"Well, down the hall is less vulnerable than, say, walking six miles uphill in the snow. And there's the other element..." She smiled at their blurry reflection in the metal doors. She'd had fun. Ty was just enough of a flirt for it to be encouraging and enough of a friend for it to be comfortable. It was as if the weight on a twenty-something guy's shoulders was so light, it was a joy to just breathe near him.

"What other element?"

"Intention. The offer to walk me to my door could be old time chivalry like a black and white movie hero who trudges uphill in the snow because he's concerned about Greta Garbo's safety."

"With flowers."

Gwen laughed. "With flowers. Or it could be the good-guy quality of a Tom Hanks pleading his case with Meg Ryan. Or, it could be the complete opposite of vulnerability."

"Like?"

"Like Dan Akroyd on Saturday Night Live knocking on Gilda Radner's door. Pizza delivery. But when she opens it, he's dressed in a shark suit."

Ty looked confused, and she reminded herself that age differences were differences. "Humor me and pretend that you were capable of watching TV at least by the eighties."

"I've seen I Love Lucy."

"Wrong decade."

"What's a couple of years one way or the other?" He closed the gap between them and kissed her, and she felt the wall of the elevator at the back of her head and didn't even know why she'd stepped back.

When he touched his lips to hers, she really wondered why she'd stepped back. They were warm and moved slowly, like he kissed with an Australian accent. She'd missed that the quick first time. She felt his hands circle her waist, pull her closer but not too close. Nice. Very nice. Her back arched involuntarily, but she straightened to a more appropriate pelvic distance, and the elevator dinged just like it had the first time, another angel getting his wings. She pulled back and saw that the doors had opened.

Mranda may have registered surprise when she'd first spotted them in a clinch, but by the time Gwen saw her, the look was narrow-eyed hatred. Gwen had always assumed female jealousy rates were over-inflated, and cat fights were nothing but urban legends. But for a second, she felt a fight or flight response to Mranda's murderous face.

It was the smile that really scared her. Mranda's lips, still tight, spread in the kind of grin generally reserved for deranged supervillians. Ty missed it, reaching to keep the elevator door open, and then Mranda turned towards Gwen's room. The door was open, and she hoped the scary smiler hadn't been giving Missy a hard time.

"No, leave the pen. That's university property."

Gwen headed closer, vaguely aware of Ty behind her, and a pair of boxes slid over her door jamb and stopped at Mranda's feet. Gwen saw her cookbooks and Psych. notes dumped on top.

Mranda kicked the boxes toward her. "Gwen Melissa, this room isn't yours at all, is it? It's Melissa Gwen's." Mranda flipped her hand over, the French manicured nails giving way to palm. "The university doesn't allow squatters."

Gwen took a deep breath. If Napoleon had been a cheerleader... "I've paid for this room." She reached the door as Steve emerged.

He faced her, the bland camel v-neck sweater and button down shirt at odds with the pissy face. "I paid for the room, technically. For Missy. From Missy's college fund. I'm the fund's guardian. Did you forget that, Gwen?"

Forget that? She opened her mouth to assure him she'd never known that, but Mranda, with great energy, stepped between her and Steve and encouraged a very quiet Ty to join them. "I don't believe you've met Gwen's husband, Steve."

Steve stuck out his hand and smiled, and Gwen knew that face. Even in a crisis, the man was a breath away from asking Ty about his insurance needs.

She put her hands out flat in front of her to both calm herself down and be in a better position to crank them around Mranda's neck. "Let's stop this right now. I signed divorce papers. I helped save money for the college account, and I can spend some of it. I'm enrolled here."

Steve made a small noise, but she stopped him with a glare. He shrugged as if in defeat, but the self-satisfied look on his face made her heart kick up its beat.

She didn't want to hear his answer, but she had to ask anyway. "What have you done, Steve?"

He gave her a half smile. "Nothing any good parent wouldn't do. You're not thinking very clearly, Gwen, so I took care of things. I enrolled Missy in an independent study voice class and someone needed to straighten out this housing confusion."

"My housing and tuition are paid this semester. A semester Missy chose not to attend."

Steve shrugged. "She's here now. We've decided it's the right thing to do."

Mranda patted his arm. "It is." She turned to Gwen, "It's against dorm policy to--"

"Don't." Gwen jabbed a finger near Mranda's sternum. Maybe she could break it or deflate her breasts or both.

Mranda's mouth opened to protest, but Gwen just stepped closer. "I've got twenty years and twenty pounds on you, little girl, and I will use both."

Steve shook his head as if it was all very sad and picked up the two boxes that held everything that was officially hers in the room. "Let's go home and sort this out." He eyed Ty, "Privately."

Gwen grabbed for the boxes, too heavy to hold, she realized, as they thudded to the floor. She picked up the top one and kicked the bottom one towards the elevator, pushing it with alternating feet. "Let's go to Hell, and you can sort out your conscience. Privately."

Mranda, with a voice sweet as anything, made a hmmm sound. "I can see why you divorced her."

Gwen pivoted and stomped one foot down, making Mranda jump back. It was the tiniest bit satisfying, but playing chicken in the hallway with a co-ed might not be the best way to show Steve she had it together.

She continued on to the elevator, set the box down on top of the kicked one, and straightened with a fake dignity no one would buy. Pushing the button for the lobby, she ignored the tool and his blonde minion, but nodded at Ty. "Thank you for the chicken."

Ty waved as if he didn't know what other response was appropriate, and the doors closed them out and her in, sealing a day that only got worse when she realized she had to go live with her mother. And her mother lived with Max.

There were times in a man's life when he had to stand up and be counted, when he needed to speak his truth and risk censure or criticism, even if his life would forever be altered by the ripple of change. He held the three die, felt them roll around in his cupped palm, and shook out a two, six, and three. He looked up from the losing shake to see Gwen walk into his living room. This was not one of those times.

He sighed, "I didn't hear the door," and stood in delayed greeting as he felt the wall to wall silence of eleven women watching them, waiting to be entertained.

He could see that Gwen was studying the gathering, watched her take in the three card tables and the couch jammed against the far wall. She returned her mother's little wave then her eyes came to rest on his chest. He wished he'd remembered the shirt. He wanted to cross his arms over his chest, man-like, but it was too late.

Gwen mouthed the words like a first grader trying to make sense of language. "Bunco Babe."

He resisted the urge to scratch himself or belch or spit on the carpet. That would be macho. Gross but macho. Not that a real man needed to defend himself in his own home. He pointed around the room. Surely she could see it was how it was done since they all wore Bunco Babe T-shirts. It was... "The shirt is like a uniform."

She looked like she was trying to keep it together but not succeeding very well. "Sure, basketball requires shorts. Bunco..." She tipped her head closer, and he could smell, or imagine he could smell, vanilla. "A bedazzled t-shirt?"

"Your mother loaned me this."

"Well, okay then. The blingy babe shirt is a loaner."

And couldn't she just judge? She was still wearing her date outfit, the skirt, the boots, and God knew what kind of underwear. She might not be wearing any at...

He had to sit down and slow his breathing. The only good news was her clothes weren't wrinkled. He wouldn't have left her looking that tidy. If she'd sent his head against the headboard, she'd be as disheveled as hell. And she wouldn't have been putting her clothes back on any time soon either. Crocodile Junior had struck out.

He felt better. Already regaining his footing, he turned to Ellen. "I don't think we invited Gwen to Bunco night did we, Ellen?"

"Well, she hasn't been around for a while. And she was out with that Australian boy..."

"I'm right here, Mom. And he's not a boy. He's a man."

Max slapped his hands on the table and the die jumped. He shook his head in apology, smiled again. "Let's get back to the round. We're on fives, right?"

The women watched Gwen. Ten women she'd never seen before in her life were waiting for her to say something about a guy, who, referred to as a boy could be sixteen. Her first almost real date in twenty years, and she needed to defend herself to strangers.

She'd thought coming to see Max would be awkward. Max and a Bunco party were off the charts, but what were her options? "I'm Gwen, Ellen's daughter, and, just so you know, Ty is almost thirty and not Australian although he lived there during elementary school."

The women stared and no one introduced themselves. She thought she heard one say something about the chocolate bar and Belgium adjoining France but not being French.

"Where," Gwen tried another smile, "did you all come from?"

Her mother straightened her pad and pencil, impatient, no doubt, to get back to play. And probably mad for being ignored for two weeks. Rightly so, although hadn't Missy ignored her mother a lot longer?

"I called a local church because Max had never played Bunco. And I miss my weekly play back home."

"A church sent over Bunco players?"

"I'm a shut-in."

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"I'm convalescing."

"But isn't Bunco kind of a..."

Everyone stared at her, waiting.

"You know, a dice game? Gambling."

"Based strictly on chance."

"Oh, right. That's better because..."

Max could see the church women turning on Gwen. They'd taken his side after he'd returned minus the chocolate, and they'd appreciated his opening his home. One had suggested he date her daughter, and another told him his Bunco play had more power and skill than her husband's. He'd watch that one. But Gwen was twisting in the wind, making the suggestion that these women were committing an original sin. It fell below idols and coveting neighbor's oxen, but it was a pretty big one all the same.

He pushed back from the table. "I think my puffs are ready. Let's take a break, ladies." He took Gwen's arm and pulled her towards the kitchen.

She hissed at him. "You're a cream puff."

"Shrimp puff. Savory first. Sweet follows."

Gwen tipped her head toward the living room where the din rose from everyone talking at once. "I'll just bet."

Max pulled a tray out of the warm oven. "Oh, you saw Dolores give me the eye, did you?"

"No."

"High table. Her back's to the fireplace."

"Redhead."

Max grinned. "Yeah."

"I didn't notice."

"I play Bunco with more power and skill than her husband does."

Gwen's mouth thinned in that way it did when something annoyed her, and she didn't want anyone to know it. He wanted to kiss her right on the dimpled corner of it. Then he wanted to dig at her about her stupid date with dingo got my baby boy.

She sighed. "Will you please..."

He stopped plating the puffs long enough to see Gwen point to his shirt.

"Honestly, I can't talk to you when you twinkle."

He looked down. The BABE really gave off some heat with the overhead kitchen lights. He reached for the hem and started to pull it up. He'd gotten it half-way off, glad for the millionth time he'd never stopped doing crunches, when Gwen grabbed his arm and yanked it down.

Giving in to impulse, he gave her a quick kiss on the corner of her irritated mouth. "It would hurt Ellen's feelings if I took it off anyway. And probably further inflame the unwanted advances of Dolores."

He turned his attention back to the appetizer and added a garnish of flat leaf Italian parsley to the plate.

"When did you get to be such a girl?"

"I am a renaissance man." He put his hand up. "And I'm not even talking to you if you're going to resort to gender biased assumptions." He lifted his chin and picked up the plate. "My puffs are getting cold."

She started to smile, and he could see it loosening at the corners where her dimple deepened and he'd gotten away with a kiss. He wanted to get away with more, starting with making her smile. "Go ahead, take your best shot. With all this sexual harassment, I'm very vulnerable right now."

She laughed, a short burst but with energy. "You haven't let your puffs cool since you hit puberty."

He put his free hand to his chest, and BABE winked out between his fingers, and she laughed again, a little looser he was glad to hear. And, god, she was beautiful, never more so than when she let herself relax. "I don't know why you're here, Gwen, but even though I'm caught bedazzled, I'm glad you are."

Her smile left, and he saw the worry in her seriousness.

"Is Missy okay?"

She nodded.