“Sorry.” Blaine pulled his ringing phone out of the inside breast pocket of his suit and scowled at it as George closed the door to his apartment.

“No worries,” George said. Despite the man’s rough-looking exterior, there was an unmistakable mansuetude defining his demeanor. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle his feathers. The best part about it was the calming effect it had on people around him—on Blaine in particular.

Blaine’s smile returned as he pressed a button and moved the phone to his ear. “Janice, is it good news or bad?”

“Good!” Janice replied. “The affidavit arrived in time, and we got the brief filed before end-of-business.”

“Mutatis mutandis per the affidavit, or were changes unnecessary?” he asked.

“Unnecessary.”

“Fantastic. Thank you for handling that for me.”

“No problem. Now we’re even,” she replied.

Blaine returned the phone to its pocket and grinned at George. “You look nice.” George still wore casual clothes, but Blaine caught a whiff of the apple scented soap George favored, and his beard was freshly trimmed. The tux George would wear in his buddy’s wedding remained protected in a thin plastic carrier bag and lay over the back of a chair. “Are you ready to go?”

“Unfortunately.” George’s eyes danced under his waggling eyebrows. “Since you’re going all ‘hakuna matata’ on me.”

Blaine snickered in what could best be described as a very non-Blaine way—at least, a very non-the-old-Blaine way. The new Blaine, relaxed in the company of Mr. “Hakuna Matata” himself, was rather wont to snicker and chuckle with abandon. But clearly, George wasn’t talking about the “no worries” definition of that Lion King reference.

“Mutatis mutandis?” Blaine moved closer when George growled his enjoyment of the Latin words. “Hmm…maybe you’re getting precisely quantum meruit.”

“No fair. I can’t be late. I’m the best man.” But George pulled him in for a hug anyway.

“But ultra posse nemo obligatur.”

“You asked for it.” George narrowed his eyes. “If my mass airflow sensor goes out before I get a chance to work on your crankshaft, don’t blame me.”

Blaine threw back his head and laughed. “Truce!”

George gave Blaine’s neck a nibble before letting go. “Rain check.” He picked up his tux. “Promise you’ll speak sweet legalese nothings in my ear when we get back.”

“Promitto.” So sue him—he had to get one more Latin word in just to see George’s eyes dilate.