North’s steps came down the hall, the familiar, heavy weight of the Red Wings announcing Shaw’s imminent execution. Shaw closed his eyes, focused on keeping his stomach calm, and pressed a pillow over his face.

When North sat next to Shaw, the couch’s frame groaned.

“You’re getting fat,” Shaw said into the pillow.

“Maybe you’re fat and the sofa can’t handle my normal weight.”

“I don’t think so. I’m very health conscious.”

Shaw heard the scrape of the paper carton as North nudged the empty container of cookies and cream. “So I see.”

“It was going bad.”

“Right.”

“I was doing you a favor.”

North’s answer was a low rumble in his chest. He pressed lightly on the pillow until Shaw swatted his arm, and then he laughed and pulled back.

“I had sushi for lunch,” Shaw said. “I think I might have food poisoning.”

North’s hand came to rest on Shaw’s belly—not pressing, just a pleasant heat. “You feel sick?”

“Kind of.”

“From the sushi.”

“It had to be.”

“It couldn’t be from eating a gallon of ice cream.”

“Oh, I don’t think I ate a gallon. I just finished it off.”

North’s hand rubbed a slow circle. “And what am I going to find when I go in my room?”

Waving a hand blindly, Shaw said, “Go see.”

North’s footsteps moved across the room. A door creaked. He came back.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“No, really: thank you.”

“Any time.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe not any time.”

North laughed. Then he tugged on the pillow. “Do I get to see your face tonight?”

Shaw inched the pillow down until he could see over the top.

“Hi,” North said. He was grinning. His eyes were shining. He looked happy. More than happy.

“Hi,” Shaw said warily.

“Want to know where I was?”

“Maybe.”

“Have you ever heard of ChouteauCon?”

“Is it an internet company?”

North laughed again. He tugged on the pillow again. “Come on, I want to see your whole face.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, but that’s a good idea.”

“Then what’s going on?”

A huge grin split North’s face. He tugged on the pillow.

“Fine,” Shaw said, shoving it down to his chest. “There. Now will you tell me?”

“ChouteauCon.”

“They’re a public utility. An electric company.”

“You’re not even trying.”

“They make condensed milk. Ouch!” Shaw squirmed up against the back of the couch. “Don’t pinch me.”

“Well, don’t tease me. Now come on. A serious guess.”

Shaw rubbed his side. “I can’t focus. I’m afraid I have internal bleeding.”

“I’m sorry. Now guess.”

“And I already suffered traumatic blood loss from being savaged by your dog.”

“The dog bit you?”

Shaw displayed his finger.

“Where?”

Shaw pointed.

“I thought that was a freckle.”

Shaw glared.

Laughing, North kissed the puncture wound. “Come on, baby. I’m dying to tell you.”