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table.
    â€œSit,” Sue said. “You sit right there, and I’m going to make you the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever had while you tell me all about yourself.”
    â€œShe’s a wedding planner who’s not a nightperson, and apparently not a morning person, either,” Josh said. “She also hates music.”
    â€œI don’t hate music, I hate you ,” Heather said.
    She glanced at Josh’s mom in apology for hating her son—but really, she did sort of hate him—and saw Sue giving Josh a curious look.
    Josh noticed, too. “Mom. What.”
    â€œYou know what Heather does for a living,” Sue said, her eyes sparkling as she assembled a whole slew of ingredients on the counter.
    â€œBecause she told me.”
    â€œYou didn’t know what April did for a living.”
    â€œWho’s April?” Heather asked, mostly because she sensed Josh was almost squirming, and it was lovely to turn the tables a bit.
    â€œJosh’s overnight guest,” Sue said.
    Heather glanced around. “I thought it smelled like bachelor pad in here.”
    And it really was the quintessential man-space. From the dark leather couch and the TV the size of Montana right down to the guitar in the corner.
    The guitar made her remember their first meeting, and she looked around curiously. “Where are the rest of your noisemakers?”
    â€œSecond bedroom,” Sue answered, apparently understanding Heather’s meaning perfectly. “Drums, more guitars, the whole deal.”
    â€œI can’t believe the landlord lets you do that,” Heather said.
    Josh shrugged. “The unit below me is the community space. As long as nobody has the room reserved for something, nobody’s there to hear us make noiseor care. The staircase is on the other side, and on the other side is . . .”
    â€œMe.”
    â€œYup.” He plunged the coffeepot. “And I just want you to know, I’d be happy to take any requests for your favorite songs. A nice lullaby to get you to sleep, perhaps?”
    â€œYou are not playing that”—she pointed at the guitar—“while I go to sleep,” she said.
    â€œWell now, how’s that going to work, 4C? Because best I can tell, you’re always just off to bed or just out of bed.”
    â€œI’ve seen you exactly twice. At two a.m. on a Saturday and seven a.m. on a Sunday, and I’m—”
    â€œA wedding planner?”
    â€œI was going to say a light sleeper,” she said through gritted teeth.
    â€œHuh. Your hair seems to take the whole bed thing pretty seriously. Cream and sugar?”
    Heather ignored the slight on her hair. “Black, please.”
    He lifted his eyebrows and walked toward her with two steaming cups in hand. Heather tried to find a way to accept the plain white mug without touching his hand, but he’d seemed to arrange his fingers to make that impossible. Deliberate, probably.
    â€œThank you,” she muttered, ignoring the little fissure of awareness she felt at his closeness.
    â€œHeather, honey, do you like music?” Sue asked, glancing up from where she was alternating between watching Heather and Josh and scooping flour into a mixing bowl.
    â€œUm, sure?”
    â€œLiar,” Josh said, dropping into the chair beside her.
    He smelled a bit like soap and coffee, and Heather tried really hard to remember that he’d just had a woman in his apartment last night. That there’d probably been a constant stream of women in this apartment, and that she didn’t want to be one of them.
    â€œI do like music,” she replied.
    â€œJust not my music?”
    â€œNot your music at two a.m.,” she clarified, lifting her mug and pointing it at him.
    Then she took a sip and moaned in pleasure. “Oh my God, what is this?”
    â€œItalian roast from that little place around the corner.” His voice was a little bit