Cooper drew to a halt and turned to face me. He licked his ice cream as he studied me and I studied him licking his ice cream . . . naughty, naughty thoughts entering my mind and heating my blood.

I could feel the heat in my cheeks and hoped to God he couldn’t see it.

I wrenched my gaze from his mouth to his eyes and found that thankfully he was too busy with his own thoughts to recognize mine had taken a wander down “dirty sexy alley.”

“You’re not happy.”

I frowned at his words. “I’m having a great time,” I insisted truthfully.

Cooper’s eyes warmed. “Glad to hear that, Doc, but I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about in general.”

Uncomfortable with his observation, I turned away and started walking toward the pendulum ride.

“Jess?”

It was the first time he’d ever said my actual name instead of “Doc.” For some weird reason that made me feel guilty about ignoring his probing comment. “I don’t know,” I suddenly said, an overwhelming melancholy settling upon me. “I don’t know.”

And I didn’t anymore.

He was looking at me again. Really looking. Before I could start squirming at the thought of being psychoanalyzed and questioned more, he said, “This is a shit ride, Doc”—he nodded to the pendulum ride—“let’s try Wipeout next.”

I smiled gratefully.

“I should warn you, us being here together for dinner, there will be speculation,” Cooper murmured in my ear as Iris led us to a booth in the back of Antonio’s.

By the way Iris grinned at us and said, “Well, well, well,” as we wandered in together I was already getting that. I gave him a look to tell him so and I saw the humor in his eyes.

“Here you go,” Iris said as she laid down our menus.

We slid into opposite sides of the booth and looked up at her. She was grinning at us. Her eyes landed on Cooper. “Moving on and moving up, son.”

Cooper didn’t say anything to correct her. I didn’t say anything to correct her because what she said was so nice I was internally aww-ing too much to do so.

“Drinks?”

“Water,” Cooper said.

“Same.”

“Okay. I’ll be back to get your orders in a bit.”

Cooper recommended the Italian hot dog so that was what we got.

“They should name this ‘Dogs Go to Heaven,’” I moaned after swallowing a mouthful of deliciousness.

Cooper shook with laughter as he ate. He swallowed and said, “Ira will love that. You should suggest it for real.”

I chuckled. “Will do. Once I eat this mother-effing goodness.”

“Mother-effing?” He grinned.

I shrugged. “It would be inappropriate to use the actual word in a family place.”

He shook with more laughter as he chewed and I felt a rush of something warm and fuzzy go through me. I liked making him laugh.

“So did you enjoy returning to the fun park?” I said.

“Yeah.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back against the booth, looking content in a way a person does when he’s just eaten really good food. “Because I was with you. It loses something, though, when you get older.”

“I don’t think it loses anything. It’s us that lose something.” I wondered what it was that he had lost that made the place special. Was it his ex? And why did that thought make the hot dog in my stomach turn to ash?

Cooper nodded. “You’re right.”

When he didn’t elaborate I felt a surge of disappointment. I hoped to God he wasn’t talking about his ex.

“So tell me about the bar,” I said, changing the subject.

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you come to be the owner of a bar on the boardwalk? From what I hear that’s prime real estate.” I grinned cheekily.

He chuckled. “You been talking to the Devlins?”

“No. Bailey.”

“But she’s been talking about the Devlins. Everything she said is true. They’re a pain in the ass.”

“Have they been bothering you about the bar?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle, Doc.”

I frowned at that because I hated the idea of anyone trying to disrupt the contentment Cooper seemed to have.

“The bar used to be called the Boardwalk and it was owned by my mother’s brother. My great-grandparents owned it and it’s been passed down since. My uncle died in a car crash when I was just a boy and he left the bar to my mom. She kept the same management on to run the place for her and then when I was twenty-one she gave it to me. I wanted to make it my own. The place was dog tired, needed a face-lift. I did all that and renamed it Cooper’s. I added a menu and hired a cook and the place is doing well.”

“It’s hard work owning a bar.”

“It’s hard work owning any establishment, but at the same time I get to hang out with people I like every night.”

I grinned at the way he looked at it. “So no downsides?”

“Oh, there are a few.”

“Such as . . .”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking uneasy, and he leaned in closer, his voice quieter as he said, “I currently have a waitress who is constantly late for work. She’s a good girl, though, just a bit of a flake. I don’t want to fire her, but my bar staff has to carry her weight. I’m stuck on what to do. I’ve fired waitstaff before if they weren’t keeping up, but Lil is different. She’s a good worker when she is there, and she gets great tips. I keep going back and forth on it because I hate the thought of taking away anyone’s livelihood—especially a kid who does do a good job when she actually makes it in on time.”