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God for Fridays, Katrina thought later on that week as she made the left turn on to her street, passing Will’s home. He and John were standing in front, John with his hand around Will’s shoulder as if he was Will’s father. What that was about, she wondered, pulling into her drive. She parked and sat for a minute, contemplating her mail. The mailboxes for her street sat directly across from her home. She thought she could scoot across the street and pick up her mail undetected by Will. By all appearances, he and John were deep in conversation, their heads together, Will listening, John talking—nothing new there. She got out of her car and turned to walk across the street.
    “Katrina,” John shouted just before she took her first step into the street. She looked up and saw him and Will walking toward her. Groaning under her breath, she walked toward them, deciding to meet them halfway.
    “Katrina, I was just discussing the city’s annual gardening competition with Will.”
    “Oh,” she said, glancing at Will, who looked smoking hot, as usual. But he had a new look on his face now, one that said he was up to no good.
    “Hi, Katrina,” he said, as if they were old friends from around the way.
    “Hi,” she responded, not sure what to make of him now, and turned her eyes toward John. She was sticking with her original course, though, and pretending that night had never happened.
    “I stopped by to take a look at Will’s incredible home and was surprised to find that he has also designed and landscaped an equally impressive backyard. It is remarkable the continuity between his home and the land surrounding it,” John said.
    Incredible, huh, Katrina said to herself, lifting her eyebrows at all the praise and pushing her glasses, which had a habit of slipping, back up her nose. “That’s nice,” she said blandly, looking at Will, who was grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her. She turned away before he could see her smile.
    “I was just telling Will about you and your gardening abilities, although the two of you have very different styles,” John said, looking between them. “You should come and take a look at Will’s home and garden.”
    “Right now?” she asked, looking around somewhat frantically for a way to escape. It was all Will could do to keep from laughing outright.
    “Oh, no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to impose, plus I just got home from work,” she said, making herself yawn and covering her mouth. “Long week, you know,” she added.
    “It wouldn’t be any imposition,” Will said, that big-ass grin still firmly in place on his face.
    “Maybe later. I’ll stop by soon, I promise.”
    “Sure you will,” he said, causing her to look back sharply at him. “Stop by anytime. You know where I live. Come see how pretty I am in my natural setting,” he said.
    She made a face at him, remembering her words from the night of the party. How sweet of him to hand them back to her, and in front of John, too. She gave him one of her sharpest glares, along with a sugary smile for John’s benefit. He laughed. John looked from one to the other, unsure what to make of them. Katrina started walking backwards.
    “I’ll see you later, John. Nice seeing you again, Will,” she said, backing up and turning toward her home, feet moving her away quickly.
    The night of the party notwithstanding, Will’s initial assessment of her had been plain and boring. The first time he’d seen her in her yard, she had a bag of something or other slung over her shoulder, looking like a farmer. Her appearance today had not changed that opinion; she was garbed today in plain brown trousers and matching plain top, hair in a ponytail and those nerd glasses back on the bridge of her nose. Brown was not a friend to her skin, and of all of her physical attributes he’d seen the night of the party, her skin had become his favorite. It was a strong, smooth Kahlua, warmth on a cold night. Apparently, New Year’s Eve