"Yeah," Rhiannon said.
"They're the ones you got to watch," Joe said. "I'll go home and clean up, take a couple of aspirin, take it easy."
"I know!" Rhiannon said. "I'll make you dinner." Joe couldn't talk her out of it.
At five o'clock, she was standing at his door holding a grocery bag. She was wearing square cut black cotton pants and a maroon sweatshirt pushed up on her forearms. Her hair was brushed back. Joe was shocked again at how untouched and beautiful she was. He smelled freshly baked bread.
"Smells good."
"I didn't know how hungry you'd be. I made a quiche. You can warm it up tomorrow if you don't want it."
"Are you kidding?" He led her into the apartment, and she took possession of the kitchen area. "I've got something for you," Joe said. He handed her a book on Vermeer.
"Oooh," she said.
"My contribution to your education."
"Cool. Thanks." Within minutes a meal appeared on the table. "How do you cook without pans, Joe?"