“Okay, then.” Leo stands up and offers me his hand.

It’s a nice hand, very big and warm, those long pianist fingers. “Jenny says you went to Juilliard,” I say.

“Yes. Piano performance and composition.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime.”

“I’m really out of practice.” He smiles a little, and I find that I like him a lot, even without knowing him. And I’m comfortable with him, which hardly ever happens with me and a man.

Leo walks with me to the cemetery gate, asks me again if I don’t want an escort on the mean streets of Cambry-on-Hudson. “I’m fine. But it was nice to see you,” I tell him honestly.

“You, too, Rachel.” He gets on his bike and starts off. “Nine-point-two-five,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Wear a helmet next time,” I call back. The mother in me.

“Eight-point-seven-five in the rain,” I murmur. Not bad for someone who’ll turn forty soon. Yes, my sister is a ten with her shiny hair and well-deep eyes, that wry smile always ready to spring, her perfect skin.

And that whore Emmanuelle, also a ten, though in a very different, more blatant way. She reminds me of a model in the New York Times magazine—slightly terrifying, perfectly beautiful, angles and spareness everywhere except for her big, juicy, hungry mouth.

I don’t hurry home. I want my alone time to last a little longer.

Jenny

“Don’t judge me,” Rachel says as soon as I pick up the phone. It’s Monday morning, my day off.

“I hate when people say that. It’s like saying, ‘No offense, but you’re so ugly’ or something.”

I’m drinking coffee by the sink and spying on Leo, who’s got a pile of wood and a saw that he barely seems to know how to hold. “Hang on, Rach.” I mute the phone a second and bang on the window. “Stop before you lose a finger!” He drops the saw instantly and smiles up at me, as if he was waiting for me to intervene.

“I’m back,” I tell my sister.

“I need you to come with me somewhere,” Rachel says. “But don’t try to talk me out of it, okay? I’ll be over in twenty minutes.” She hangs up, knowing I’ll agree. I admit, I’m curious. She’s not usually so bossy. It’s kind of refreshing.

I go down my front steps and into Leo’s courtyard. “Why are you trying to mutilate yourself?” I ask. “Wouldn’t that hurt your career and all?”

“Good morning, Jenny.”

Damn. He’s just so...deliciously adorable. I want to feed him. I want to cuddle him. I want to kiss him for hours.

The knowing eyebrow rises.

“Just because you are a tool doesn’t mean you should use one,” I say before he can whip out the old “eye-fucking” line.

“That’s a good one.” He’s wearing what he wears most days, except when he goes to see his mom—jeans and a T-shirt. He has quite an array of T-shirts. This one is faded gray with faint blue letters spelling out Starfleet Academy. Such a dork. Then again, I know exactly what Starfleet Academy is, so I’m in the same dork boat.

“What are you making? Or, more aptly, what aren’t you making?” Upon closer inspection, the pile of wood resembles a triangle. A crooked, timid triangle.

“It’s a ramp for Loki.”

I glance at the dog, who appears to be dead. “A ramp to...heaven?” I suggest.

“To my bed, which is kind of the same thing.” Leo winks. “Or so they tell me.”

“And by they, you mean foul-tempered dogs?” I put my foot on the “ramp.” It collapses.

“I flunked wood shop,” Leo says.

“You don’t say. Why can’t you just lift him up on the bed?” I ask.

Leo hesitates. “He has arthritis, and it hurts him if I pick him up.” He looks away from me.

I get it. He doesn’t want to put the dog to sleep, even if Loki is circling the drain as it is. I try to think of something nice to say about the dog and come up empty, so I crouch down and pet his ear. He growls at me. “He’s quite a character,” I manage.

“He’s the best.”

Yeah. Well, I can’t go that far, but it’s kind of sweet, Leo’s devotion to Old Yeller here. “My sister and I have plans today. Can I fix this later?” I ask.

“That’d be great, Jenny.” For once, he’s not flirting or tragic, his two resting states. “Tell your sister I said hi.”

On cue, Rachel pulls up, waves, and off I go. “How bad is the crush on him?” she asks as I buckle in.

“Oh, pretty bad,” I say. “He’s unfairly attractive.”

“I saw him at the cemetery the other night. Did he tell you? He was out for a bike ride.”

I’ve seen Leo go out on his bike. I haven’t seen him drive, oddly enough. Then again, he may well go out when I’m at work, and when I’m home, he’s got his students, tormenting me with “Three Blind Mice” and “Pop Goes the Weasel” and “Let It Go.” He’s already warned me that around Christmastime, I may want to buy some swords for seppuku.

“So where are we going, Rach?” I ask.

To hell, she doesn’t say, but ten minutes later, I’m in hell. Or, as it’s known, Monarca MedAesthetics & Youth Restoration LLC, part of a beautiful shopping complex on the edge of Cambry-on-Hudson.

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