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Maybe we were both denying our attraction from the start, because it was inconvenient, but now we’ve taken it to its logical conclusion. We released all that pent-up lust.

Closure.

We have no reason to ever see each other again.

I make a couple of calls, and when I finally head back into the house, the cat tries to follow. I make her stay outside, closing the sliding door.

What the hell is that smell?

The house smells sweet and inviting, like cinnamon and maple syrup.

And what the hell is that music?

It’s coming from the chef’s kitchen. But that is not my chef’s music. He sometimes listens to classical music while he works, but this is eighties pop.

I push the door open, and find Quinn making pancakes to “Hungry Like the Wolf.”

“What are you doing?”

“Pancakes,” she says cheerily, lifting one on the spatula to show me before adding it to a pile of them on a plate. “I was going to bring some to you. You really shouldn’t skip breakfast.”

I can’t even respond to that. I’m too thrown off by this whole scene. Her, flipping pancakes, in her polkadot dress, with one of my chef’s aprons on. Where the hell is he?

What did he do, hand her the keys to my house and leave?

She can’t get comfortable here.

“Don’t they smell good?” she goes on. “It’s a family recipe. My mom makes the best pancakes. The secret is a little real maple syrup, right in the batter, amber if you have it, and Ceylon cinnamon. I was so happy to find you have both. That pantry is well-stocked! Apparently the recipe actually came from my dad. Mom said he made them for her on their second date, and that’s when she knew she was in love. Although… maybe that meansshe spent the night with him on their second date? I never really thought that through before. Is that TMI?”

Yes. Yes it is.

All of it.

This woman is the queen of TMI.

Once again, she just told me way the fuck more than I ever wanted or needed to know. Because the more I know, the more I have to think about, and the more I think about her… the more I need her out of here.

“I don’t have time to eat. I’m needed at the office.” Mostly, I need to get away from her. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh.” She turns to me. “Well, just let me finish cooking these last ones? And I could catch a ride with you? I have a cake order to fill, and then I’m starting my new job tonight.”

And now she thinks I want her itinerary?

But fuck,I do.

There’s something seriously wrong with me.

She chews on the side of her lip, like it’s finally occurring to her that she might be oversharing. “You can warm up the pancakes later.”

“Fine. I’ll have the car ready out front.”

When she turns back to the pancakes, I go put my shoes on. Manus pulls the car up for me, and I get in, waiting for her in the backseat with the door open.

A few minutes later, she emerges from my house, disturbingly beautiful in the morning sun. Bright turquoise hair, blue polkadot dress. She slides in next to me with a cheerful “Thank you!” to Manus as he shuts the door for her. “What a beautiful morning,” she says to me.

“I want to make it clear,” I tell her as we pull out of the driveway, “that last night was a one-time thing.”

Her bright expression fades a little. It’s like clouds drifting in front of the sun. “Okay. I was just trying to be nice.”