Meddler's Moon

Illustrated by Napoli
Peter Hedgerly heard the door open and close and he smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He turned partly and called out through the semi-closed bedroom door.
Sit down, honey. I'll be right out.
Joan Willson was early, he thought, but it made no matter. It merely gave them more time togeth—
I'll sit down, came a deep, pleasant masculine rumble, but I'm not your honey!
Peter hit the door and skidded into the living room, his loose shirttail flying out behind him. Who're you? he demanded sharply.
Please do not be disturbed. Finish dressing, said the stranger. Peter measured him. A few pounds heavier than Peter's one hundred and sixty; an inch taller than Peter's five feet eleven. About the same sandy blond complexion. The face was wreathed in a beatific smile that in no way matched Peter's exasperation.
I'm expecting a guest, snapped Peter. The door was open for ... the guest. Not for stray strangers seeking company or whatever.
I know. My presence will make no difference.
No difference? exploded Peter angrily. Look, sport, three's a crowd. Technically, you're trespassing. Shall I prove it by calling the police?
You may if you wish, replied the stranger. But I happen to know for certain that you will not.
No? snapped Peter. He headed toward the telephone with all of the determination in the world. The stranger watched him tolerantly. Peter reached the table beside the door and reached for the phone. As his hand touched it, the door opened and Joan Willson came in. She gulped at Peter and said: Oh!