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moisture left in her mouth. He was fighting a smile, but even more, he dipped his head toward her. He was going to kiss her.
    “Yes,” she said.
    Her voice sounded weak, but it was all she could do to push it out of lungs that had no air at all. He continued to watch her, and he gradually moved closer. Their mouths were inches apart. Emily couldn’t stop looking at his lips. After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, he released her and dug the remote from the couch cushion. She felt a stab of disappointment. He had changed his mind.
    “Turns out you have the NFL Network, so I think I can handle another twenty-four hours here,” he announced as he stopped on a channel she’d never seen before.
    “You might not be here another twenty-four minutes. Don’t you have a TV at home?” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. She wished she could come up with something more witty and cutting to say. She was so sure he would kiss her, and then he hadn’t.
    “What’s a ‘sack’?” he mimicked, referring to her question at the hospital. “My work’s cut out for me, sugar. You know nothing about football. You need some help, and I’m the man for the job.” He turned the volume up a bit. “Finally. I feel right at home.”
    “Well, good for you, Brandon. I can take care of myself now. Thanks for coming over.”
    “Sure you can. There’s nothing in your refrigerator except beer and soda, a few condiments, a box of baking soda, and some kind of science project in a Chinese food container.” He shook his head. “I’m guessing you don’t cook.”
    “I wouldn’t say that.”
    He laughed. The sound bounced around her living room. She had to laugh, too. The sudden explosion of joy on his face, the way his entire body shook, made her wonder what else she could say to make him laugh again.
    He used the remote like a laser pointer.
    “Okay. Here’s a prime teaching opportunity. It’s the Sharks versus the Minutemen from last year. We kicked their as— We beat them, badly. We can watch this, and then you can figure out what you’re making me for dinner.”
    Emily found herself temporarily speechless again. He seemed to delight in saying whatever it might be that left her completely bewildered.
    “We’re not getting into a restaurant tonight,” he said. “I’m hungry, and I’m stuck here.”
    “You’re not stuck anywhere!” She clutched her head. God, it hurt.
    “Your head wouldn’t hurt if you didn’t yell,” he said solicitously, wagging his finger. He seemed to be using Emily’s last nerve as a trampoline. The only thing that saved him at that moment was the fact she preferred staying out of prison.
    “I could pay your cab fare back to your car, and you can go wherever you’d like,” she pointed out.
    His dimple flashed as he gave her an unrepentant grin. “That’s not going to work for me.”
    He got to his feet, pulled her cordless phone off its base, and wandered into the kitchen. Emily wondered if he was always this exasperating. She should have walked over to the front door, pulled it open, and ordered him out, but she knew she probably wouldn’t be able to stand up that long.
    He returned to the living room a few minutes later with a soda for her and a beer for himself. She wasn’t watching football anymore.
    “I can’t believe you changed the channel,” he informed her in mock outrage. “This is a chick flick.”
    “It’s Pride and Prejudice . That’s Colin Firth.” Emily pointed at the television. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Colin Firth is.”
    Brandon looked adorably confused. “Maybe he played for the Canadian Football League.”
    “No. He’s a classically trained actor.”
    Now it was his turn to rub his face with both hands. She heard him muttering something almost unintelligible that contained the phrases “women,” “Valentine’s Day,” and “girly men with lace sleeves.”
    “He’s the definitive Mr. Darcy, you know.”
    “Definitive.