He’d sworn off redheads after Julie. Tall redheads with great bodies and bold blue eyes. For months, maybe years, after they’d split he’d ached for her at odd moments—when he saw something he knew would make her laugh, while he struggled through the hell of law school. Even the day he opened Baker’s Dozen he’d thought of her, wished he could show her he’d found his way, had made something of himself.

Every woman who’d passed through his life since Julie had done just that. Passed through. Distractions, diversions, all temporary no matter how much he’d wanted to make something solid and real. She’d always been there, in the back of his mind, in the center of his heart.

Now he just had to figure out how to reel her slowly back into his life, and keep her there.

“Nearly done here,” he called when he heard someone coming down the stairs. “Five minutes.”

“They said it was all right if I came down. Well, the girl with purple hair did,” Julie added when he looked up.

“Sure. Come on down.”

She lit him up, that flaming hair tamed back with silver combs, the amazing body poured into a dress the color of the blueberries he’d mixed in her muffin.

“I didn’t expect to see you, but welcome to my cave. I’m nearly finished with this. iPod’s on the shelf there, turn the music down.”

She did so, muting Springsteen, and remembering he’d always been high on the Boss. “I spend a lot of time down here, or in the main kitchen, in the back office. It must be why I never saw you come in. There’s cold drinks in the cooler,” he added, watching her while he kneaded the mass of dough. “Or I can get you a coffee from upstairs.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, I’m fine. I need to know what it means.”

“What? Like the meaning of life?” He shoved at the dough with the heels of his hands, gauged the texture. Just a couple more minutes. “I haven’t come to any firm conclusions on that.”

“The muffin, Luke.”

“The meaning of the muffin?” God, she smelled good, and he realized the scent of her mixed with the yeasty smell of bread would fuse together in his head. “Its meaning, in fact entire purpose, is: Eat me. Did you?”

“I want to know why you baked me a muffin. It’s a simple question.”

“I’m a baker?”

“So you bake a muffin in the morning for every woman you sleep with.”

He knew that clipped tone—it came back to him with perfect pitch. Nerves and annoyance, he thought. Over a muffin? “Some prefer a Danish—and no, I don’t. But I didn’t see baking one for you as a questionable move. It was a muffin.”

She hitched her enormous work bag more securely on her shoulder. “We slept together.”

“We certainly did.” He continued to knead—kept his hands busy—but his pleasure in the work, in the morning, in her, caved in. “Is that the questionable move or is the muffin?”

“I think we need to be clear about all of it.”

“Proceed to be clear.”

“Don’t take a tone. We had a difficult day yesterday, and we have friends involved in something scary and confusing. We have a history, and we . . . we couldn’t sleep so we had sex. Good sex, as adults. Without any . . . complications. Then you baked me a muffin.”

“I can’t deny it. I baked the muffin.”

“I just want to be clear we both know what it was—last night. That it doesn’t need to be complicated, especially when, through Lila and Ash, we’re in a very complicated situation.”

“It’s all simple, just like it was, I thought, a simple muffin.”

“All right, then. Good. Thanks. I have to get to work.”

She hesitated a moment, as if waiting for him to say something more. Then she walked upstairs. She walked away, with him left in silence, just as she had over a decade before.

When Ash insisted on taking Lila to her next job, she didn’t argue. If seeing where she’d be, checking the security for himself, made him feel better, what was the harm?

“They’re repeaters,” she told him as the cab wound its way uptown. “I’ve worked for them twice, just not in this location because they only moved here a few months ago. And Earl Grey is a new addition, but he’s really sweet.”

“The new location might be better all around.”

“It’s a gorgeous space, wonderful views. A nice neighborhood to walk around in—with Earl Grey. And I got an e-mail from Macey this morning.”

“Macey?”

“Kilderbrand—last client. They’re very satisfied with my service—and she thinks Thomas misses me. As they’re planning a skiing trip out West next January, they’d like to book me now. So, despite everything that happened, score one for me.”

“But this is a shorter job.”

“A quick one for the Lowensteins—eight days altogether, to visit some friends and check on some property in Saint Bart’s.”

When the driver pulled over in front of the East Forty-first Street entrance of the massive neo-Gothic complex, Lila swiped her credit card.

“I’ll get it.”

She shook her head, keyed in her tip. “My job, my business expense. I may have a rich lover, but I’m just using him for sex.”

“He’s a lucky guy.”

“Oh,” she said as she pocketed the receipt and slid out, “he is. Hi, Dwayne.” She beamed at the doorman as he hustled over to the cab. “Lila Emerson. You may not remember, but—”

“I remember you, Ms. Emerson, from when you came to see the Lowensteins. I’ve got the keys for you. You’re right on time.”

“I try to be. Did the Lowensteins get off all right?”

“Saw them off myself not an hour ago. I’ll get that.” He hefted the second suitcase out of the cab’s trunk before Ash could. “Can I help you up with these?”

“No thanks, we’ve got it. This is my friend Ashton Archer. He’s going to help me settle in. Do you happen to know the last time they walked Earl Grey?”

“Mr. Lowenstein took EG out for a last round right before they left. He should be good awhile.”

“Excellent. What a gorgeous building. I’m going to love staying here.”

“You have any questions, where things are, need transportation, whatever, you just let me know.”