He leaned forward in his chair, put his elbows on his knees. Angie, who had been sure last night that she would be angry at him for the rest of her life, looked at the back of his neck and knew she was bound to give in. For better or worse, she was stuck with the guy. She put her hand on him, felt the curve of his spine and the heat of him. He shuddered.

He said, “I don’t suppose there’s any alcohol around here.”

“That’s an excellent question,” Angie said. “Let’s go see if we can find Tony’s stash.”

They piled the provisions on the coffee table in the reception area. In addition to Patty-Cake’s contribution of apples and diet bars, they had a bag of potato chips, a half-empty box of stale doughnuts, and in the refrigerator they found milk, cranberry juice, and an assortment of Mexican and Chinese leftovers.

“Not even any fermenting juice,” John said.

“Oh,” Angie said, and dashed off. John followed her to the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator again, empty now of everything but film, and then peered into the freezer compartment.

“Voilà.” She pulled out a bottle of vodka that was almost full, and turned to hold it up. John found himself close enough to feel her breath on his face. Her smile faded away and they stood there a moment in the open door of the refrigerator, unwilling, unable to move.

“Déjà vu,” Angie said finally, her voice rough.

“All over again.” John ducked his head and kissed her. An easy kiss, a question she could answer without much discussion. Angie kissed him back, tasting of apple and coffee, and then put her forehead against his shoulder and shook her head. He pushed a coil of hair behind her ear and stepped back.

Angie said, “You don’t have to get me drunk, you know. It won’t make a difference one way or the other.”

They had spread out their odd picnic on the floor of the reception room with the vodka bottle right in the middle, where both of them could keep an eye on it.

“You’re the one who’s pouring,” John reminded her. “Maybe you should stop.”

She frowned elaborately, her whole face contorting. Mouth and brows and cheeks disapproving, but she looked at the plastic glass that still held a swallow of vodka, and put it down on the table.

“Spoilsport.”

“So tell me,” John said, “what do you think Caroline said, after Patty-Cake turned the camera off?”

Angie looked at him hard, and he saw that she really wasn’t drunk at all, nor was she as angry as she had been. On the other hand, it wouldn’t take much to push her right back to that place. His own anger had disappeared sometime during the broadcast from Old Roses, and in its place was a void, waiting to be filled.