Miller's Furniture truck pulled up at the curb, and Lizabeth came running to the front door. "What's that furniture truck doing here? Matt! You didn't buy furniture, did you?"

"It's a bed," Matt said, handing the bag of cookies over to Ferguson. "I couldn't spend another night in that little bitty bed you're got."

"You should have asked me."

"You would have said no."

"Exactly." Lizabeth napped her arms. "I don't want a new bed. I can't afford a new bed."

"I bought the bed."

"Matt, that's very sweet of you, but I can't let you buy me a bed. I mean a bed isn't like a bag of doughnuts. Men don't just go around giving beds to women. I didn't mind you advancing me money for the appliances, because I know my insurance will cover it. But a bed! You can't give me a bed."

Andy Miller and Zak Szlagy carried a metal bed frame and a queen-size box spring into the house.

"Stop!" Lizabeth said. "I didn't order this."

"It's already paid for, lady," Andy said. "S'cuse me. This goes upstairs?"

Lizabeth followed after them. "I haven't room for another bed. What will I do with my double?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll take care of the double. Why don't you put it in this room where the bed looks broken?"

"Fine. Do it." Her mind went racing ahead. If she didn't replace the linoleum in the kitchen she could probably cover the cost of the bed with the insurance money.

"We have to talk," Lizabeth said to Matt. "You have to go."

"Go where?"

"Go home. To your home. This isn't working. Every day I fall a little bit deeper in love with you, and every day it becomes more and more obvious that it isn't going to work."

She was in love with him! Deeper in love with him every day. He thought his heart might jump right out of his chest. Unfortunately, she was mad at him. He couldn't figure out exactly why she was mad at him, but he decided to go with it. "All I did was buy a bed."

"It's me. I can't…" Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I'm not ready for marriage, and I can't let myself get pushed into something just because the neighbors saw you naked."

"Okay. I can live with that. I don't want you feeling pressured into anything as important as marriage. But I'm not leaving."

"What?" He wasn't teasing or flirting or being difficult. He looked deadly serious, and Lizabeth didn't think that was a good sign.

"I'm not leaving you alone in this house until the flasher's caught."

Lizabeth stuffed her hands on her hips. "Listen, mister, this is my house, and I'm kicking you out!"

"Oh yeah? You and who else?"

"Me and nobody else. I'm doing it all by myself. I'm…" Her attention was diverted by a delivery truck from Kantweillers Department Store.

A young boy jumped from the truck and walked across the front yard. He handed Lizabeth a box and a clipboard. "Sign here, please."

"I don't get it," Lizabeth said. "Now what?" She sat down on the porch step and carefully opened the box. Inside was a slightly smaller box wrapped in white-and-silver paper, with a card taped to the top. "Omigod," she said, reading the card. "It's a wedding gift from Emma Newsome!"

Matt unwrapped the box. "Hey, it's a waffle iron. This is great. You know how to make waffles?"

Lizabeth sat on her big new bed all by herself. She had the oak chest of drawers pushed in front of her door, but so far it was unnecessary. Matt hadn't shown any interest in breaking her door down. He'd gone off to the job site shortly after the waffle iron was delivered and hadn't returned until six o'clock, when he'd arrived with bags of burgers and French fries. He'd made polite conversation and gone to work in the kitchen, pulling out the old cabinets. It was after twelve now, and the house was quiet. Lizabeth thought it felt lonely. She thought it wasn't a house that was comfortable with quiet. It needed noisy children and dogs that stole pot roasts. Even Ferguson seemed subdued today. And the flasher had moved on to greener pastures. He hadn't shown up last night, for the first time in five days. Probably because word got out that she was married.

She smoothed the new quilt and wiggled her toes. She couldn't sleep. She wasn't tired, and she was afraid if she turned the light off the sadness would overwhelm her, and she'd burst into tears. She had to keep busy. That was the clue to surviving, she'd decided. She could watch television, but the television and the VCR were downstairs, on the other side of the blocked door. She picked up the book she'd been reading. A love story. Not tonight. She got up and looked out the window. Her yard was dark and empty. She paced in the room. Okay, so suppose she wasn't locked up in her room. What would she do? For the first time in ten years she was alone with time on her hands. She needed a hobby. She used to knit when she was in college, but it no longer appealed to her. Gardening was good, but it was too dark to garden now. It was pretty much wasted effort. anyway, since Ferguson dug everything up. She cracked her knuckles and paced faster. Maybe athletics was the answer. She began to jog in place. This wasn't so bad. She'd planned to get into shape this summer anyway. She checked her clock. Five minutes. She was barely sweating. Not enough of a challenge. She needed to get out on the road. She pulled a pair of jogging shorts from her bottom drawer and three minutes later was lacing up her running shoes. She pushed the chest away from the door and carefully, quietly tiptoed down the hall. She was at the top of the stairs when she heard Matt's door open.

"Going somewhere?"

"Running."

Matt grinned at her. "Got excess energy?"

'I've decided to get into shape."

"At one o'clock in the morning?"

"One o'clock in the morning is a great time to run," Lizabeth said. "It's cooler, and you don't have to wear sunscreen, and there isn't any traffic."

"I don't think this is a good idea. There are weird people out there."

"This is a family neighborhood. Ill be perfectly safe."

Matt groaned. This was from the woman who thought the flasher was a nice guy. "Wait a minute, and I'll run with you."

"I don't want you to run with me."

Half an hour later Lizabeth's shirt was soaked through. Her hair hung in wet ringlets and her cheeks were flushed as she plodded beside Matt. "Are we almost home?"

"Three more blocks," Matt said. "You want to stop and walk a while?"

"Why aren't you tired? Why am I the only one sweating?"

"Guess I'm in better shape than you."

Lizabeth wiped her face with the sleeve of her T-shirt. "Yeah, baking cookies isn't exactly a heavy aerobic workout."

"Maybe not, but I bet it's fun."

There was something about his voice that caught her attention. "Haven't you ever baked cookies?"

"Nope. My cookies come already baked. Hey, I have a terrific idea. Maybe we could work out a talent trade. You could teach me to bake cookies, and I could help you exercise."

Lizabeth stopped running. She put her hands at her hips and bent forward, trying to catch her breath. "You'd do that?"

"I'd like to learn how to make pancakes too. I tried once, but they stuck to the pan. And mashed potatoes…"

"You don't know how to make mashed potatoes?" It was hard for her to believe he'd been on his own for ten years and never learned how to mash potatoes. She was beginning to understand all the fast-food bags in his bedroom,

"Learning how to cook is sort of like losing your virginity," he said. "You reach an age where it's embarrassing to ask someone to teach you how to go about it."

"I've never thought of it exactly that way, but I suppose you're right." She took a couple of deep breaths. "I think I'm ready. Let's try some more running."

They turned onto Gainsborough and Matt put a restraining hand on Lizabeth's arm, holding her back. "There's someone in the side yard of that gray Cape Cod."