Like a college girl waking up hungover in a strange dorm room, she slowly sifted through what she could remember of the night before. There wasn’t much; the whole evening was just a blur of images, most of which seemed more like a hazy dream than reality. She’d certainly slept a lot, that she could recall.

Realizing she couldn’t stay in bed forever, Taylor got up and headed into the bathroom. Her stomach growled, and she tried to recall whether she had eaten dinner last night. Pasta—good, she remembered something about pasta. Judging from the fact that she was wearing the clothes she had on the day before, she guessed she must’ve dragged herself upstairs after dinner and passed right out. Poor Jason—she supposed she hadn’t exactly been the most stimulating of company.

Taylor showered quickly and headed downstairs. There, she discovered that Jason had set two places for them at the kitchen table. She was touched to see the extent of the effort he had made: he had carefully laid out orange juice, coffee, milk, cereal, and fresh fruit. And, sitting mysteriously in the center of the table was a large silver platter with a domed cover.

Curious, Taylor headed over to sneak a peak at whatever hid underneath. Touching the metal handle, she could tell there was something warm inside.

“You’re awake.”

Surprised by the voice, Taylor whirled around and saw Jason standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She grinned guiltily.

“Yes, finally. I’m feeling a lot better this morning. Did you have any problems waking me last night?”

Jason seemed surprised by this. “You don’t remember?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember a lot about last night.”

Now he seemed downright shocked. He peered at her cautiously. “What, exactly, do you remember?”

“Hmmm . . . I remember something about pasta.”

Seeing the expression on Jason’s face, Taylor began to feel a little uneasy. Oh shit—had she done something . . . bad?

“Is there something I should know about last night?” she asked with trepidation. When Jason hesitated, her stomach dropped.

Oh god.

“Oh god,” she repeated aloud in a whisper. “Tell me. What happened?” Why wasn’t he answering her? Why was he staring at her like that? “Did we, um . . . did something happen between us?”

She could see it in his eyes. Her mind rallied around her excuses.

She was concussed.

She’d been in a state; she was out of it.

She hadn’t been thinking.

She was a ho.

Then Jason finally ended his silence with a chuckle. “Calm down, Taylor,” he said reassuringly. “Nothing happened.” He gave her a look. “Do you really think I would let something happen when you were that out of it?”

He held her gaze firmly with his question, staring her down, as if to say he was insulted at the mere accusation. Taylor instantly felt silly for being so worried.

She exhaled in relief. “Sorry.” She smiled, making light of her crazy thoughts. “I didn’t mean to sound so paranoid. I think it must be hunger delusions.”

Oddly, for the briefest second, she could’ve sworn she saw a flicker of disappointment in Jason’s eyes. But then she figured she was just imagining things. She pointed to the silver platter on the table.

“So? Can I peek? I’m starving.”

Jason nodded. “It’s nothing—I took a guess, I thought it might be something you’d like.” He spoke quickly, as if nervous, and Taylor wondered what the hell he had stashed under there. She grabbed the handle, eager with anticipation. So hungry was she, she couldn’t have been more excited if whatever lurked inside had been wrapped in a blue Tiffany box.

She lifted the cover.

For a moment, she could only stare in wonder at the glorious sight before her eyes.

“Do you like it?” Jason asked.

Taylor nodded mutely.

The platter was filled to the brim with rich, buttery silver-dollar pancakes. Chocolate chip silver-dollar pancakes. Just like a plate of warm cookies, all for her, at eleven o’clock in the morning.

Catching the scent of the warm baked goodness, Taylor sighed happily. “How did you know, Jason? It’s exactly what I wanted.”

ABOUT AN HOUR later, stuffed to the gills with about $10.79 worth of silver-dollar pancakes, Taylor rolled herself out to Jason’s pool and languidly stretched out on one of the lounge chairs. She hadn’t paid much attention to the pool during his party, but now she noted that it had been as carefully designed as the rest of the house. And it certainly was no less stunning: with a cascading waterfall and curved, flowing edges that ran along the surrounding lush foliage and rock landscaping, it looked like a hidden pool one might stumble upon while hiking on a tropical island.

“Now this is the life.” She sighed to herself while taking a sip of her deliciously cold lemonade.

She pulled her sunglasses down from her forehead and eased back in her lounge chair. She glanced over at Jason, who sat on the chair next to her reading his copy of Daily Variety. He’d peeled off his T-shirt earlier and now wore only a pair of cargo shorts. And here Taylor had thought the chocolate chip pancakes were yummy . . .

“I’m sorry?” Jason looked over. Taylor started, having momentarily forgotten she’d said anything out loud. She quickly gestured to the pool.

“I was just saying that this is a pretty nice setup you have here.”

Jason nodded, a bit distractedly. In fact, Taylor had noticed he’d seemed a little distracted the entire morning. Every time she’d snuck a peek at him—hey, he was Jason Andrews and he was shirtless, of course she’d snuck in a few peeks—he’d been staring off at nothing. As if something was troubling him.