He turned in the doorway, his hand lingering on the brass knob.

“Eat one of those tarts while they’re still warm.”

“I will,” I said.

I waited until I heard his footsteps go down the carpeted hallway toward the kitchen.

The microwave beeped twice in the kitchen, followed by the clink of glass against glass.

Sloan’s voice drifted down the corridor, high and sharp, though I couldn’t make out her words over the sound of running water.

“Just leave the dishes in the sink, Mark,” she called.