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start,” he said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. He handed her a plate of toasted bagels, the butter dish, and a kitchen knife. She started buttering. “Loved the city. Didn’t like the high-rise. Or . . . .”
    “Or?” She should let him tell her what he wanted to tell her. No need to push this. So if he sidestepped—
    “Or the home-life. Or lack thereof,” he said.
    She blinked, surprised at his openness.
    “The apartment wasn’t my style, but it was what Hilary wanted. What she thought she wanted. Walked in, and she was dazzled by the staging. She wanted things to look nice on the outside, but never much cared for what it took to get them looking that way. And if sweeping stuff under the rug was easiest, that was the way to go for her."
    K.D. wanted to know more about his ex, their marriage. Because it was important background for their role-playing.
    Whether she would have asked became moot in the next breath, when Myrna arrived.
    “Give me your questionnaires. I’ll copy them, and we’ll get started.”
    “Good morning to you, too, Myrna,” Eric said with a glint in his eyes, dishing up the eggs.
    “You don’t have time for a good morning,” his redoubtable assistant replied. “You’re going to be out of time before you know it. Better eat those eggs fast, too. No time to waste.”

 
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    M yrna certainly wasted no time.
    “Let’s go over that again. You need to have this perfect.”
    Eric groaned. K.D. stifled an urge to echo him, then, because Myrna was correct, she said, “Okay, Eric Joshua Larkin, no food allergies, sleeps on the left side of the bed, mint floss, Merlot not Riesling, football to watch, tennis to play, classic rock, country music, classic — is there any music you don’t like?”
    “Not that fond of elevator music.”
    “No elevator music. Fruit but not fruit salad. Tomato juice, not orange juice. Believes he makes the best scrambled eggs ever.”
    “I do.”
    “They really are good.” She held up a hand as if he’d been the one to wander off topic. “Son of James and Serena Larkin, who now live in New Mexico. Close with his sister Mariana, although she lives in Virginia. Mariana and her husband, Dan, have two kids, Seth, 4 and Emma, 8. Loves being an uncle—”
    “Would like to be a father.” He met her gaze squarely, and started his catalogue. “Katherine Denver Hamilton. Middle name because mother loves John Denver’s music.”
    “You don’t need to volunteer that, you know.”
    “Nothing wrong with his music.”
    “I meant the complete name.”
    His mouth didn’t move, yet his face lightened. “But a husband would know. No food allergies. Seafood, red meat, and Tex-Mex, no sushi. Only child of a single mom. Things were tight financially. Earned impressive academic scholarships. Mother married for the first time while you were away at college.”
    She withstood the temptation to repeat that he didn’t need to volunteer that last part.
    “Good. Now, how’d you meet?” Myrna asked.
    “On the job. I was an insurance investigator—”
    “You shouldn’t make a face when you say that,” Myrna said.
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Eric said. “It would explain why she married me. To get away from a job she didn’t like.”
    “Great. I’m not only
not
a cop, I
am
a gold-digger.”
    “All part of the role.”
    “Says the man who gets to keep his profession, his home, and his stellar assistant.”
    “Hah! She’s only known me a day and she appreciates me,” Myrna shot at Eric. She turned back to K.D. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you plenty to make you want to divorce him. Next is about living here . . . .”
    ****
    T oday, Anne commandeered Rose’s office at the Rose Chalet for the wedding dress fitting. It held no mirrors, so K.D. couldn’t be tempted to look.
    Not even when a smile lit Rose’s face, Phoebe sighed, and Julie whistled.
    “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Phoebe asked after Julie’s response.
    “Sure is.”
    K.D. glared at