The man’s smile remained fixed, a practiced, placid expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. His voice was a studied gentle baritone. "I was in the neighborhood. I thought I'd bring you a little something."

Charlie’s expression could have frozen hell over. "Your idea of 'a little something' is a bouquet of roses?" she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Yes," he admitted, not denying the obvious.

"I have no interest in your gifts," Charlie's voice was arctic. "If you continue ...