She pulled on a pair of sweats that had been cut off above the knee and dropped a sweatshirt over her head. “I need coffee.”

Dave groggily glanced at the clock. Six-fifteen. Groan. Why did she always have to be up at the crack of dawn? “Be right with you,” he said.

Three hours later he opened his eyes and knew he was in big trouble. He dressed in the first thing he found lying on his bedroom floor and plodded down the stairs to an empty house. She’d made coffee and drunk it, and she’d finished off the pineapple upside-down cake from the night before. Her crutches were gone. Her cello was gone. The light of his life was gone. He stuffed his feet into a pair of white sneakers and went next door.

“ ’Morning,” he said when Kate answered the door. “Are we living here now?”

Kate examined him from head to toe. His hair hadn’t been combed, he needed a shave, his shoelaces were untied, and she was positive he wasn’t wearing any underwear. He was adorable… but he was a slob. She’d already showered, put in two hours of practice, and called almost all her private pupils. The best she could say about Dave was that he was on his feet. She shook her head. “How can you stand to waste a morning like this?”

“I’m not a morning person. Why did you leave?”

She’d left because she couldn’t stand him sleeping upstairs while she was pacing downstairs. She knew it was stupid, but it infuriated her to be working her buns off trying to perfect Suite 5 while Dave had his face smashed into a pillow. “This isn’t going to work.”

“No?” What the devil was she talking about?

“We’re just too different.”

“Un-huh.”

Kate tipped her nose up a fraction of an inch and pushed on. “I need a man who’s more… conventional.”

“I’m conventional. I don’t have any tattoos. I wear oxford cloth button-downs when I go to a restaurant. I live in a house.”

“You don’t have a job.”

“I don’t need a job. I’m rich.”

Kate studied her feet. “I don’t think I can live with that.”

“You have something against money?”

“No. I like money. I just don’t think I could live with a playboy. I’m a very motivated person. I feel uncomfortable living with a man who’s not equally motivated.”

Dave followed her into the kitchen. “I’m motivated.”

“Sex doesn’t count.”

He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and helped himself to a carton of orange juice. “Oh, now that really hurts.”

“Dave, you don’t do anything. You play with toys all day. You read comic books.”