"This is hardly the greeting I expected," Marc said, nursing his ear.
"Of course not," Toffee said. "You expected me to fawn on you. You wanted me to chuck you under the chin and stroke your brow. Well, if I ever do, it will probably be with a ball bat."
"I'm darned if I see what you're so sore about," Marc said injuredly.
"You don't?" Toffee said. "I should be content, I suppose, just because you're here! Well, I'm not. I saw what you were thinking about me a while ago."
"What I was thinking?"
"Good old Toffee!" Toffee sighed. "Keep her repressed. Let her languish. Let her rot. Who cares that this is the first day of spring and everyone else is enjoying it?" She traced the curve of his jaw fatefully with her finger. "I ought to bust you one."
"But I was having so much trouble...." Marc protested weakly.
"Trouble!" Toffee said. "You just thought you had trouble."
Marc met her insinuating gaze with a sense of inner trembling. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Guess," Toffee said. "Just guess."