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ask me, bacon don’t offend God. Why you think they’s about forty different kind a it for sale over to the Publix?” Jimmie sat down and took a muffin, slathered enough butter on it for an entire pound cake, and ate it—without a plate and dribbling crumbs everywhere.
    To my relief, Philip let the theological debate pass and sat back down, cast me a quizzical but not totally unfriendly look, and picked up another muffin.
    “At least get a plate,” I said to Jimmie as he splattered another round of crumbs on the table.
    “Two different drunk drivings, and I ain’t spent but six days in jail on any of ’em. But I durn learnt my lesson. Ain’t been driving while drinking in ages. Don’t want to hurt nobody,” Jimmie said as he helped himself to a plate from my cupboard, and returned to his muffin. “Maybe some ham? I gotta have meat with my breakfast.”
    “I’ll give you the money to go to a drive-through, and you can get some breakfast.” Normally I wouldn’t contribute to the delinquency of dead-pig eating, but I wanted Jimmie to be gone so Philip could continue with his post-breakfast seduction.
    “Aw, I reckon this is awright. Good company, anyways. Did I tell you, Lady, that this here man got me out of jail on my second driving while drunk?”
    Yeah, coldheartedness was looking better and better.
    “I finished a trial late yesterday evening,” Philip said. “Too late and too tired to entertain Lilly last night, but I was hoping to spend some quality time with her this morning. Before we both have to go into the office.” Philip looked at me with his bedroom eyes, and then he and I both looked at Jimmie with our “get out of here” eyes.
    “Y’all got to go to the office today? It’s Saturday.” Jimmie buttered still another muffin. For a skinny man, he sure could eat.
    I sighed. If I’d only had enough sense not to have let Jimmie inside the door this morning, Philip would be just about to make me forget the good-looking Cuban who had caught my fancy yesterday. Instead, I found myself daydreaming about Miguel while Jimmie prattled on.
    After the coffee, the juice, and all but two of the muffins were gone, Jimmie said to me, “I’d offer to clean up the kitchen, but I knows how you get about that. So, I’ll get started on cutting the grass.”
    I bowed to the inevitable, but not before scrubbing down the kitchen—nobody, not even the meticulous Philip, cleans a kitchen good enough for me. But letting Jimmie cut the grass for me was okay. I’d tried that once and couldn’t get the lawn mower to start and figured that was a cosmic message that I needed to always make enough money to hire a lawn man. And since Benicio, Bonita’s sixteen-year-old son and my official yardman and unofficial godson, had gotten a driver’s license and discovered girls, he didn’t have much interest in cutting my grass. So, Jimmie was it, I figured, for my new yardman.
    Once Jimmie was straight on money for gas, and had a key to my house, I made him promise not to cut his foot off, or not to sue me if he did. Then, as the early morning and the romantic moment had passed, Philip walked me to my car.
    With what I took for a bemused smile, Philip asked, “Why is your yardman so personal with you?”
    “Sorry about that,” I said. “I mean Jimmie and the interruption. I’ve known him for ages. He can talk the ears off a mule, but he’s a nice man, and my client, and he reminds me of my granddad. His bathroom is busted and he showered here last night, and, I guess he figured breakfast came with the hot water.”
    Philip leaned over and gave me a casual kiss on the cheek. “You are so sweet.”
    I jerked back my head from his lips. “I am not.” You can’t be sweet and be a tough-minded, tough-hearted Big-time Trial Lawyer at the same time.
    “Lillian, it’s not an insult.”
    I hated it when he called me Lillian. I hated that look on his face—the one that bordered on patronizing.
    “We’ll make up for