“I stood there for a moment, playing emotional catch-up.He drove down from the Navarre House just to surprise me with flowers.And not It's -Valentines's Day-and-I-feel-olbligated flowers.These were just-because flowers.”

“Don't they feed you at Navarre house?""They throw out some gruel between the indoctrination sessions and propaganda films. Then we're off marching around the grounds and the recitation of sonnets to Celina's loveliness.”

“I stood Sentinel of Cadogan House, by God. He was mine, and he knew it, and I would claim what was mine.”

“Well, I suppose I could follow his advice. Are you hungry?”“Surprisingly enough, not at the moment.”“Will miracles never cease?”“Ha,” I said”

“What’s this?” “An apology, of sorts.” I made a moue, but slipped the lid from the top . . . and then my breath left me. Inside the box sat a baseball, its well-worn white leather marked by the signatures of every Cubs player from the team. It was just like the one I’d had—just like the one I’d told him about the night we made love.”

“You’re quiet this evening,” he said. I pasted on a pleasant smile. “It’s been a long week. I’m just trying to relax.” And I was trying to avoid more drama. He was quiet for two or three minutes, during which the two of us stood there together, black-clad vampires moving around us. “I can tell something’s bothering—”We had sex and you bailed, I silently thought, and now your contrition is driving me crazy. “I was just enjoying the music.”

“He grinned. "And you've got yourself a nickname. I'm thinking 'Shorty'""I'm five eight without heels.""It's not a description. It's a nickname. Get used to it, Shorty."We stood there for a moment, waiting for the tension to evaporate. When it did, we smiled at each other. "Don't call me Shorty," I told him."Okay, Shorty.""Seriously, that's very immature.""Whatever you say, Shorty. Let's call it a night.""Fine by me."I'd worry about the humiliation in the morning.Merit/Jonah”