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meant. I can’t ask you to do that, Nick.”
    “You don’t have to,” he said and motioned at the door. “Come on. Let a friend give you a hand. Trust me. You’ll feel a hundred times better when it’s cleaned.”
    Friend. Were they friends? It was both more and less than that. Tillie’s words came back to mind. She needed friends, but Nick . . . there was just too much in the mix to easily define him as such. “I’d rather we didn’t. Not today.”
    “Jackie.” He looked exasperated. “You can’t offend me. There is nothing in there that I haven’t seen or done myself and far worse I may add.”
    She gave in. Jackie knew she wouldn’t be able to out-stubborn him. She didn’t have the energy for it. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She undid the lock but then stopped with her hand on the knob. “One comment and you’re gone.”
    Nick smiled at her. “Of course.”
    Once the door closed, Jackie wrinkled her nose. She had run off in such a hurry earlier that the litter box had remained unchanged. Nick stood silently at her side, waiting for her to move forward.
    “On second thought,” Jackie said, “maybe you should leave. This is really bad.”
    “Nonsense.” He pushed the door closed and walked in. “So it’s a little cluttered.” He stepped over a sweatshirt on the floor and moved toward the kitchen. “You have garbage bags? Cleaner? Paper towels?”
    “Um . . .” She tried to picture what lay beneath her sink but could not recall. “I’m not really sure what I have.” She followed, picking the sweatshirt up off the floor and clutched it protectively to her chest. “Nick? Really, you don’t have to do a damn thing. This is my mess. I need to deal with it.”
    Nick turned away from the sink and gave her a curious stare. “What would Laurel do?”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    He turned and knelt down, opening the cupboards beneath the sink. “It means Laurel is your friend. If she came home with you to this, what would she do?”
    “Besides slapping me upside the head?”
    His laughter echoed from under the sink as he rummaged around. “After that?”
    “Yeah, but that’s different. She’s . . .” Jackie was going to say my friend but then realized it was a backhanded slap at Nick. What the hell were they anyway? Friends was a stretch by any definition. What did you call someone whom you’d nearly arrested and then had save your life? She gave up and shrugged. “It’s just different.”
    “OK,” he replied. “You have nothing useful under here.” Nick stood back up and walked over to her. “Jackie. I know this is odd. You don’t want anyone to see you living like this. I get that. I’ve been there, believe me, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you aren’t repulsed by my presence.”
    She took a step back. “No! I didn’t mean to imply that at all.”
    “But . . .” He reached for her, eyeing the sweatshirt, and after a moment Jackie reluctantly handed it over. “Everything that’s happened freaks you out a little. I freak you out a little.”
    Jackie shook her head. “Nick it’s not that, it’s . . .” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yes, I’m sorry. It all freaks me out, more than a little.”
    “Don’t apologize,” he said and wagged a finger at her before returning to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and began to look through the depleted shelves. “I’m 176 years old and have to drink blood to stay alive. I’d say that puts me solidly into the freak category.”
    “You aren’t a freak.”
    “It’s OK,” he said. “Any normal person should be worried upon encountering someone like me.”
    “Not sure I’d call me a normal person either.” Silence engulfed them. Jackie glanced around at her shambles of an apartment. Yes, she was perfect date material all right. “So, where does that leave us?”
    Nick shrugged. “Beats me. This isn’t a game I’ve ever played well, Jackie. What about