Gillian opened the door to the two-story stucco home and smiled up at him. "Hey, Linc. Emma and I have been having a cup of coffee. Would you like some?" "Black," he said tersely, and Gillian arched an eyebrow at him. He knew she didn't read minds or anything like that, but sometimes her intuition was just a little too uncanny. He followed Gillian through the foyer into the living room and there Emma was. She'd worn a peach skirt and matching tank, with white beads around her neck and white sandals on her feet. He noticed right away that her nails were painted one of those neutral shades. Remembering her fingers in his hair, he wished he hadn't noticed. He wished everything about her didn't cause a reaction in him. Gillian went to the coffee table and poured him a mug of coffee. When she handed it to him, he mumbled, "Thanks," and sat in the wing chair beside the sofa. Practically speaking, he had to break the silence between him and Emma. "How are you this morning?" She gave him what was supposed to pass as a smile. "Nervous." He nodded, understanding that.
