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“Electra? Seriously?” Dena couldn’t help grinning.

“Not her real name.”

“Astonishing.”

“It is. We met when she auditioned to be a backup singer for our first tour. Darryl John James was still a new band, not sure if we were going to make it. She and I discovered we both liked to write songs.”

“If she’s your ex-wife, you discovered other things, as well.”

His eyebrows rose. “Ms. Somerville, you shock me.”

“I doubt that. Was that your first hit?”

“It was. Things just took off from there.”

“While I won’t be googling you, I think I have to download some songs and listen to them.”

“Yeah, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not going to like them. There isn’t any twang.”

She laughed. “I like other kinds of music. Besides, I know you now. The songs will be special because of—”

She set down her mug and tried to suck in air as nausea hit her hard. Control seemed impossible, so she was going to have to make it to the bathroom. No way she was throwing up in the sink again. It was too humiliating to consider.

Before she could try to remember where the restroom was, Micah was out of his chair and crouching next to her. He took her forearm in his hands and pressed in several places, his dark blue gaze locked with hers.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Hold it for a count of—”

“Four,” she said, already feeling better. “I remember.”

She concentrated on her breathing and the way she immediately relaxed. His fingers were warm, his body close. It was only when heat and desire replaced the need to throw up that she realized he was still crouched next to her and they were still staring at each other. Which meant he probably knew she was far less interested in any medicinal touching and way more into anything else he wanted to do.

Humiliation crashed through her. She pulled back and tried to smile.

“All better,” she said brightly, aware she probably sounded like an idiot. “You have the touch.” She paused, hoping he didn’t misunderstand. “I meant, well, just you’re very good at what you do.”

Ack! Worse!

He moved back to his chair. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Great. Thank you for your help. I’m going to have to study up on how you do that so I can take care of myself.” She held in a moan. Really? Had she just said that? “With the nausea.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Yes, I got that.”

“Great. Fine. Excellent. I’ll be going. You enjoy those bruschettas.”

She stood, grabbed her coat and made her escape. Once she was safely in her own apartment, she curled up on the sofa and vowed that she would do better the next time she saw Micah. Or maybe she would simply avoid him altogether. That seemed the much safer alternative.

Reggie cleared the craft table in the basement. She collected one of the plastic bins in the corner and tossed all the mismatched odds and ends into it so she could have some work space. She put tubes of watercolor paints into one of the drawers in the big storage unit on the wall, and stacked craft paper on the shelf.

Once she had empty desk space, she laid out the wedding invitation designs her mother had picked out. While the invitations would be sent via email, Reggie found making decisions easier if she could see the designs in print rather than on a screen.

She’d narrowed her favorites down to three when she heard a crash from upstairs. Seconds later, Belle came tearing down the stairs, Burt right behind her, barking and nipping at her heels. Belle jumped onto the sofa, looking scared and frantic.

“Burt!” Reggie scolded. “Leave her alone.”