He'd had to tap Kevin and Jenny for the favor-then persuade Naomi to drive with them to Union for a couple of hours. He'd liked seeing her there-and more, he'd liked knowing Kevin would make sure she got home, got in the house, locked up safe until he'd made it back.

She'd given him a key and the alarm code, though he wasn't sure if it had been for the single night or what. He didn't think she was sure either.

The . . . arrangement would be easier if he could leave a few essentials at her place. He wasn't sure of his ground there-brand-new territory.

He'd never lived, even half lived, with a woman before. He'd been careful not to. His space might not have been as big as Naomi's, but he liked his space all the same.

Yet here he was, getting out of her bed again, wearing a shirt she'd washed, and thinking about hitting her up for coffee.

This thing between them had a lot of moving parts, and he'd yet to figure out how they all fit.

But he would, he told himself as he walked out to find her-and coffee. He always figured out how things fit.

He heard her voice, pitched low, so he changed directions from the pursuit of coffee and walked to her temporary work space.

She had the windows wide open and the dog sprawled under her makeshift worktable.

The sun flooded her hair, turned it into a hundred shades of gold and bronze and caramel as she used a long tool to cut some mat board while she muttered to herself. Nearby a big, slick printer hummed while it slid a poster-size print into a tray.

It took him a minute to realize the poster-size print was of his hands holding the Austen book.

He saw himself again, already framed and matted and tipped against the wall. That shot she'd taken in the early morning, with the sunrise at his back and his eyes on her.

She had other poster prints-his book wall, his hands again, sunrise over the inlet-clipped to the arms of some sort of stand and a stack of smaller prints in a tray.

The dog's tail thumped good morning, and since hope sprang eternal in Tag, he uncurled himself and brought Xander a ball.

Distracted, Xander laid a hand on the dog's head and just looked at Naomi.

Immersed in her work, immersed in sunlight, slim hands competent with her tools, dark green eyes focused on her art. That long, slim body in a pale blue shirt and khaki pants that stopped above her ankles, her feet bare.

So this was what it was, this was how it fit. How his half fit anyway, he thought. It fit, all those moving parts, because he was in love with her.

Shouldn't the universe have given him a heads-up on that? He needed a little time, needed to adjust, regroup, needed to- Then she glanced over, and her eyes met his.

It blew through him, that storm of feeling, all but took his breath. For an instant he wondered how people lived this way, how they could carry so much for someone else inside them.

He crossed to her, yanked her up to her toes, and took her mouth like a man starving.

This. Her. His life would never be just what it had been as of that moment. And he would never be only what he'd been.

Love changed everything.

Thrown off balance, she gripped his shoulders. He made her head spin, her heart race, her knees weak. Overcome, she held on, rode the hot, fast wave with him.

When he eased back, she laid her hands on his cheeks, let out a long breath. "Wow, and good morning."

He rested his forehead to hers a moment while tenderness twined with heat.

"Are you all right?" she asked him.

No, he thought. He might not come down to all right again for years.

"You should always wear sunlight," he told her. "It looks good on you."

"I think you should always sleep in."

"No one in the actual world considers eight on a Sunday morning sleeping in."

To give himself a moment to settle, Xander turned to the prints. "You've been busy."

"I've got orders. The gallery, the Internet, Krista."

"So you were right about the hands."

"Oh yeah. Many hits on my website, and a nice bunch of orders for downloads and prints and posters on that and the book wall. I have to order more supplies."

He looked around at boxes and stacks. "More."

"More. I can't set up in here as efficiently as I will when they have my studio done. I might break my own rule and nag Kevin on that. But for now I can make do. You got in late," she added, and took the finished poster print out of the tray.

"Yeah, I got here around two, I guess. Woke the dog up."

"I heard him-and you."

"Sorry."

"No, it's reassuring that he barks and runs down like he'd rip an intruder to shreds. Though I suspect he'd run the other way if it was someone he didn't know. You all sounded good last night."

"Yeah, we had it down."

She clipped the poster in place, moved over to her tray. "What do you think of these?"

He started to tell her he'd look after coffee, as the need for it reared up strong, but he saw the print of the band, one with the tools, the broken windshield. Taking the stack, he paged through.

"Jesus, Naomi, these are great. Really great. Dave keeps saying how he can't decide what to use, which for what. On and on until you want to punch him."

"That's why I printed some out. You've all seen them on the computer, but sometimes prints help the choice."

"I don't think so. They're all great. You did some black-and-white."

"Moody, right?" As if checking for herself, she looked over his shoulder. "A little dangerous. You should all pick one for yourselves. I'll frame them for you. And you should pick one to go in Loo's."

"Yeah, maybe. Yeah. This black-and-white for Loo's, because it fits the atmosphere better."

"I agree."

"Dave's going to develop a nervous tic trying to decide." He set the prints back in the tray. "I need coffee."

"Go ahead. I've got a couple things to finish up, then I'll be down. You could let the dog out," she added. "It's too nice a day for him to be inside."

"For anybody. We could take a drive along 101. GTO or bike, your choice."

"If we did that, took the convertible, I could take some equipment. And the dog."

"We'll go by my place and pick it up."

Even as Xander started out, Tag raced ahead of him.

He'd take the day off-from work, from shaving, from thinking about what to do, or not, about being in love.

He knew people who fell in and out of love more regularly than they came in for an oil change. But he wasn't one of them.

He'd fallen into his share of lust, even into serious like, but this ground-just-shifted-under-my-feet feeling? A whole new experience.

He'd just let it all sit for a while, he decided. Make sure it wasn't some sort of momentary aberration.

Halfway down the steps Tag let out a low growl and bulleted the rest of the way to the door. He snapped out two sharp barks, then looked back at Xander as if to say, Well? Let's take care of this.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Why didn't I go for coffee from the jump?"

Xander opened the door, saw the black Chevy Suburban pull beside Naomi's car. And walked out as a tall man with light brown hair stepped out.

He wore sunglasses, a dark suit and tie-and a nebulous official air that said cop to Xander.

Not a local badge, but some sort of badge. And it pissed him off that Naomi would have her Sunday spoiled by more questions about Marla.

The man looked at the dog who stood by Xander's side, then at Xander.

"Who the hell are you?"

"You're the one who drove up here," Xander countered just as abruptly, "so I get to ask who the hell you are."

"Special Agent Mason Carson. FBI."

Mason took out his credentials, held them up-and wasn't subtle about the hand that flipped back the suit jacket to rest on the butt of his service weapon.

"Now, who the hell are you?"

"It's all right." Xander set his own hand on Tag's head. "He's okay. Xander Keaton."

The sunglasses might have blocked Mason's eyes, but Xander knew they narrowed and assessed.

"The mechanic."

"That's right. Naomi's in the house. Upstairs finishing up some work. I'd appreciate it if you took your hand off your gun. I haven't had coffee yet, and it's starting to piss me off."

Since Tag sidled over to sniff at Mason's FBI shoes, Mason gave his head a rub. "Do you usually have coffee here?"

"It's gotten to be a habit. If that pisses you off, it has to wait until after coffee."

"I wouldn't mind coffee."

Tag raced off, raced back, ball in his mouth, dropped it at Mason's feet.

And when Mason smiled, Xander saw Naomi.

She didn't smile all the way often enough, in his opinion, but when she did she shared that same slow build to blinding with her brother.

"She's going to be really glad to see you."

Xander waited for Mason, who wasn't so official he couldn't throw a ball for a dog, then started back into the house.

"If we drive north," Naomi began as she came downstairs, "I could get some . . . Mason. Oh God, Mason!"

She flew.

Mason caught her, swung her around, then swung her around again.

That, Xander thought, was a connection, a bond, a love that went as deep as they ever get.

She laughed, and he heard the tears in it, saw them sparkle in the jubilant sunlight that pumped through the open door.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? You're wearing a suit! You look so- Oh, oh, I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Beaming right back, Mason held her a few inches away. "You have a house. And a dog."

"Crazy, isn't it?"

"It's a hell of a house. Great dog. And you've got . . . a mechanic."

"A . . . oh." She laughed, gave Mason another squeeze. "Xander, this is my brother, Mason."

"Yeah, we met outside. I'm going for coffee."

"I'll get it. I'll show you the house," she said to Mason. "We'll start with the kitchen. Right now it's the best part."

"It's a big house."

"With plenty of room for you and Seth and Harry to visit. And I've talked Gram and Pop into coming out, at least by the fall. Your rooms aren't finished yet, but we'll figure something out. How long can you stay?"

"Mmm."

"Have you eaten?"

"Had a bagel on the ferry."

"We can do better than that. The ferry? Where'd you come from? I thought you were in New York."