"No. Last night some man showed up in my backyard, and he was only wearing his tie and his shoes. Guess I panicked this morning. I thought he'd come back."

"So what do you think?" Dooley said. "Is this the guy or what?"

Lizabeth shook her head. "The flasher was shorter. Not nearly so muscular. He had sort of a potbelly."


Matt climbed out of the black-and-white cruiser. "He was only wearing his tie and his shoes?"

"A yuppie flasher," Elsie said. "They're the worst kind."

It was getting out of hand, Lizabeth decided. She was beginning to regret calling the police. Now that it was daylight the whole thing seemed silly. The man just stood there with a bag over his head. It was probably a prank, a fraternity initiation, a practical joke. "I'm sure I'll never see him again," Lizabeth said to the gathering. "And if he comes back, I'll send Aunt Elsie out after him."

Dooley looked Elsie over and grinned. "Go easy on him," he said. "Call us if you need help."

Elsie grunted and turned toward the house. "What's in the bag sitting on the porch? Looks like a bakery bag."

Ferguson raced across the lawn, snatched the bag without ever breaking stride, and disappeared down the street.

"Yup," Matt said wistfully. "It was a bakery bag."

Elsie narrowed her eyes. "I could have used a doughnut this morning. Were there any Boston creams?"

"Yup. Fresh from the oven."

"I don't mind that dog sinking his teeth into an old football," Elsie said, "but when he starts swiping my doughnuts, he's gone too far."

"He's just a puppy," Lizabeth said. "He had a traumatic infanthood. He was abandoned on the side of the road."

Matt thought the people who abandoned Ferguson knew what they were doing. He looked like a cross between a schnauzer and a Great Dane, and he had the personality of Attila the Hun. The dog obviously had an eating disorder, and what was he doing when the potbellied degenerate was parading around in his birthday suit? The damn dog probably hadn't given out a single woof. "So he's a puppy, huh? He's pretty big for a puppy."

"Of course he's big," Elsie said. "Worthless dog eats everything in the house. He'd eat a table leg if you put gravy on it."

Lizabeth sat on the closed seat of the toilet and watched Matt run his thumb over a bead of caulking compound at the base of the tub. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, cupping her chin in her hands. She was close enough to feel the warmth from his body, close enough to see that he had freckles under the fine blond hair on his forearm. It was nice like this, she thought. Even nicer than working together at the construction site. The employer-employee relationship had been replaced by something that was much more relaxed, more intimate, almost conjugal. He was an interesting man, she decided. Sometimes he fit her stereotype of a macho carpenter and sometimes he surprised her with his intelligence and sensitivity. "So what do you like to do when you're not building or repairing houses?"

He stood, wiped his hands on his cutoff jeans, and thought about it. "I watch television. I go to hockey games in Philly. I ride my bike around."


"I saw a hockey game once," Lizabeth said. "I thought the men looked cute in those short pants, but it was horribly violent. They kept beating on each other. I don't understand what men find so fascinating about fighting."

Matt felt his mind go blank. It was a good thing he didn't tell her about his short-lived career in amateur boxing. Or his front-row season passes for the Flyers. Or the time he met Hulk Hogan and almost passed out from excitement. "How about you?" Matt finally said. "What do you do?"

"I used to bake cookies. Does that sound dumb?"

"No. It sounds nice. Very domestic." He thought she looked displeased at that, so he amended his answer. "Very creative."

"Mmmm. Well, I'm not sure what I do now. I still bake cookies, but it's not nearly as satisfying. I suppose I'm at a crossroads."

He sat on the edge of the tub and studied her. "What about childhood dreams? Did you want to be a doctor? Or an astronomer? Did you want to grow up to be a fire chief?"

Lizabeth examined the tube of caulking compound and squeezed out a glob that artlessly landed on her foot. "I was never that realistic about my future. I wanted to be a fairy."

"And did you succeed?"

She laughed. "Not entirely. I'm still working on it. I'm having a hard time with the wings."

"So what are your adult dreams? What do you aspire to now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't seem to have any aspirations. I suppose I have little goals.

Paying my bills on time. Making a home for myself and my children. Learning how to caulk a bathtub."

Disappointment prickled in his chest. All her aspirations were of independence. And she hadn't mentioned Paris. If she'd asked the same question of him, he might have said he'd like to get married and have a family. Of course, she'd already done that, so he understood she would want something different. But understanding didn't make it any easier. He decided to change the subject. "So, how do you like construction work?"

"I like it. It's useful. I like being outdoors. The men have been nice to me." She looked into his eyes. "And I like working next to you. You're restoring my interest in the opposite sex." She saw the way his eyebrows raised and his mouth curved into a mercurial smile. "I don't just mean in the sexual sense. My marriage had a lot of painful moments. As the years progressed I reached the sorry conclusion that not only weren't men necessary to happiness, but they were a definite pain in the neck." She shook her head. "I was basing that judgment on very limited experience. There haven't been many men in my life."

"Does this mean I'm not a pain in the neck?"

"No. The part about the pain in the neck still holds. The part about happiness has changed. When we work as a team I feel like all the puzzle pieces fall into place and make a whole. It's comfortable. It makes me happy inside. I decided it has something to do with man-woman chemistry and friendship. We would probably make wonderful love together."

Matt fanned himself with a hand towel. Maybe she would mention the trip to Paris after all.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Yeah. It feels great."

Jason knocked on the closed bathroom door. "I gotta go."

"Go upstairs," Lizabeth yelled. "Matt's working in here."

Matt looked amused at that.

"I thought you might want to continue the discussion," Lizabeth said.

"About making love?"

"Mmmm. Bathrooms are so intimate. They inspire frankness, don't you think?"

Matt grinned at her. "Have you been drinking?"

"Nope. I've been thinking."

"That's even more dangerous." He stood and pulled her to him. "What else have you been thinking?"

"Uh-uh, it's your turn to think."

His hands spanned her waist, framing her hipbones. "I think I should kiss you."

She felt her stomach tumble. "A man of action, huh?" Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second- long enough for Lizabeth to see the raw hunger, long enough for her to see some other emotion. Annoyance? Their mouths met and all things cerebral were forgotten. Only passion remained. They had both been abstinent far too long. Physically and emotionally abstinent.

His hands roamed her back, pressing her into him, but the closer he held her the more dissatisfied he felt. It was always like this, he thought. He was never able to get enough of her. Never enough talking, never enough laughing, never enough loving. It was the loving he needed now. He needed more. He needed to feel flesh against flesh, not for a stolen moment in a bathroom, but for hours and hours in total privacy.

Someone rapped on the bathroom door and Matt whispered an oath into Lizabeth's hair.

"Yes?"

"I have to use the facilities," Elsie said. "You gonna be done soon?"

Lizabeth took a moment to find her voice. "Well be done in a minute, Aunt Elsie. Matt's just finishing up in here."

"I bet he is," Elsie said. "When that door opens I better see some fancy caulking."

Matt moved away and gathered his tools. "I think I'm in trouble."

"It's all my fault," Lizabeth said.

Matt handed her an empty container of grout. "Damn right it's all your fault. Next time you want to have a discussion about making love it's going to take place in my house." He saw the panic register in her face. "That suggestion make you nervous?"

"Very."

"You know what you are? You're a tease. Every time you get passionate with me it's in a public place." He tangled his hand in her hair, his thumb stroked across her lower lip, and his voice gentled. "You need to take some time out and come to terms with your own sexuality. And you have to give some serious thought to me. I'm in love with you."

Lizabeth swallowed. "Wow."

Matt opened the bathroom door and nudged her forward. That wasn't so bad, he decided. Now it was out in the open. He said it out loud and his voice hadn't cracked, and he hadn't fainted, and the world hadn't come to an end. He'd broken out into a cold sweat, but he didn't think anyone would notice.

He passed Elsie in the foyer. "You're sweating like a pig," she said. "It must have been hot in there."

Four

Matt was in love with her. She'd run it over in her mind a hundred times in the last three hours, and she still wasn't sure how she felt. It was flattering, of course. And exciting. It was also frightening. And it made her stomach upset. Nerves, she told herself. She wasn't ready. It was all happening too fast. Well, if it was happening too fast it was her own fault. She'd encouraged him. Worse than that, she'd taken the initiative. And he was right about the teasing part. She always managed to lead him on in public places. It hadn't been intentional. Matt called it teasing, and she supposed it might look like that from his point of view, but she knew that sort of teasing wasn't part of her makeup. It was more that she was testing the water, and she'd unconsciously provided herself with a chastity belt. It had been cowardly, she decided.