“Actually, it’s a generic box mix with two eggs and oil added.”

Kate followed him to the kitchen at the back of the house and sniffed the layer cake cooling on wire racks on the counter. “This smells great. You baked this for me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Are you impressed?”

She picked a crumb from the counter and nibbled it. “Absolutely. You fix roofs, you bake cakes, you feed pizza to distraught women.” She watched him drop a handful of beans into a coffee grinder and add water to the electric coffeemaker. “You grind your own coffee beans.” She plopped into a ladder-back chair. “What else do you do?”

“That’s about it.”

“What sort of job do you have?”

“I’m… between jobs.”

She’d never been between jobs. Music stretched like an invisible continuous thread weaving its way through the fabric of her life. Friends, houses, coats, and cars had come and gone, but her job was constant. Her job was to make music, and to make it perfectly wonderfully. The concept of a worthwhile person being between jobs was difficult for her to grasp.

“Have you been between jobs for very long?” she asked.

“About six months.” Bulldog, he thought grimly. He could see it in her eyes. She was going to sink her teeth into him and hang on until she had him figured out. He imagined she did that with music. She was probably a holy terror. “You’re a musician?”

“Yup.”

“What instrument?”

“Cello.”

He flipped the cake onto a plate and handed Kate a butter knife. “How about if you frost the cake while I take a shower.”

A stab of panic raced through her. “I don’t know how to frost a cake.”

“Do you know how to open a can?” He set a large can of chocolate frosting on the table next to the cake.

“Son of a gun.” She smiled. “What will they think of next?”

He took the slicker from her and hung it on a wall hook. “Your sweats are wet at the cuffs and knees. I’ll throw a dry pair down to you.”

Kate nodded acknowledgment and peeled back the easy-open lid. “This is amazing,” she said. “Look at this—frosting in a can.” She took a big glob of brown gunk on the tip of her knife and swirled it across the cake. “I love it!”

Dave looked at her in amazement. “Haven’t you ever been in a supermarket?”

“Sure. But I never thought to look for frosting in a can. I’m always in such a rush. When I was a kid all I did was practice, practice, practice. I guess my mom made cakes, but I never paid much attention. There weren’t cooking facilities at the conservatory, and when I took up housekeeping with Anatole we had lots of money and bought ready-made cakes. We bought everything ready-made.”

“What does this Anatole person do?”