“Uh-huh,” replied Bob. They fell into companionable silence, though the morning soundscape of Los Angeles was loud enough. The birds were singing with a great deal of verve, a pool pump was growling away in the distance, and three competing leaf blowers were coming to blows somewhere close.

Apparently inured to the noise, Bob sipped his coffee in silence, watching Daisy and not looking at Laura until he felt totally conscious. As he’d walked onto the patio, her eyes had been closed, her head tipped back, and she’d looked very much as she had in his dreams the previous night. It had been a little startling. Bob tended to wake up feeling good in the mornings, ready to work, ready to get outside and get going, but not in any way ready to chat. One of his favorite things about his work, for him, was that he rarely needed to speak to anyone first thing in the morning. Sitting across from Laura was a challenge, though, because he very badly wanted to talk to her and couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I dreamed about taking you to bed last night probably wasn’t the best opener.

“Right.” He stood and stretched. “I need more coffee.” He held out his hand for her cup. “Want some?”

“It’s tea.”

“I can make tea,” he said, taking her cup.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Bob found himself in a bit of a quandary. It had been at least six months since anyone had seriously stirred him, and well over a year since he’d slept with a woman. That experience had been brief but pleasant, and he and she were still friendly. He hadn’t gone to her wedding or anything, but it was cool. Possibly as a result of being the youngest child and only male in a family run by his mother and grandmother, both of them unrestrained masters of life, he was thoughtful about women, and liked them, even though they often rendered him mute. It was conceivable that never getting a word in edgewise his entire childhood had led to his social shyness, but more likely it was simply the way he was. He frowned, moving to pour the now-boiling water into Laura’s cup.

“Sugar?” he called out, turning his head to hear her answer.

“One, please,” she replied, and her voice hit his heart like a bell. Oh crap, he thought to himself. That is not a good sign. He stirred the sugar, pressed out the tea bag, and poured the milk, all while trying to think of something pleasant to talk about. When he returned to the patio and handed her the cup of tea, his fingers touched hers briefly. Not that he noticed.