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protest the use of his last name. It was a signal to back off. “My apologies.”
    But he made no move to leave.
    After an awkward silence, she repeated, “Thank you for tasting the muffins.”
    “Why do you have to eliminate any of them? They’re all wonderful.”
    “I thought I should have a signature muffin. You know, build a reputation for special things.” She almost relaxed with her response until she appeared to remember that she was angry with him.
    “I think you’ll build a reputation for good food, whichever kind of muffin you serve. But variety might be fun. You could serve one kind each day of the week. You didn’t have any blueberry muffins. Or surely there are other kinds.” He searched his mind for kinds of muffins. He wasn’t sure why he wanted the conversation to continue, but he did. “Maybe there are zucchini muffins?”
    She smiled. “I could make pumpkin muffins.”
    “There you go! That would be perfect for Thanksgiving. Or turkey muffins, with the leftovers. Ham muffins for Easter. Rhubarb muffins.”
    She laughed at his silliness, and he grinned in return. Seeing Molly laugh was a delight in itself.
    “You’re being ridiculous.”
    “Maybe, but I think any kind of muffin you make would be good, if these are any indication.”
    “Sara was disappointed you didn’t pick the strawberry one.”
    “I know,” he agreed. “She kept pushing another bite toward me. Which was pretty impressive since she wanted to eat those bites herself.”
    “You noticed,” Molly said with a grin. “I have to watch her. She has a definite sweet tooth.”
    “She’s a beautiful little girl, both in her appearance and her behavior, Molly. You’ve done a great job raising her. Christopher would be proud.”
    Suddenly the friendliness in the air, the warmth, the welcome, all disappeared. Molly’s face was grim and closed. She stood. “Thank you for your help.”
    “Wait!” He hadn’t intended the protest, but he wasn’t going to be shoved out the door until he knew what he’d done wrong. “What did I do?”
    She turned away, clearing the table. “Nothing at all. I just don’t want to take up more of your time. I know how busy you are.”
    He stubbornly remained in his chair, as if standing would make it easier for her to dislodge him. “It’s Friday afternoon. I’m not so busy.”
    “If you don’t have work to do, I’m sure you have social plans. I don’t want to make you run late.” She kept her back to him, rinsing the dishes.
    He decided to invade her space. Grabbing more dishes, he carried them to the sink. He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d slapped her.
    “What are you doing?” she demanded, outrage in her voice.
    “Helping you.” It seemed obvious to him, but not to her.
    “I don’t need your help!” she assured him. “I can manage.”
    “I can see that. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help, though. I do have manners, you know.”
    “So, in a restaurant, you offer to clean the kitchen before you leave?”
    “In a restaurant, I pay a bill, which covers cleaning the kitchen,” he returned, keeping his voice level. He wanted to get to the bottom of what had upset her. So he wouldn’t do it again. If she everopened her door to him. Not that it mattered, of course, but there was no point in making enemies when it wasn’t necessary.
    “By the way,” he added, before she could speak, “Amanda is coming back this evening. She’ll be in the office on Monday.”
    “Good,” she snapped, telling him without additional words she wouldn’t be consulting him again.
    He stood there, his hands on his hips, watching, trying to figure out how to scale the wall she’d built.
    She turned and wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll get your coat for you.”
    “Wait just a minute,” he protested. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what I said wrong.”

Chapter Six
    Molly felt like an idiot.
    The man had made a simple remark. If she’d contained her emotions,