Griff turned back to her, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. Her apartment, apparently, had passed some test…and so had she.

“The telephone’s in the kitchen,” she told him. “For the cab.”

Obediently, he strode toward the kitchen, but she had a feeling he’d recognized her remark for the defensive ploy it was. She followed him, and gave a loud, expressive sigh when she saw him bending down to stare into the open refrigerator.

“You need food,” he pointed out. “If you’re going to drink on an empty stomach-”

“I don’t drink on an empty stomach. I just don’t drink. Normally. But I couldn’t just play with my hands for more than an hour-”

“I know. I was late. And the very least I can do is fix you something to eat.”

So virtuous. “It is not necessary.”

“So…” He drew out a casserole of macaroni and cheese and looked vaguely around the kitchen. “We know you’re not much on blind dates, that you can’t handle alcohol, and that my sister has a better eye for a good-looking woman than I ever gave her credit for. You might as well tell me the rest of it.”

He made the dinner. She watered the plants in between sips of strong black coffee and feeding the fish. By the time they sat down at the table, neither of them seemed to be wearing their shoes anymore. With the salad, he served aspirin for her headache.

He was a big believer in equal time, so over dinner she gave him all the reasons why she had been just as opposed as he was to being fixed up on a blind date. She had opened her book and craft shop five years before, with the help of a big dream, a very small inheritance from a distant uncle, a banker who actually seemed sympathetic, and a halfway decent collection of rare old books her father had contributed to the cause.