17 "Who's Oliver?"

I know their grandmothers and great grandmothers. I know who stole from whom, who screwed whom figuratively and literally, who went to jail, who hates broccoli and who made the Fire High cheerleaders because she had the longest legs and knew how to display them." she took a breath. "it's a small island. I know Lucien Damon."

"Then why are you shaking?"

"I'm not". Rather than admit he was right, that Lucien had gotten to her, she forced her hands to steady and held out a teacup and saucer. "Look, if I need a lawyer I know where to get one". She attempted a grin and failed. "Would you like a snack? I made a banana-nut loaf yesterday".

His fingers grazed hers as he took the teacup. The familiar gentleness entered his eyes. "Couldn't pass up anything homemade".

She busied herself preparing two slices, cutting him a thicker portion, aware he stood five steps away, aware how much his height and size shrunk her common space.

"Who's Oliver?" Rogan asked.

Lee paused. So he had heard the exchange on the landing. "Do you always eavesdrop on people's conversations?" she replied irritably.

"I didn't eavesdrop. At least not until he raised his voice".

Lee relaxed. Only in the last few seconds, as he spoke Oliver's name, had Lucien nearly vibrated with anger. Her heart softened. She, too, had raged when Oliver died.

Rogan set his teacup on the counter and she handed over the plate, and watched him bite into the banana bread with an "mmm" of pleasure at the taste.

"Oliver was a close friend," she said. Her throat squeezed at the void his death left, not just in her life, but in Lucien's who lost his only child.

"How close?"

Her eyes shot to his. "Close, okay?"

"Sorry." He looked at the scarf, its gossamer fabric partially concealing the telephone. "Don't know why I asked. The past isn't.... Look, forget it".

She wished she could. "Apologies accepted".

With a nod, he set the empty plate on the counter beside his untouched tea. "Thanks for the snack, Lee. It was delicious".

"Would you like some for your son?" she asked before she could think through how her offer would appear to a man who had almost kissed her thirty minutes ago. Who, fifteen minutes ago, had touched her cheek and left a brand she felt still. Whose presence ate the air in the room.

For the first time since he entered her apartment, his mouth curved. "That'd be great. Danny loves bananas".

Moments later, she saw him to the door, the remainder of the loaf wrapped in foil and stored in a plastic container.

"I'll get this back to you tomorrow," he said, nodding to the container.

"Keep it. I have a drawer full".

He paused on the threshold. "Lee, if there's anything you need----"

"I know where you'll be." She pushed him gently on the landing, the muscles under his shirt strong and warm and inviting. Her hand jerked away. "Let me know if Danny likes the treat". And then she closes the door and flipped the lock.

What was she thinking? If Danny did like the treat, would she bake him another?