I made a great noise of clicking the locks, and then opened the door.

We appraised each other instantly, in the way that women do. She was tall and beautiful in a cold, patrician way. She wore a black suit, severely cut and buttoned up to the collar. Her strawberry blond hair was twisted and pinned back, although one solitary piece had marched away from her sisters and now hung in her face. She pushed it back behind her ear. Her cherry red lips pursed as she finished looking me over and offered a thin smile.

“Caroline, yes?” she asked, a solidly British accent piercing the air as clearly as her attitude. I already knew I didn’t care for this woman.

“Yes, can I help you?” I suddenly felt underdressed in my Garfield boxers and tank top. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, feet clad in giant socks. I shifted my weight again, realizing I probably looked like I had to pee. I also realized at the same time that this woman made me nervous, and I had no idea why. I straightened up immediately, putting my game face on. This all took place in less than five seconds, a lifetime in the world of Woman Figuring Out The Other Woman.

“I need to drop this off for Simon, and he mentioned that if he wasn’t at home to leave it at the flat across from his, that Caroline would take care of it for him. You’re Caroline, so here you go, I suppose,” she finished, thrusting a cardboard box at me. I took it, taking my eyes off of hers for a moment.

“What does he think I am, a mailbox?” I muttered, setting it on the table just inside the door and turning back to the woman.

“May I tell him who dropped this off, or will he know?” I asked. She was still looking me over as though I were a great puzzle.

“Oh, he’ll know,” she answered, her cool tone sounding musical but clipped at the same time. As an American, I’ll admit I am always fascinated by a British accent, but could do without this particular side of superiority.

“Okay, well…I’ll make sure he gets it.” I nodded, leaning my hand on the door. I closed it ever so slightly, but she didn’t move.

“Is there anything else?” I asked. I could hear Ina working on her shortbread in the other room, and I didn’t want to miss any KitchenAid  p**n .

“No, nothing else,” she replied, still making no move.

“Okay, then, have a good night,” I said, almost making it a question as I started to close the door. Just as I did, she stepped forward enough so I was forced to catch the door before it hit her.

“Yes?” I asked, my irritation beginning to show through. This Limey was stopping me from seeing the completion of the pecan squares I’d been waiting for all episode.

“I just, well, I’m really glad to have met you,” she answered, her eyes finally softening and a hint of a smile breaking through her façade. “And you really are quite lovely,” she added. I stared back at her. Her voice sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Um, okay, thank you?” I answered as she started for the stairwell. Her heel caught just slightly, and she stumbled a little. As I closed the door, she began to giggle as she worked her shoe loose. That’s when I realized who’d just visited.

My eyes widened, I’m sure to the size of dahlias, and I hurled the door back open. I gaped at her, and her face broke open into the widest cheeky grin. She winked as I blushed. I’d been present for some of this lady’s greatest moments.

She wiggled her fingers at me and disappeared down the stairs. Clive brought me back from my stupor by nipping me on the calf, and I closed the door.

I sat on my couch, pecan squares all but forgotten as my brain processed everything.

The Giggler had said I was lovely.

She basically told me Simon had told her I was lovely.

Simon thought I was lovely.

Was the Giggler out of the harem?

Was there even a harem left?

What did this mean?

Would I only think in questions now?

And if so, who is Eric Cartman’s father?

Text between Simon and Caroline:

What are you doing?

What are YOU doing?

I asked you first.

You sure did.

Waiting…

Me too…

Jesus you’re stubborn. I’m driving back from LA. Happy now?

Yes, thank you. I’m baking pumpkin bread.

It’s a good thing I’m at a gas station right now and not driving or I would have a hard time keeping the car on the road…

Right, the baking gets you worked up, doesn’t it?

You have no idea.

So I probably shouldn’t tell you I smell like

cinnamon and ginger right now?

Caroline.

My raisins are soaking in brandy this very minute.

That’s it…

I peered out the window again, scanning the street below, and still no sign of the Rover. The fog was quite thick, and although I didn’t want to be a nag, I was becoming a little concerned that he wasn’t home yet. Here I sat, with cooling loaves, and no Simon had shown up to inhale them. I picked up my phone to text him, but then called instead. I didn’t want him texting while he was on the road. It rang a few times, and then he picked up.

“Hi there, my favorite baker,” he purred, and my knees clanked together. He was like the best Kegel exercise ever—instant clench.

“Are you close?”

“Pardon me?” He laughed.

“Close to home. Are you close to home?” I asked, rolling my eyes and unclenching.

“Yes, why?”

“There seems to be a lot of fog tonight. I mean, more than usual…Be careful, okay?”

“That’s very sweet of you to be looking out for me.”

“Shut up, mister. I always look out for my friends,” I scolded, beginning to get ready for bed. I was a multi-tasker from way back. I could do my taxes while getting waxed and not bat an eye. I could certainly get undressed while talking to Simon. Ahem.

“Friends? Is that what we are?” he asked.

“What the hell else would we be?” I shot back, pulling off my shorts and grabbing a pair of thick woolen socks. The floor was chilly tonight.

“Hmmm,” he muttered as I took off my T-shirt and slipped into a button-down to sleep in.

“Well, while you’re hmmming, I have to tell you about a visit I had earlier this week from a friend of yours.”

“A friend of mine? This sounds intriguing.”

“Yep, Julie Andrews accent, buttoned-up Brit? Ring any bells? She dropped off a box for you.”

His laughter rang out immediately. “Julie Andrews accent—that’s brilliant! That must have been Lizzie. You met Lizzie!” He laughed like this was the funniest thing ever.