“Now, tell me what you know about the very sexy Malory Price of the big blue eyes.”

“I just met her last night.”

“Uh-uh.” He held back the beer. “Women know stuff about women. Like telepathically. The more a woman likes or dislikes another woman, the more she knows. There have been several scientific studies to verify this phenomenon. Give, or no beer for you.”

She hadn’t particularly wanted the beer, until he’d used it as a hammer. “Why do you want to know about her specifically? Why not Zoe?”

“My interest in Zoe is more academic. I can hardly start the wild and passionate affair I have in mind with Malory until I know all her secrets and desires.”

“You’re going to make me sick, Flynn.”

He merely tipped up his beer, took a long, slow sip, while holding hers out of reach.

“I’m not your silly dog who’ll beg for cookies. I’m only going to tell you so I can sit back and laugh derisively when she blows you off. I do like her,” she added and held out a hand for the beer. “She strikes me as smart, ambitious, open-minded without being naive. She worked at The Gallery, just got canned over a dispute with the owner’s new trophy wife. Since Malory called the new wife a bimbo, to her face, I’d say she doesn’t always rate high on the tact and diplomacy scale, but calls ’em like she sees ’em. She likes good clothes and knows how to wear them—spends too much on them, which is why she was broke before this morning’s windfall. She’s not currently in a relationship and would like to own her own business.”

“You really buried the lead.” He took a long, slow sip. “So, she’s not dating anyone. And she’s gutsy. Not only does she tell off the boss’s wife, but she drives alone, at night, to the spookiest house in western Pennsylvania.”

“So did I.”

“I can’t have a mad, passionate affair with you, sweetie. It would just be wrong.”

“Now, there, you have made me sick.”

But she smiled when he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you move in here for a couple weeks?”

Her dark chocolate eyes went baleful. “Stop looking out for me, Flynn.”

“Can’t do it.”

“If I wouldn’t move in when I was broke, why would I now that I’m flush? You know I like my own space, and you do too. Such as it is. And the goblins of Warrior’s Peak are not going to come down and spirit me away in the night.”

“If they were goblins, they wouldn’t worry me.” But because he knew her, he eased off. “How about telling your new pal Malory what an amazing man I am. All brainy and sensitive and buff.”

“You want me to lie to her?”

“You’re mean, Dana.” He gulped down more beer. “You’re just mean.”

WHEN he was alone, Flynn settled down in his upstairs study. He preferred the term “study” to “office,” as an office meant work. No way around it. In a study, you could, well, study, or nap or read, or stare into space thinking long thoughts. You could certainly work, but it wasn’t a requirement.