His-And-Hers Twins

“That looks great.” Beverly traced a finger over the paisley silk scarf she’d used to accessorize the suit.

“Thanks.” Paige changed the belt for the third time.

“You have a hot date tonight?” The thirty-five-year-old entrepreneur who owned the store had become a good friend and confidant in the past few months.

“Not even a cold one,” Paige said with a wry laugh. Not a possibility either. “The neighbors are coming over for a meeting. I am going to an engagement party for a friend tomorrow, though.”

“Great.” Beverly tapped her polished nails on the counter. “Maybe you’ll meet someone there. You’re single and free now, you should be dating a different guy every night.”

“I don’t have time.” Paige stepped back to scrutinize her work. “I’m working my way through school, remember?”

A customer slipped into the shop and Beverly’s posture straightened as she recognized the possibility of a sale. The tall brunette flitted through the store, choosing several outfits to try on, then meandered over to the jewelry counter. Beverly would be off to brownnose any second. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Beverly worked seventy-something hours every week. Her social life was more nonexistent than Paige’s.

Beverly gave her a forlorn look as if she hated to run out in the middle of such an important conversation. Paige laughed, nonplussed. “Go on, make your sale.”

Paige cleaned up the window area, closed out one of the cash registers and waved goodbye as Beverly ran the customer’s credit card through the machine. She could almost hear Beverly’s squeals of excitement as the dollar signs brringed. She admired Beverly. After her husband had deserted her for a younger woman, Bev had borrowed money, opened the shop and made a success out of it.

Paige intended to make a success out of herself the way Bev had with the shop. Her high school home ec teacher had raved over her sewing projects, and a couple of her college professors had encouraged her dream of becoming a designer. Even if she never made it big with her own designs, she could work as a buyer for a big department store.

As she pulled into her driveway, she noticed Zeke and the girls’ empty driveway. As a veterinarian, Zeke probably had to work long hours. Shoving thoughts of them from her mind, she strolled up her driveway and went inside to enjoy the peace and quiet. Zeke probably wouldn’t even make the meeting.

WHAT HE WOULDN’T give for five minutes of peace and quiet before the meeting, Zeke thought as Summer and August battled over who would push the grocery cart. But hoping for peace was futile with two exhausted, hungry, irritable girls in tow. He tried to ignore his daughters’ next argument—which kind of cereal to purchase—as he wove his way through the aisles searching for something nutritious to serve them that could be nuked in the microwave and ready to eat in five minutes.

“I’m starving,” August said, dragging the toes of her sneakers.

“And I’m tired,” Summer whined.

“I’m almost done.” Zeke ignored the boxes of sugar-coated cereal the girls sneaked into the cart. Dinner, bath, the baby-sitter—he wondered how fast he could manage it all once he arrived home.

The young girl behind the counter snapped her gum as she rang his purchases, her gold nose ring dangling precariously. He inwardly cringed, feeling a million years old. How would he handle it if Summer or August grew up and wanted their bodies pierced or tattooed in ungodly places?

“Did you have fun at day care today?” he asked.

“No, Charlie stoled my finger-paint picture,” Summer said.

“But I smacked him one,” August said.

“You did what?” Zeke’s gaze shot to August.

“Right between the eyes,” August said.

“He bledded and everythin’,” Summer mumbled in a low voice.

The girl behind the counter laughed, flashing a mouth full of braces. “Fifty-two dollars and thirty-five cents.”

Zeke sighed. What kind of school allowed children to steal and hit each other?

“Yeah, Ms. Edie said she’s gonna call you,” August said. “But I tolded her you’d want me to ’tect Summer.”

Uh-oh. Zeke paid for the groceries and hauled his girls toward the minivan. On the ride home, he heard them nibbling on the dry cereal, and his thoughts drifted to his uncertainties about parenting. The girls were only in preschool and he was already receiving discipline calls from the teachers. His stomach knotted. He needed a woman’s help. What if he totally screwed up this parenting thing? Would his kids wind up on some daytime talk show one day?

As soon as they pulled in the driveway, the twins ran to check on the kittens. He fixed soup and sandwiches, eating quickly so he could make the meeting next door. He tried to stifle a tingle of excitement at the thought of seeing Paige again.

Zeke showered and quickly changed, choosing his clothes carefully. Being color-blind made matching his wardrobe difficult, so he’d pinned simple tags inside. He carefully matched the tags, then dragged on fresh army green slacks and a cream shirt. By the time the sitter, a teen from down the block, had arrived, he had minutes before the meeting was to start. He strode next door, wondering if he would have a few minutes alone with Paige before the neighbors descended.

PAIGE OPENED THE door and tried not to react to the sight of Zeke’s handsome face grinning at her. Then she noticed his dark gray slacks and brown shirt, and a frown wrinkled her brow. And his socks—one navy, the other brown. The poor man, someone needed to dress him!

“Is something wrong? You’re frowning.”

“No,” Paige said, quickly recovering. “Come on in. You’re the first one here.” Even with mismatched clothes, you look sexy as hell. Darn it.

Zeke entered, sweeping the comfy room with his dark gaze. “Nice house. A little neater than mine.”

“I live alone. That makes all the difference.”

“Yeah.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I guess it does.”

She ignored his adorable dimple and offered him a soda as they worked their way into her den. Thankfully the doorbell rang again and Paige hurried to answer it, grateful not to be alone with Zeke.

Within minutes, neighbors filled the room, chatting easily. Zeke smiled politely to the guests as Mrs. Spivy introduced him. A slender, plain woman with short brown hair sat on his left and Dannika, a tall, leggy divorced brunette, maneuvered her chair close to his right. Paige caught Zeke’s panicked look and almost felt sorry for him. Then Derrick came in and swooped her into a hug.

She threw her arms around him. “I’m so happy for you and Amelia,” she whispered. “I just knew the two of you were perfect for each other.”

Derrick kissed her cheek. “I love you, you know that! You are the greatest, Paige.”

Paige laughed, but the two of them pulled apart when she heard Mrs. Spivy clucking. “Can you two put your love life on hold while we get this meeting under way?”

“CAN YOU TWO put your love life on hold while we get this meeting under way?” Mrs. Spivy’s words reverberated in Zeke’s mind like a yelping cocker spaniel. The macho guy who held Paige simply grinned and pulled her onto the couch beside him, slinging an arm around her in a too-cozy move that rattled Zeke’s teeth. The guy loved her—he’d said so right in front of the whole neighborhood.

So much for wondering if Paige had a boyfriend. And he’d thought they’d had chemistry between them. She’d probably been suffering from shock over his messy house and sloppy appearance. And that flier—he was mortified.

“Let’s get started,” Paige said in her silky voice. “We’re all aware there’ve been some break-ins recently.”

Heads nodded in agreement. Zeke’s attention strayed as he studied Paige’s den. A comfortable leather couch, beige and red plaid recliner, pine tables. Everything neat and orderly. Paige’s voice broke into his reverie.

“And the police are doing all they can.” Paige folded her hands together. “But we’ve always been a close neighborhood, so Mrs. Spivy suggested we start this neighborhood watch program.”

“I still can’t get the ketchup out of my white sofa,” Myrtle Simmons said with a sigh.

“They took my car, drove it around and left it dead on empty,” Bert Collins added.

“One of ’em left a pair of unmentionables on my floor,” June Bailey said, patting her neatly coiffured hair.

“The police are investigating each incident. But as citizens, we can help prevent crime. We want to keep our kids safe.”

A hushed chorus of agreement filled the room. The woman beside Zeke offered him a shy smile. “I want my Daryl to be safe. Especially since his father’s not around.”

He nodded, wondering if he’d been pegged as potential father material.