“Better,” she allowed. “I just wanted to avoid setting a precedent where you’d feel obligated to drive me home, or that sort of thing. If I follow an impulse I should handle what’s connected to it. Like transportation.”

“I really enjoyed the impulse, but regardless, when I’m with a woman, I take her home. Consider it a Brown Rule of Thumb.”

She did consider while tapping her fingers on her knee. “So, if you followed an impulse, I’d be obligated to drive you home.”

“No. And no, I don’t consider that sexist, I consider it elemental.” He glanced over, all sleepy midnight eyes as he drove through the rainy morning. “Equal rights, equal pay, choice, opportunities, and so on. I’m for them. But when I’m with a woman I take her home. And when I’m with a woman, I don’t like the idea of her driving around in the middle of the night, or alone at five-thirty-whatever in the morning if there’s a way around it.”

“Because you have the penis.”

“Yes, I do. And I’m keeping it.”

“And the penis shields against accidents, breakdowns, and flat tires?”

“You know what’s always been interesting, and occasionally frustrating, about you?You’re able to turn the simple into the complicated.”

It was true, but it didn’t change the point. “What if I’d had my car?”

“You didn’t.”

“But what if I did?”

“I guess we’ll find out when you do.” He turned into the drive.

“That’s evasive.”

“It is, isn’t it? How about I give you a point back? I won’t walk you to the door.”

She cocked her head. “But you’re going to sit here until you know I’m inside?”

“Yes, I am.” He leaned over, cupped her chin, kissed her. “Go bake a cake.”

She started to get out, then shifted back and gave him a longer, much more satisfying kiss. “Bye.”

She dashed to the door, then turned, dripping, to wave as she let herself in.

Then, alone in the quiet, she leaned back on the door and indulged herself. She’d made love with Del. She’d slept in his bed, awakened beside him. A lifetime of dreams had come true in one night, so she was allowed to indulge herself in private, to grin like a maniac, hug herself, and feel utterly, foolishly wonderful.

Nothing she’d imagined had come close to those moments, and here alone in the quiet she could revel in them. She could remember each one and savor it.

What happened next was anyone’s guess, but now, right this minute, she had what she’d always wanted.

She almost floated up the stairs and into her room. Full day ahead of her, she thought, but God, she wanted to chuck it all and just flop down on the bed, kick her heels at the ceiling, and wallow.

Couldn’t be done, but she could wallow in a long, long hot shower. She stripped off her damp clothes, hung them over a towel bar, pulled out the hair clip she’d dug out of her purse to handle the mess of it. Still grinning, she stepped under the hot spray.

She was basking in the steam and the scent when she caught a movement outside the glass door. It amazed her the scream she ripped out didn’t crack the glass.

“Jesus, Laurel, it’s just me.” Mac opened the door a crack. “I knocked, then I shouted, but you were too busy singing to hear me.”

“A lot of people sing in the shower. What the hell do you want?”

“Not a lot of people who are us sing ‘I’ve Got Rhythm’ in the shower.”

“I wasn’t singing that.” Was she? And now it would be stuck in her head all day. “You’re letting out the heat. Go away.”

“What’s taking you so long?” Emma demanded as she came in.

“Parker?”

“Gym,” Emma answered Mac. “But I told her what’s up.”

“For God’s sake, has it escaped the notice of you morons that I’m taking a shower?”

“Smells good,” Mac commented. “You’re clean. Get out. We’re having pancakes in honor of the anticipated sexy breakfast story.”

“I don’t have time for pancakes.”

“Mrs. G will make them.”

“We just had waffles.”

“Oh, you’re right. Omelettes. We’ll have sexy breakfast story omelettes. Ten minutes,” Emma ordered. “The men are banned from breakfast.”

“I don’t want to—”

But Mac shut the shower door. Laurel pushed dripping hair out of her eyes. She could sneak down to her own kitchen, but they’d just come in and nag her. Resigned, she got out and grabbed a towel.

When she walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, she found Mac and Emma already there, the table set, and Mrs. Grady at the stove.

“Listen, I have a really full day, so—”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Mac said piously.

“So speaks the Pop-Tart Princess. I really need to get started.”

“You can’t hold back.” Emma wagged a finger. “We shared ours, and Mrs. G’s already making sexy breakfast story omelettes. Right, Mrs. G?”

“I am. Might as well sit down,” she told Laurel. “They’ll nag your ears off otherwise. And since I’m told you didn’t get home until about thirty minutes ago, I’ve a mind to hear about it myself.”

As she gulped down juice, Laurel tracked her gaze from one face to another. “Do you all have some sort of radar?”

“Yes,” Parker said as she came in. “And if I’m getting called down before I’ve had my shower, this better be good.” In sweat shorts and a loose T-shirt, she went over to pour herself coffee. “I take it Del didn’t bolt the door and turn you away.”

“This is just bizarre.” Laurel took Parker’s coffee. “You know this is bizarre.”

“Traditions are traditions, even when they’re bizarre.” Cheerfully, Parker got another cup. “So, what happened?”

Laurel sat, shrugged. “I lost the bet.”

“Yay!” Emma scooted in beside her. “I lost it, too, but some things are more important than money.”

“Who won, Parker?” Mac wanted to know.

Parker sat, frowned into her coffee. “Malcolm Kavanaugh.”