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this?” she asked as the open door revealed an attractive living room. “My apartment.”
    â€œYou live here?” Being in the pharmacy with him wasbad enough. She did not want to be alone with Dean in his home.
    Pocketing the keys again, he winked at her. “I can walk to work. Plus, it’s only me, Buff and Calamity up here, and we don’t take up a lot of space.”
    â€œBuff and Calamity. Buffalo Bill and Calamity Jane?”
    Stepping back so she could enter, he smiled more broadly. “Exactly. My fish. I don’t have enough space for a dog, and I kill plants, but the fish and I have been together so long they’re almost fossils.”
    Rosemary crossed the threshold of the apartment with all the momentum of sap trying to move up a maple tree. The room was attractive, with an exposed brick wall and handsome furniture, but her anxiety turned everything sort of fuzzy.
    Three steps in, she turned to him. “Look, I do not belong here. It isn’t right.” And why was he so damned composed, anyway? Seeing no point in quibbling, she hit him with her best shot. “Engaged men should be with their fiancées, not with other women. I can’t imagine that your fiancée would be okay with the fact that I’m here, much less—” she lowered her voice and hissed again “—with the reason for it.”
    Dean plowed fingers through his hair then dragged his hand down his face. He also winced.
    Crossing her arms, Rosemary waited. Caught red-handed. She’d give him a minute to try to wriggle out of it then take her test kit and go.
    â€œI’m not engaged, Rosie. I was,” he hastened to add before she could respond. “We called it quits two days ago.”
    She was surprised, but hardly placated. “That’s two and a half months too late,” she pointed out. “You should have called it quits before you slept with someone else. And for the record, it is not fair to ‘the other woman’ not to tell her she’s the other woman. Some people believe women should stand together, not destroy each other’s lives.”
    Dean shut his front door. “Wait a minute. You think I was engaged the night I met you?”
    â€œOh, please.” Rosemary shook her head firmly. “Don’t put a spin on it. Whether you were engaged then or still dating, you belonged with her, not me. I’ve heard every rationalization there could possibly be for cheating, and they’re all bull. There is no justification for that kind of dishonesty.”
    â€œYou’ve been cheated on?”
    Rosemary stiffened. Concern turned Dean’s features into his the-doctor-is-in expression that had hooked her in December.
    â€œWe’re talking about you, ” she said.
    â€œCome sit down.” He gestured toward a chocolate-colored leather sofa. “I’ll try to explain.”
    â€œI don’t need an explanation. I only wanted you to know how I feel about being drawn into this kind of situation.”
    â€œThere was no situation when I met you, Rosie.” Dean’s gaze bore into her as he made sure she understood. “Amanda and I were engaged two years ago. Six months into it, we broke up when her job transferred her to Minnesota. I didn’t see her again until a few weeks ago.”
    Rosemary blinked dumbly as she processed the information. Dean hadn’t been engaged to or even dating Good English Cheddar on the night she and he had had their fling? That was excellent news. She wasn’t a home wrecker.
    And yet…
    â€œYou hadn’t seen each other for a year and a half, yet you got engaged again in only a few weeks?” She wanted to bite her tongue the moment the words were out, because she understood exactly why she’d asked: she didn’t like the idea that he had that passion with someone else. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
    â€œI wasn’t in touch with Amanda