caught his dark hair in her hands and bent down to give him a long, hard kiss.

"Hello, handsome."

"Hello, gorgeous."

With a laugh for his perplexed expression, she swung around. She crouched by Flynn and as Simon goggled, hooked her arm around Flynn's neck, tipped him back like a dance move and pressed her lips enthusiastically to his.

"Jeez, Mom."

"Wait your turn. Hi, cutie," she said to Flynn.

"Hi, back. Did Mal have whatever you did?"