“I like to draw.” He reached across her and took a box of crayons from the end table. “I bought myself a new box of crayons today. Not just any box, mind you. This is the forty-eight-crayon size. That’s the best size to get. The bigger box has a crayon sharpener, but I like the shape of this box better. It feels substantial in your hand.” He popped the top and stared happily at the crayons. “New crayons are great. All perfectly lined up in their paper wrappers, with their little flat tops. And I love the waxy smell.” He sniffed appreciatively and held them out to her. “Here. I’ll give them to you, then you’ll have something to do while you watch TV. I have a new pad, too.” He took a pad from the end table and set it on her lap with the crayons.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’s okay. I’ll get myself another box.”

Kate stifled a giggle. She felt silly with her gloppy bowl of ice cream and brand-new crayons. All she needed was a pair of patent leather shoes—the kind with the little strap that buckled across the instep. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to put them on because her cast wrapped around the bottom of her foot. “What kind of pictures do you draw?”

“All kinds. Mostly cartoons. I always planned to be a cartoonist when I grew up.”

“So you’re planning on growing up, huh?”

He set his bowl on the table and put his arm around her. “I’m pretty grown-up already.”

“Mmmm, well, don’t grow up too much. I have a cast on my leg.”

He took the spoon from her hand and fed her some ice cream and chocolate sauce. “The cast doesn’t cover any of your important parts.”

“Watch your step, Dodd. Just because we’re engaged doesn’t mean you can take liberties.”

“Too late. I’ve already taken all your liberties.” He licked a spot of chocolate sauce from the corner of her mouth. “But I’m happy to hear you admit we’re engaged.”

She took the spoon from him. “I’m not admitting to anything, and you’re melting my ice cream.”

He drew a line from her knee, up the inside of her thigh. “Remember the gearshift…”

Remember it? Only down to the most minute detail. She wriggled away from him. “Stop that! Behave yourself, or I’ll hit you with a crutch.”

He pulled her back. “Your crutches are downstairs in the kitchen.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kate sighed. He was getting to her. And his fingers were doing clever things at the base of her neck, making her feel relaxed and friendly, making her remember the night they’d spent together. “I don’t want to hit you anyway.”

His thumb stroked lazy circles up toward her hairline. “That’s encouraging.”