Once she had a cup of coffee she’d feel much better. She didn’t mind that he’d slung a red flannel shirt on his shoulders, but he still hadn’t shaved or combed his hair. She didn’t mind that he spent the entire morning reading the Post funnies while she barely had time to glance at the front page.

He put his hand to the small of her back and propelled her toward the kitchen. “You have breakfast yet?”

“Of course I’ve had breakfast. It’s seven-thirty, for crying out loud.”

“What did you have?”

Kate looked at him blank-faced. Caught like a rat in a trap, she thought. She made a pretense of fussing with her bow and mumbled.

“What?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I said I had a cookie.”

“That’s it?”

“It was oatmeal. Oatmeal is good for you. Everybody eats oatmeal in the morning.” It had been oatmeal with double stuff icing and chocolate chips. But there was no need to go into unnecessary details.

“That’s a terrible breakfast. You need juice and milk and a good whole grain cereal. You’ll never grow up to be big and strong on cookies for breakfast.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He sliced an orange and fed it to the juicer. “I used to be just like you. Always hustling. Always busy.” He handed her a glass of freshly squeezed juice. “It’s no good for you, you know. Lowers your immune system. You take vitamin C?”

Kate ignored the question and opened a cupboard, searching for a coffee mug. “I don’t have much time…”

Dave closed the cupboard and placed a mug in her hand. “Here’s your mug, but you get coffee only if you promise to sit down and eat breakfast.”

“Will breakfast take long?”

“You ever consider yoga? Relaxation exercises?”

“You ever consider a broken nose because you deprived a redhead of her morning coffee?”

He poured her coffee and pointed to a chair. “Sit!”

“Just for a minute.”

“Seven minutes. Five minutes for me to make the oatmeal and two minutes for you to eat it.”

“Honest-to-God oatmeal? That congealed gluey stuff with lumps in it? Don’t you have any real cereal? Don’t you have Frosted Flakes or Sugar Crisp or Froot Loops?”

Dave slid the bowl of oatmeal into the microwave. “Better watch your step, or I’ll make you eat an egg.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“I know. You’re lucky to be living next door to a guy like me. I’m a real catch. I’m rich, I make breakfast, and I’m cute.”

“Is this a proposal?”

He slapped a place mat in front of her. “Nope. Last time I proposed you said you’d rather be boiled in oil. Now it’s your turn to do the proposing.”

“I’d rather be boiled in oil.”