He walked beside her. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“That must be miles from here.”

Berry shrugged. “It’s not so far.”

May as well get used to walking, she thought, I’m going to be doing a lot of it. Anyway, she could use the exercise to get rid of the nervous stomach caused by Mr. Large Pizza with the Works and his navy briefs.

No way was she walking home, Jake thought. It was dark, and late. She could get mugged or snatched by a maniac serial rapist. And she smelled like pizza. She could get attacked by a pack of hungry dogs.

“If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll give you a ride,” he said to her.

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. Besides, I’d get your fancy car all dirty.”

“My fancy car has leather seats. They wash. Wait here.”

Berry kept walking. “Really, it’s not necessary.”

He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and plunked her into a sitting position on the edge of the curb. “Wait here!”

“You’re awfully bossy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

That intrigued her. She watched him jog away and wondered who else thought he was bossy. A girlfriend, maybe? A wife? She was still wondering when the cream-colored car rolled to a stop in front of her. She removed her vest and carefully placed it on the floor, mozzarella side up.

“This is very nice of you,” Berry said.

“Yup, that’s me. I’m an all-around nice guy.” He cut his eyes to her. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Berry Knudsen.”

“Berry? Like in holly berry or cranberry?”

“Lingonberry. My mother was inordinately proud of her Scandinavian heritage. So, who else thinks you’re bossy? Your wife?”