jerked on the handle of the pan. "I didn't hear you."
"Not surprising, as you're entertaining the neighborhood with . . . Jesus, is that ABBA?"
"What? Oh, the music. It is loud." She gave the pan another shake before adjusting the heat under it. With an easy side step, she picked up the remote, lowered the volume on the stereo. "Cooking music. I thought I'd surprise you with a ready-made meal. These scallops just need another minute. The sauce is already done, so you can have a little something right away. How about a glass of wine?"
"No. Thanks." He reached over her head into the cabinet for a bottle of aspirin.
"Hard day." In sympathy, she rubbed a hand down his arm as he fought open the bottle. "Michelle told me. Why don't you sit down for a minute, get your bearings?"
"I'm filthy. I need a shower."
"Well, you're right about that." She rose on her toes to brush a light kiss on his lips. "I'll get you some ice water."
"I can get it." He moved past her to the refrigerator. "Michelle gave you the key?"
"She said you were stuck out on a job, and having a bad day. I had the food out in the car, so . . ." She shook the pan again, turned off the flame. "I've got a flank steak marinating. Red meat ought to help your headache. You can just clean up and relax. Or I can hold dinner awhile if you want to stretch out until you feel better."
"What is all this, Emma?" Even at the lower volume, the music scraped against his nerves. He grabbed the remote, turned it off. "Did you haul those pots up here?"
"Chip did the heavy work. I had the best time picking out the urns, the plants." She sprinkled the scallops with a mixture of cilantro, garlic, and lime, poured on the sauce she'd prepared. "They really pop against the house, don't they? I wanted to do something to thank you for New York, and when inspiration hit, I juggled a few things and hit the road."
She set the empty bowl in the sink, turned. Her smile faded. "And I miscalculated, didn't I?"
"It's been a lousy day, that's all."
"Which I've added to, clearly."
"Yes. No." He pressed his fingers to the drill trying to bore through his temple. "It's been a bad day. I just need to smooth out some. You should've called if you wanted to . . . do this."
Without thinking, out of sheer habit, he picked up the spare keys and shoved them in his pocket. He might as well have slapped her.
"Don't worry, Jack, I didn't hang anything of mine in a closet, put anything in a drawer. My toothbrush is still in my bag."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"My trespassing only went as far as the kitchen, and it won't happen again. I didn't run out and make a copy of your precious keys, and I hope you won't give Michelle any grief for giving them to me."
"Give me a small break, Emma."
"Give you a break? Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to have to tell her I didn't have a key?
To know we've been sleeping together since April and I can't be trusted."
"It has nothing to do with trust. I just never - "
"Bullshit, Jack. Just bullshit. Every time I stay here - which is very rare because it's your space, I have to make sure I don't leave so much as a stray hairpin behind because, dear God, what's next? An actual hairbrush? A shirt? Before you know it I'll actually feel welcome here."
"You are welcome here. Don't be ridiculous. I don't want to fight with you."
"Too bad, because I want to fight with you. You're irritated because I'm here, because I invaded your space, made myself at home. And that tells me I'm wasting my time, I'm wasting my feelings, because I deserve better than that."
"Look, Emma, all this just caught me at a bad time."
"It's not the time, Jack, not just the time. It's always. You don't let me in here because that's too close to a commitment for you."
"Jesus, Emma, I am committed. There's no one else. There hasn't been anyone else since I touched you."
"It's not about someone else. It's about you and me. It's about wanting me, but only on your terms, on your - your blueprint," she said waving her hands in the air. "As long as we stick to that, no problem. But