“Awwww, Sandy. You know, you could do stuff like this all the time if you just moved back in with us,” she suggested. He cleared his throat.

“I'm sure I could, but I'm afraid I've grown accustomed to living in my own place.”

She snorted.

“Well, I haven't. Why won't you stay longer than the weekend? Stay a week, we'll go up to New York, just like old times,” she tried to tempt him. He adjusted his tie and just like that, she knew her attempts were futile.

“I would enjoy that, and we will be sure to go during another trip in the future, but I want to go home on Monday,” he insisted. She sighed and propped her chin in her hands.

“You're no fun now,” she said. The corner of his lips twitched and he looked at her again.

“I'm not entirely sure I was ever fun, but if you'd accept a compromise, we can bake some brownies if you'd like.”

Sanders took off his jacket and tucked his tie into his dress shirt, then laughed a little as Tate tied a frilly apron on him. She put on a sensible one and they made desserts together. She did the mixing and he did the washing. As he scrubbed the mixing bowl, she made him turn pink when she managed to get the entire brownie-batter-covered-mixing spoon into her mouth. When the goodies were finally done and cool enough to eat, they took a plate out to the conservatory and sat amongst the flowers.

“The roses look well,” he commented, leaning forward and rubbing a velvety petal between his fingertips. She watched his dress shirt stretch and strain across his broad shoulders. Amazing, Sanders with broad shoulders.

Talk about a late bloomer.

“Yeah,” she finally answered. “Jameson hired a guy, he comes once a week and checks everything.”

“Good. It makes me happy knowing my flowers are well taken care of,” he sighed, sitting back in his seat. Tate had her feet propped up on the table in front of them and he copied her pose, crossing his legs at the ankle.

“I thought it would. Jameson talked about tearing down the conservatory, turning the space into a huge outdoor living room type area. I told him it would crush you if he did,” she said.

“Tear down the conservatory? He's gone insane,” Sanders muttered. She laughed and covered his feet with her own.

“It's possible. Has he explained this party to you?” she asked, tearing off a piece of brownie and offering it to him.

“Yes, he said he wants a barbecue, and that's he's inviting some of the junior staff from -”

“Sandy, don't repeat things we both already know – you know I hate that. This is about that Rich guy,” she stated. Sanders cleared his throat and stared straight ahead, not even looking as he took the piece of brownie.

“If it is, Jameson did not mention anything of it to me,” he said before eating the dessert.

“Really?” she asked, not believing him one bit. The blush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

“He never specifically said Mr. Klimas' name to me in regards to the reason for this party.”

“Ah.”

“He did, however, make sure to double and triple check that Mr. Klimas had received an invitation, and that he'd RSVPed that he'd be in attendance.”

“See!” Tate clapped her hands together. “It is about that – you don't think Jameson is actually upset about the other day, do you? I told the truth, the dude just showed up.”

Sanders relaxed and patted her affectionately on the knee.

“Of course he's not upset at you. He is mad at Mr. Klimas.”

“But … it's just stupid. Why? It's not like I'm gonna run away with the guy. I don't even like him. He's not a threat, so why does Jameson care?”

“Because the man is offensive, and Jameson doesn't care for anything that offends. Mr. Klimas has apparently made inappropriate comments at work, in regards to yours and Jameson's relationship.”

“So big deal, just fire the guy.”

“And deny himself the pleasure, the fun, of showing Mr. Klimas just what he is up against?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It seems as though Mr. Klimas has gotten the idea that he might be better suited for you. I think this party is Jameson's way of proving him wrong,” Sanders explained.

Tate laughed, long and loud.

“That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” she gasped for air.

“Yes,” Sanders agreed, rubbing her back until she caught her breath.

“But it's also kind of sweet,” she admitted, and then she leaned back before he could move away, trapping his arm between her and her chair. She smiled and scooted over, snuggling into his side. He didn't hesitate to move his trapped arm and wrap it around her shoulders, hugging her close.

Sometimes it's like a different person. Sanders 2.0. Stronger. Faster. Cuddlier.

“He has an odd way of showing his love,” he stated. “But it is still love.”

“It is,” she agreed. “And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.”

They stayed like that until the sun set and they heard Jameson get home. Then Sanders put his shoes back on and stood up, all with Tate still clinging to him. When he made his way back through the house, he had to lumber because he was practically dragging her form along behind him.

“Finally,” Jameson sighed as he glanced at them when they came into the kitchen. “Someone else gets to deal with her antics.”

“You looooove my antics,” she teased.

He snorted.

“Everything is arranged for tomorrow. I have done my duty as party planner and baby-sitter,” Sanders started, pulling at her wrists while he spoke. “I would like to return to the guest house and make some phone calls.”

“No! You leave so soon, and we'll all be busy tomorrow, you can't leave me now!” Tate pleaded, locking her arms around him even tighter.

“Sir, if you'd please,” he sighed.

While he pulled and yanked at her arms, Jameson simply walked around behind them and picked her up. She was forced to let go and she laughed while Sanders walked briskly out of the room, straightening his clothing as he went.

“Why do you like torturing him?” Jameson asked, dropping her to the floor before turning away.

“Because he tolerates it so much better than you,” she replied, following him upstairs.