"
Now it was he who nodded and lowered his head to hers, and she
hugged him. "It'll come, Petey, I know it will. It will come
again."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart. Now put some clothes on," she said, slapping his
rear. "I'm getting cold and hungry, and we don't want to be late
for your new friend." She turned and strolled to the bedroom.
Suddenly his underwear whizzed past her head, grazing her hair
before landing on the bed. She stopped in place and set her hands
on her hips and turned around with a playful grin on her face.
"Isn't it fashionable to be late?"
* * *
"Dinner is ready," Greta said from Matthew's office door, just
off the library.
"I'll just be a minute," he said, turning to acknowledge her, but
she was already gone.
He finished typing his e-mail message to William Harrell, then
clicked the send button. Piled on his desk were notes, charts,
and schedules, each a vital facet of the overall ICP Strategic
Alliance report he had been working on all day. Another Saturday
devoted to work, but that was nothing new. Glancing at his watch
he figured he could probably finish most of the outline by
morning, so long as he hurried through dinner.
Leaving the light of his library office, he strolled through the
uncharacteristically dark house. He padded down the long hallway
and passed the closed dining room door, crossed the foyer, and
rounded the corner to the family room and kitchen area.
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