Eliot had spent the weekend hiding out on the preserve, which was thankfully much less crowded than the damn beach around here. On Saturday, that was because he was a broody, emotional mess who couldn't be trusted around people. On Sunday -- it was because he was a broody, emotional mess who couldn't be trusted around people and old enough to know better. But as tempting as it was to just hide out as a hermit for the foreseeable future, he knew he had to face the music eventually. So he headed home.

Plus, he really needed to wash his hair.

He stopped dead in the doorway when he saw Hardison in the kitchen. What was left of the kitchen. Maybe he could claim that he was freezing up because of Parker's thoroughness. Hardison wouldn't believe it for a moment, but he could try. . . .