“In town, three days, and you haven’t called me,” she says, following that with a catlike pout. “You look as if you need a little tending. Why don’t we find something better to do than this tonight?”

Ah, direct. I usually admire that, and there is certainly no need for the preliminaries with us. But tonight it annoys me, and paradoxically the annoyance feels good.

“I was about to cut out,” I say.

Her eyes brighten. “Good. We can cut out together.”

She leans in, and Ian is right, she is every guy’s wet dream.

I ease away from her. I turn on the couch, one leg on the cushion in an open and inviting posture. “Come here. Get as close as you can get, surround me, without touching me.”

“What?”

My laughter grows huskier. “Do as I say.”

Her eyes do a frantic dart around the room. Checking who is here, I imagine. Hardly anyone, it’s early, and definitely no one important or else I wouldn’t have done this. She’s confused but I can see she’s excited about where this is going.

In graceful, clever moves of her body, she spreads herself over top of me without contact. Softly, she laughs. “What I have in mind will require touching eventually. You used to know that.”

“Touching.” I frame her face with his my fingers, spreading them wide. I have a long history with Jen. I like her, but I like even better that she’s no longer even appealing to me, though not exactly unappealing. I lower her face to mine. Breath touching, nothing more. “Thank you. Be a really good friend and lose my number.”

Her eyes flash. She pulls back and sits on the edge of the cushion. “Fuck you, Manny.” She fixes her eyes on me. “So it’s true?”

I shrug, since I don’t know what she’s asking.

Her gaze turns impatient. “You’re back with Chrissie.”

What the fuck?

The way Jen is staring at me leaves no doubt that Chrissie and I are the fast moving gossip in the scene again. Though how that’s possible, I don’t know. We haven’t even done anything as benign as go out for dinner. Probably just logical assumption, but fuck, gossip means soon there will be tabloid print and that always fucks up Chrissie. And the last thing I need is one more uncontrollable element complicating matters with her.

I ignore the comment and stand. “Have a nice night, Jen.”

She stares up at me. “If you decide you need a friend, call me.”

“If I need a friend, you’ll be the first I call.” I remember the slip of paper in my pocket. I take it out and hand it to her. “There is something I’d like you to do. Messenger two passes to the LA concert to this name and address. Enclose a note from me. Send a car on the day to get them there. Let them know it’s coming.”

Jen looks at it and frowns. “Who is Devon Tyler? I’ve not heard her name before.”

The smile I let surface is lazy and enigmatic. “My pizza delivery boy. I’m working at keeping promises. I’ve kept two in five minutes. Good night, Jen.”

I head back to my car, unsure where I’m going next. After an hour of fighting rush-hour LA traffic, I’m here again.

At Chrissie’s house.

Uninvited.

Without a call.

But, fuck, it’s where I want to be.

I knock on the door and wait.

After more minutes pass than seem necessary, it’s jerked wide and then hits the inside wall with a thump. I stare down at a four-foot-high echo of Jack. The kid looks just like his grandfather. “Which one are you?”

One of the twins, I don’t know which, stares at me, annoyed. “You ask me that every time you see me. Do you think it’s funny or do you have a bad memory?”

Echo of Jack. Bright and blunt in surprisingly improved language skills he’s somehow developed in the last year.

I shrug. “Which one do you think? Funny or bad memory?”

The door is slammed in my face. Laughter bubbles upward, though I’m not certain why.

I don’t move. I wait. I’m starting to feel like an idiot, crouched on the stoop. The door reopens and the kid slaps something on my chest. I look at it. Ah, lopsided letters done in crayon on a mailing label in the center of my shirt: Alan. Another label, carefully made as well, on his shirt: Ethan.

Ah, the boy has not only learned to write during my absence, but he can spell.

I smile at Ethan. “It’s very nice. Where did you learn to do letters?”

“I go to school.” He says that in a way that makes it sound as though it had been a stupid question.

“School is doing you good. The labels are very nice. Do you think it’s funny or do you have a bad memory?”

“I remembered the letters.”

I turned the tables on a six-year-old and Ethan turned them back. Laughing, I pick up the boy, step into the house and shut the door. “You’ve made your point, Ethan. You’ve had enough of the joke.”

Ethan nods. “You’ve been gone a long time. Where did you come from?”

I laugh. Where did you come from? The childlike wording is endearing. “New York. I’ve been gone because I’ve been touring. You’re not mad at me, are you? How have you been?”

“I hate my new house. I liked my old house better.”

I nod and leave that one alone. Ethan likes the old house better because Jesse had been there. “You’ll start to like this house, too, Ethan. I promise.”

“Do you want to play video games? There’s no one to play with today.”

The house does sound quiet.

“Maybe later on the video games.” I smile and then notice his cheeks have a bright red burn. “You look like a lobster. Does it hurt? Who let you get too much sun?”

“Aarsi. She took us to the beach but I stayed in the water with Krystal so she couldn’t turn me into a clown with that white stuff she smooches on my face.”

White stuff. Zinc. Fuck. I hope Chrissie isn’t pissed that the boy got a sunburn Aarsi’s first day working here.

“Better a clown than a lobster,” I chide.

Ethan crinkles his nose in disdain. Clearly the boy thinks not. I cross the empty family room, then go into the kitchen. Vacant as well.

I set him on his feet. “Where is everyone?”

“Mom is in the studio. Kaley is gone. Khloe is with Aarsi. Krystal and Eric are at Grandma’s.”

Almost a childless house.

My day is rapidly improving.

Aarsi rushes into the kitchen, looks at me, doesn’t smile, and focuses on grabbing her things and car keys from the counter.

Ethan runs off.

I frown. “What was that all about?”

She sighs, exasperated. “He’s afraid I’m going to take him to his grandmother’s. It’s hell getting that kid from his mother. He doesn’t want to leave her. Not for a second.”

Not an encouraging bit of news, but not surprising. “He’s afraid she’s going to die like his father.”

Aarsi gives me a cold, hard stare. My skin covers in prickles out of nowhere. What the fuck did I say to make her look at me that way?

“Did your first day go well?” I ask.

She shrugs.

“Is Mrs. Harris happy?”

Her eyes become more intensely unpleasant. “I have a full schedule. She wants me back tomorrow.”

“Good.”

She shakes her head. It looks almost like she’s struggling not to say something. “Good night.”

She flounces out of the kitchen. I hear the front door close.

I leave the kitchen intending to go to the studio since that’s where I can find Chrissie. In surprise, I discover myself at the end of the hallway, outside the nursery.

I go in.

The room is bathed in the soft light of a single lamp turned low and every detail of the room holds the feel of Chrissie. Not a single item placed by an impersonal hand. Delicately made natural hue teak furniture. A whisper of color from a scattering of pillows woven with scenes from fairy tales. Stuffed lambs and bears. One of the walls is covered by a full-size mural, the dreamy-hazed images familiar. Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

I slowly inhale and then exhale. I haven’t looked at her yet. Not really. Not the way I should have. And certain not with the attention that Chrissie expected of me.