“I could email them to you or print them out or both,” I offered, making it to the kitchen counter where my laptop was, reaching to it, turning it to me and lifting the screen.

“Email,” he muttered. “Add your number,” he went on. “I’ll email mine back.”

Having Mickey’s number.

Why did the thought of having that, knowing I could never use it for the reasons I’d want to use it, make me wish someone would kill me?

“Gotcha,” I replied, sliding the on switch just as my phone, which had quit ringing, started ringing again.

“Need to get that?” Mickey asked.

I glanced at the display.

Mom was not ill-bred enough to call more than once.

Dad was arrogant enough to call repeatedly until you gave him the attention he felt he deserved.

So that was what he was doing.

“No,” I answered, eyes to the laptop, waiting for the login screen to come up.

Mickey was silent.

The login screen came up and I typed my password in.

The phone stopped ringing.

“House smells like heaven again, darlin’,” he noted.

I kept my attention on the laptop as I used the touchpad to bring up my email. “Cupcakes. I start volunteering at Dove House tomorrow and I’m using them to buy the old folks’ affection.”

“You’re volunteering at Dove House?” he asked.

The disbelieving tone of his voice made me glance at him.

Yes, still amazingly beautiful.

Somebody.

Kill.

Me.

I looked back to the laptop, confirming, “Yes, three days a week, three hours a day.”

“Not lookin’ for a job.”

My gaze went back to him to find that now his eyes were on the laptop and his face was impassive.

I knew why.

I’d shared a little bit of me and it was like the rest of me.

Not exactly promising.

“No,” I whispered.

He looked to me and there were a lot of things I wanted from his blue eyes, but the emptiness in them right then was not one of them.

Even with that, he said, “Cool you’re doin’ that. My great-gran went there when her Alzheimer’s got bad. They’re always needin’ help.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

He tipped his head to my laptop. “Ready for my email?”

In other words, let’s get on with this so I can do the errand my beloved daughter wanted me to do and get the heck out of here.

“Ready,” I told him.

He gave it to me. I typed it in then attached the recipe files and added a subject and my cell phone number in the message space.

All that done, I hit send.

“It’s away,” I said, lifting my eyes to his to see his aimed at my hips.

At my words, they cut to mine and he asked, “You had dinner?”

I stared, a little surprised that I hadn’t thought of dinner and it was probably close to eight o’clock.