Stacking plates, Kincaid quipped, “One could say that about a lot of things,” then swore at himself as he saw her wince at the direct barb. “Sorry, Vic. I-” He broke off, unsure what to say. How could he apologize without opening the very can of worms he’d meant to avoid?

Vic took the dishes without comment, then paused with the laden tray in her arms and looked at him steadily for a moment before she spoke. “Sometimes it takes experience to know just how good things are. Or to recognize someone’s worth. I was a fool, but it took me a long time to figure it out.” She smiled and added as Kincaid stood gaping, “Come on, give me a hand getting these things into the kitchen, then I’ll make us some tea. Unless you’d rather have something stronger?”

Taking refuge in the commonplace, Kincaid said, “No, no, that’s all right. Tea’s lovely. I’ve got the drive back to London and the wine will have put me close to the limit.”

He took the tray from her, and as she held the door he maneuvered it into her small kitchen and set it on the worktop. Retreating to the doorway, he watched her as she filled the kettle. Her apology went against all his expectations and he had no idea how to respond.

Gathering cups and a teapot, Vic said matter-of-factly, without looking at him, “You have someone waiting for you.”

“Is that a specific or a general statement?” he asked, grinning. He thought of Gemma, of the precarious balance they’d striven for these past few months, and wondered if her refusal to come with him today reflected more than her desire to spend time with her son. She’d invited him back to her flat tonight, but that didn’t ensure the quality of his reception.

Vic glanced at him, then shut off the kettle as it came to the boil. When she’d filled the pot and set it on the tea tray, she motioned Kincaid to follow her to the sitting room. Over her shoulder, she asked, “Does she appreciate you?”

“I’ll tell her you said nice things about me. A sort of past-user guarantee.”