Absolutely, Positively

lower, gliding straight into the dark cleft that divided her soap-slick derriere.

    “Harry.”

    “Like I said. A lot of fun.”

    A long time later Molly opened the refrigerator door and surveyed the contents. After due deliberation she selected a carton of eggs, milk, and some butter. She set all of the items on one long granite countertop while she rummaged through various cupboards in search of syrup. There was a bottle of pure Canadian maple on a shelf near the refrigerator.

    She discovered a heavy, unsliced loaf of fresh sourdough bread securely wrapped in a plastic bag. Further research turned up several frying pans in various sizes. Uncertain of which would be best for her intended purpose, she set out three of them. Next, she began a search for a suitable bowl.

    When she was through, she stepped back to survey the array of items she had set out on the counter. Now, all she needed was a cookbook.

    It was oddly pleasant to putter around Harry's kitchen. There was a satisfying intimacy implicit in the process of making breakfast for the two of them, even without the aid of the Abberwick Food Storage and Preparation Machine.

    Perhaps during the meal there would be an opportunity to ask Harry the questions that were uppermost in her mind this morning. She wanted to know what he had been thinking last night when she had found him standing in front of the window staring out into the night.

    To her surprise, she found several cookbooks in a corner cupboard. She wondered if Harry had collected them or if his housekeeper, Ginny, kept them on hand. After due consideration, Molly selected one subtitledSimple Steps to Gourmet Delights . She flipped the pages to the index.

    She looked up from her task when she heard Harry's footsteps in the hall. “I hope you like French toast,” she called. “I haven't done much cooking without the Abberwick Food Storage and Preparation Machine, but I think I can cope.”

    There was no response. She sensed that something had changed yet again in Harry's mood before he appeared.

    He came to a halt in the doorway. One glance told her that this was not the time to ask him intimate questions about the vulnerability she had seen in him last night. Her playful shower companion had disappeared. In his place was the grimly serious man she had seen so often during the past month.

    His hair was still damp. He was dressed in a pair of khaki trousers and a black cotton shirt. His eyes were hooded and thoughtful. One of his hands was clenched tightly at his side.

    Molly closed the cookbook very slowly. “Harry, what's wrong?”

    “I think I know him.”

    “What on earth are you talking about?”

    He held out his clenched hand and opened his fingers to reveal the gear assembly he held. “I think I know whoever was responsible for making this.”

    “That's impossible.”

    “No.” He walked to the counter and set the gear down on it. He studied the mechanism the way a hawk studies a mouse. “I started to realize it last night. But it was vague and distorted. And then you came into the front room. I got sidetracked.”

    Molly raised her brows. “That's one way of putting it.”

    He ignored her weak humor. His attention was riveted on the gear. “A few minutes ago I found it on the carpet as I was getting dressed. I must have dropped it last night.”

    “So?”

    “So it all came flooding back to me the minute I picked it up.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. There was cold speculation in his gleaming gaze. “Only this time the feeling wasn't mushy or unclear. It was clean and sharp.”

    “I don't understand. What's all this about mushy feelings?”

    “Forget it.” Harry scowled, as if he'd said more than he'd intended. “Just an expression. What I meant was that I—”

    Molly held up one hand. “Hold on here. Harry, are we talking about your infamous Trevelyan Second Sight?”

    “Don't get silly on me now, Molly. You're too smart for that kind of nonsense. Let's just say that things clicked in my head a couple of minutes ago when I took a second look at this gear.”

    “Aha. One of your insights, then?”

    “Something like that,” he allowed coolly. “I would have figured it out last night, but my thinking got a little fuzzy due to very understandable reasons.”

    “What reasons?” she demanded.

    He looked briefly amused. “You seduced me.”

    “Oh, that.” She blushed. “I thought you meant something else. All right. So it clicked. What