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under the guise of a thank-you, but that was a thinly veiled excuse. At least I recognized that. Could I flirt with him? Did I even know how to flirt?
    I just wanted it to happen. I wanted him to do the work. Keep dreaming, right? Maybe if last night hadn’t occurred, it could be a possibility.
    “Nate, I want you to see me as the woman I am. I want you to desire me. I want you to want me.” I whispered my thoughts out loud, still stirring.
    Almost instantaneously, a hard shiver rode my body from my feet to my scalp and then straight down my arms to my hands. A spark zapped from my hand to the spoon to the batter to the bowl. The spark turned into a soft glow that I could almost hear. It crackled and buzzed and sizzled in my ears.
    “You have got to be kidding me!” I dropped the wooden handle. Fast. Stepping back, I forced a breath. My arms were shaking, my legs were weak, and my heart was pounding. This reminded me of the mixer at A Taste of Magic. But last I checked, wooden spoons didn’t run on electricity.
    So if the problem hadn’t been the mixer, then it had to be me. I was the only common denominator in both situations, correct? But that didn’t make any sense. I sucked in another deep breath as the tingles slowly dissipated. Again, the light died down, and all that remained was a very normal appearing bowl with a spoon. No sparks. No sizzles. Nothing.
    I tried to find the answer as I finished the muffins and slid the pan into the oven. Nothing I came up with equaled a reasonable explanation. Static electricity, maybe? Like when you rub your stocking feet on the carpet and shock someone with your finger?
    Possibly.
    Okay, doubtful.
    But until a better solution came to mind, I was sticking to that one.
    An hour later, I stood outside of Nate’s apartment, freshly baked muffins in tow. I used to hate the expression “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” but now I sort of hoped it was true. Or, at the very least, I hoped it was the way to his libido. Because while I was hungry for sex, I—definitely and without a doubt—had had my fill of love.
    Rapping on the door, I waited and tried to stay calm. I’d never done this before. Marc had chased me. I’d never needed to chase anyone. Ripples of nervous ness coated my skin. My palms were moist. I forced my feet to stay put.
    It’s not like Nate could read my mind. He’d see what I wanted him to see, simply a neighbor thanking him for helping her out. One thing I had learned over the years was that most of the time, people saw what they expected.
    The door swung open, but it wasn’t held by Nate. A boy— don’t ask me his age, because while I loved children, unless they were in diapers, I didn’t have a clue—grinned up at me.
    “Hi, are you a friend of my uncle’s?” Nephew, not son. Aww, he had dimples. They were totally cute.
    “Sort of. Is your uncle here?”
    “Yeah, he’s cleaning the juice I spilled. It was grape.”
    “Grape, huh?”
    The boy stuck out his chin. “Uncle Nate says it’s probably gonna stain, but it’s okay cuz he likes purple a lot.”
    And that was completely sweet.
    “Sam? Who’s at the door?” I heard the yell from a place I couldn’t see. Probably the living room, if his apartment was the mirror of mine.
    “Elizabeth,” I called. “You know, from last night?”
    “Oh, window girl?”
    Swiveling my head quickly, I checked to be sure no one else roamed the hallway. Window girl? I would have preferred something like “Oh, that sexy chick from last night?” But all I said was, “Yes.”
    A second later, Nate appeared. “Hey. Anything wrong?” He wore navy sweats and a white T-shirt with a bright purple wet splotch on the front. This made him all the more endearing.
    “No. Not at all.” Hesitating, I thrust the plate out in front of me. “Here, I baked them. As a thank-you.”
    Sam stood up on his tiptoes, obviously trying to see for himself. “Is it chocolate? I love chocolate!”
    Nate