Lizabeth smiled to herself. She'd been worried about nothing. He had answered all the questions correctly. "And motorcycles! What if your son wanted a motorcycle?"

"Man, that would be great! We could go biking together."

She dropped a chunk of butter into a saucepan and put the pan on the stove. There were lots worse things than motorcycles, she told herself. Drugs, rabid bats, cholera. And it wasn't as if she and Matt were getting married tomorrow. They were merely lovers, and lovers were allowed some eccentricities. She rolled her eyes. What a bunch of baloney. Her feelings for Matt were strong and deep. The thought of having a brief romance with him held absolutely no appeal. They weren't merely lovers. They were In love, and they were tiptoeing around marriage. At least she was tiptoeing, Lizabeth thought. Matt was stomping straight ahead. Matt could afford to stomp straight ahead. He didn't have two children to consider.

A lump suddenly formed in her throat and her vision blurred. She missed Jason and Billy. They'd been the focal point of her life for ten years and she felt bereft without them. Boy, is this ever dumb, she thought. I'm really being a dope. The lump got larger.

Matt recognized the look of utter despair and guessed at its origin. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her forehead. 'They're going to be fine," he murmured, praying she didn't burst into tears, because he'd probably cry right along with her. He didn't completely understand this business of motherhood, but he was beginning to feel the power of it. And he was relieved to discover his own capacity for love. There had been a lot of years when he wondered if he had the emotional makeup to be a father and husband. There'd been a lot of years when he'd worried about duplicating his own childhood. He now knew it had been nonsense. He was his own person. Different from his parents. His mistakes would be different, he thought ruefully. "Motherhood is hell, isn't it?"

She sniffed and tried to smile. "I'm being silly."

He hugged her closer. "I don't think you're silly. You love your kids. I think that's terrific."

"It's more than that." She took the melted butter from the stove and set it on a hot pad. "My kids will survive two weeks with Paul. Elsie will shore up their trampled egos. They'll learn how to swim and play tennis. The problem is me. I don't know how to stop being a mother. My children are gone, and I don't know how to entertain myself. This is a terrific opportunity for us to be alone and have some fun together, and all I can do is complain about the Newsomes' TV antenna."

Matt poured the butter over the popcorn. "You're being too hard on yourself. You just need some time to adjust. We're going to sit down and watch a movie, and I bet by the time the movie's over we'll be having fun together."

He was right. By the time the movie was over they'd reduced the number of items in the little drugstore bag to thirty-four.

Lizabeth came awake slowly, at first knowing only that she was hot and uncomfortable. Her bedroom window was wide open but the curtains hung sentinel-straight in the still air. Her hair stuck to the nape of her neck and perspiration pooled between her breasts. Matt was sprawled on top of her, a heavy leg thrown over hers, a possessive arm pinning her to the damp sheet. She tried to wriggle free, but the arm tightened. This would be wonderful at twenty degrees below zero, she thought, but tonight it was oppressive. Not only was he sweating on her, but something was poking Into her side. She quickly identified the offending object. "Omigod," she giggled. "Not again!"

He mumbled in his sleep and half opened his eyes. "Hot."

Lizabeth gasped as his large hand roamed across her breast in sensuous exploration. Was he kidding? It had to be a hundred and forty degrees in the bedroom. It was the middle of the night, and she wasn't even sure if he was awake.

He pressed himself hard against her hip and groaned. "Is this a dream?" Then he answered himself. "No. Dreams don't perspire." He kissed her shoulder and moved his hand down her rib cage, across her belly, and lower.

A minute ago she didn't think she could get any warmer, but she'd been wrong! Liquid fire roiled through her with each stroke of his thumb. She swore at him for waking her up with his overheated body, and she swore at him for having such clever fingers.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

Yes, she liked it. She liked the way he took possession of her, and she liked her newfound capacity for passion. She gloried in her own sensuality, clenching her teeth and grabbing handfuls of the sheet as desire surged so strong under his hand it became almost unbearable. He slid between her legs and kissed her. The kiss was sweet and hard. Love and passion. He continued to kiss her while he entered. He knew his way now. He knew the rhythm she liked. Knew how to drive her wild. And he knew how to satisfy her. There was a moment when time stood still, when they hovered at the brink, staring into each other's eyes. It was only a moment, and then they skittered off into the dark, pulsating void of sexual release.

They clung to each other for a long time afterward, too sated, too exhausted to care about damp sheets and record-breaking temperatures. A stone flicked at the window, but they didn't hear it over their own heartbeats. Another stone hit, and Lizabeth opened her eyes.

Maybe it was her imagination, she thought. He couldn't possibly be back. Not after last night!

The flashlight beam swept across her empty window, It was followed by several more stones.

Matt growled. "Ignore him," he said. "Elsie and the boys are gone. For all I care, he can stand naked in your backyard until he drops dead from starvation."

There was a period of silence and then another flurry of stones.

Lizabeth sighed. "He's persistent."

"An admirable quality, but hell have to flash himself tonight. I'm not getting out of this bed and neither are you."

The light made a second pass over, followed by scuffling sounds, Lizabeth and Matt lay perfectly still, pretending disinterest, but listening intently. They heard the flasher give a small grunt right before a size-ten docksider came crashing through the top half of the bedroom window.

Matt bolted out of bed. "That's it! That's the end of the line. No more Mister Nice Guy." He flew out of the room and thundered down the stairs.

Lizabeth followed after him, realized she was naked, and ran back for her robe and slippers.

From the upstairs hall window she caught a glimpse of a naked man streaking across her lawn. Suddenly there was a lot of shouting. Red and blue flashing lights reflected off the stand of pine trees. And lights blinked on all over the neighborhood. Lizabeth raced through the house and out the back door. The police had a man on the ground and neighbors were converging on her yard from all directions.

"We've got him," Officer Schmidt said. "We didn't have anything better to do tonight, so we thought we'd stake out your yard, and it paid off!" The naked man was facedown in the dirt and Schmidt's knee was square in the middle of the man's bare back.

It was pitch-black, without so much as a sliver of a moon, but Lizabeth had enough light to recognize the long, muscular legs stretched out behind Schmidt. 'You've done it again, you numskull!" she shouted at Schmidt. "That's not the flasher. That's Matt!"

"Listen, lady, this guy was running through your yard in his birthday suit!"

"Mmmm. Well, I could see where you might make a mistake, but this is Matt. He was chasing the flasher."

Schmidt removed his knee. "Sorry." He looked around nervously. "Where's the old lady? She isn't running around in the buff too, is she?"

Matt stood and dusted himself off, and Lucille Wainstock gasped, and Emma Newsome giggled. Marvin Miller loaned Matt his robe, and Kathy White called Marvin a spoilsport.

"Excuse me," Bette Sliwicky said, "but I don't understand about this second naked man. Not that I'm complaining, but if he isn't a flasher, why doesn't he have any clothes on?"

Emma Newsome lapsed into a coughing fit.

Just great, Lizabeth thought. Here she was recently divorced with two young children, and she had a naked man spending the night with her. This would do wonderful things for her reputation. At least she wouldn't have to worry about being asked to run for president of the PTA.

"I don't have any clothes on because that's the way I sleep… without clothes," Matt said.

"He ran out without thinking," Lizabeth added. "The real flasher threw a shoe and broke my bedroom window, and so Matt jumped out of bed and um…" Did she Just say that? Did she actually just tell these people Matt was sleeping naked in her bed? She heard the sound of several eyebrows being raised and gave herself a mental kick. Billy and Jason would pay for this. Word was going to get back to them that their mother was a loose woman. She tilted her nose up a fraction of an inch and pasted a smile on her face. "It just occurred to me that, with the possible exception of Officer Schmidt and Officer Dooley, none of you have been introduced to Matt. I'd like you all to meet Matt Hallahan, my husband."

There was a collective moment of silence. "Is this a new husband?" Emma Newsome finally asked.

Matt put his arm around Lizabeth and hauled her to his side. "Yup," he said, "I'm brand-new. We just got married yesterday."

"Is that the reason for the barbecue Saturday?" Emma Newsome asked. "It's sort of a wedding reception. How nice!" She hugged Lizabeth. "I'm so happy for you."

Lucille Wainstock hugged Lizabeth, and so did Bette Sliwicky. Marvin Miller slapped Matt on the back. "You need an extra grill Saturday? I can drag mine over."