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that had to do with websites communicating with each other.  Neither of them understood it much further than that.
    Cat was much more distracted by his gallant gesture than by his statement, although that would eventually hit her, too.  She was immediately enveloped and surrounded by the latent heat and smell of him, and he smelled like what he was – a young, vital male who wore a faint but slightly spicy aftershave.  He was bigger than Clint was by a long shot – taller and broader and more muscular and she fairly drowned in the fabric of his coat, surrounded by the very essence of him, as well as that primeval warmth.  She should have returned the jacket to him immediately, just on general principles, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.  It felt too good, frankly, to be so warm and yet still smell the sharp salt air . . .
    And him.
    Yet, a loud, insistent voice within her cried out at how wrong it was – that he wasn’t Clint, and she was betraying him, just by accepting another man’s – man’s? -  kindness.
    And his foot massage.  There was definitely going to be guilt enough to go around about that, too, when she took the time to think about it.
    “In a nutshell, I created something that made it easier for business computers to talk to each other and exchange credit card information.  It simplified the back end of online purchasing for businesses, and it was very simple to use and understand, and it took off.”  He shrugged as he settled back down after stealing a bit of what was left of her roll and a bit of butter to slather on it.  His sigh when he bit into it was akin to sexual.  He closed his eyes and his head lolled back as he groaned, “I hope old Mrs. Kellerman has taught someone else in that family how to make these rolls!”
    She chuckled at his sheer, unadulterated bliss but somewhere inside her was somewhat alarmed at the idea that no one of her generation called Mrs. Kellerman “old Mrs. Kellerman.”  Granted, Finn wasn’t that much younger than she was.  Jane’s husband had been older than she was, and Finn was only ten or so years younger.
    But still, it was an uncomfortable reminder of the differences between the two of them, enough of one that Cat rose and slid out from under the protective heat of his jacket.  He opened one eye, looking up a her suspiciously.  “Leaving so soon?  Was it the Mrs. Kellerman inspired orgasmic groan?  I can imagine how you’d find that squicky.  Or the fact that I stole your last piece of roll?”  But he still munched down the last bit unrepentantly, as if worried she might try to reclaim it from him in a fit of pique.
    Cat found herself staring down into unbelievably deep, brown eyes that were fringed with the thickest, darkest black lashes she’d ever seen.  Lashes like that were wasted on a man, she thought incongruously.  And he was a man, damnit.  No longer the boy she’d watched grow up.  She couldn’t help but smile, though.  He was too damned handsome for his own – and definitely her – good, and had always seemed to be in a good mood no matter what was going on.  In that, he reminded her of Clint, and that was enough to pull her back from her addled, schoolgirl musings about a boy that was entirely too young for her, to say nothing of the fact that he was the son of one of her best friends.
    She hadn’t been thinking of him that way, had she, really?  The thought was a disturbing one, and she latched onto it without even thinking of answering his teasing question.  Instead, she stepped back into her shoe, gathered up her plate, gave the place a quick scan to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, and headed back into the house.  Abrupt, yeah.  Rude, probably.  Absolutely necessary for her mental health?  Hell, yes.
    Jane wasn’t hard to find; Cat could hear her cackling laugh above the thick Maine accents and the occasional French Canadian patois in the front parlor. She did her best to avoid