“There’s a remote possibility that this guy meant to harm you. I think we need to take precautions against that.”

“We did take precautions. We hired Elsie.”

Steve groaned.

“Well, okay, so she’s not some big macho guard, but she’s very dedicated…and your hamburgers are on fire.”

Steve smacked at them with the spatula, but they kept burning.

“Must be your flame is too high,” Daisy said.

He fidgeted with a few knobs and the flames subsided.

“I’ve never barbecued before,” he said, examining the charred hamburgers. “You think these are too done?” He slid a spatula under one and it crumbled and fell into the fire. The next one slipped off the spatula and fell onto the grass and Bob ate it. The third one made it to a bun, but nobody wanted to eat it—not even Bob.

“I don’t think I have the knack for barbecuing,” Steve said. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this suburban stuff.”

Daisy patted his hand. “Of course you are. We’ll try it again tomorrow. Where’s your peanut butter?”

An hour later they were stuffed with peanut butter sandwiches and were making their way through a quart of chocolate-chip ice cream. It was eighty-seven degrees outside, but they’d built a fire in the fireplace and were sitting in front of it, eating from the ice-cream carton.

They sat on the floor with their backs to the couch because Bob had claimed the couch first and was now stretched the length of it. At least that’s the excuse they made for sitting on the floor. The truth is the floor seemed less threatening. There were no cushions to mark boundaries on the floor. They could sit side by side, and the invasion of personal body space wasn’t so noticeable.

Daisy stole a glance at Steve as he dipped his spoon into the ice cream, then handed the carton to her. The sun was setting, and they hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. His face was lit by the fire and seemed extraordinarily sexy. His eyes were shadowed, the line of his mouth drawn firm as he followed secret thoughts, and she found she was still a little frightened of him when he looked like this. Or maybe it was the proximity that was frightening. They were so close that if she leaned toward him ever so slightly, they’d be touching. It was a tantalizing thought, and it sent a dark sort of thrill racing through her.

“Last scoop of ice cream,” Daisy said. “You want it?”

“Wouldn’t touch it. You eat the last scoop of ice cream and you’re destined to become an old maid. My Aunt Zena told me that.”

Daisy ate the last scoop and set the carton aside. “I don’t have an Aunt Zena so it doesn’t count for me.”

“It counts for everyone. You’re in big trouble.”