answer:The air smelled comfortingly of oil paint and turpentine, of freshly sawn wood and engine grease and the soft musky afterscent that followed their hungry lovemaking while the late afternoon sun slanted light and shadow across the porch. Their porch. They tried to deny it of course, tried to pretend that they were not so close to one another. Tried to pretend that it was all some kind of accident. Of course that never worked, somehow they always came back, butting heads in the way wild horses greet each other. Sometimes the wild horses are not so wild after all.