Table for Seven

may





MINI BLUE CHEESE SOUFFLÉS

MUSTARD CRUSTED RACK OF LAMB

WILD MUSHROOM POTATO GRATIN

ENGLISH PEAS WITH MINT

STRAWBERRY-RHUBARB PIE





COOP AND AUDREY MET for lunch at the Salty Dog the following Thursday. Coop hadn’t planned to ask her out again, and yet somehow, as they were walking to their respective cars after dinner at Leland’s house, he found himself blurting out an invitation to lunch. It was even more surprising when Audrey accepted. Now, Coop felt oddly nervous and wondered if he was sweating through his shirt. She, on the other hand, seemed annoyingly calm. Serene, almost.

“Would you like some wine?” he asked.

Audrey hesitated. “I really shouldn’t. I have to go back to work.” Then she seemed to shrug off this reservation. “Actually, I’d love a glass of Chardonnay.”

Maybe she is nervous, Coop thought. He hoped so. He didn’t want to be the only one.

When the waitress appeared with two glasses of ice water and hot rolls wrapped in a white napkin, Coop ordered a bottle of Chardonnay from the Russian River Valley in California. He wasn’t normally a white wine drinker, but the Salty Dog was known for its seafood. The Chardonnay would be a good match.

He and Audrey both studied their menus in silence, while the waitress returned with the wine. He ordered the snapper special, and Audrey opted for the scallops.

“Do you like the wine?” Coop asked.

Audrey took a sip and nodded. “Very good,” she said.

Coop figured they could either ignore the awkwardness between them or address it outright. “I was surprised you agreed to have lunch with me,” he said.

“I was, too,” Audrey said. “I meant to say no, but then …” She shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. The ‘yes’ just sort of popped out.”

Coop gave a comical pump of his fist. “I’ve still got it! Wait, I shouldn’t even joke about that around you. You already think I’m conceited.”

“Yes, I’m not sure how you’re able to get dressed in the morning,” Audrey said. Her expression was solemn, but there was a glint in her eye that Coop liked.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“How do you get your shirt on over such a swollen head?” She grinned.

Coop shook his head. “I walked into that one. Anyway, why didn’t you want to go out with me before?”

“Fran told me about your … proclivities,” Audrey said delicately.

“Proclivities? Jesus. I’m almost afraid to ask. Did she say anything about rubber underwear?”

Audrey laughed. She had a nice laugh, Coop decided. Deep and heartfelt.

“No, but now I’m actually worried,” she said.

“What exactly did Franny say?” Coop asked.

“She said you date a lot,” Audrey said.

“So?”

“A lot,” Audrey said.

Realization dawned. Fran had made him out to be some sort of a playboy. Which annoyed him more than it should have. He’d dated a fair number of women, but surely that was normal for any forty-five-year-old man who’d never been married. It hardly seemed the sort of information that should be used against him.

“What else did Franny tell you?” Coop asked, not at all sure he wanted to hear the answer, especially when Audrey seemed to hesitate. He sighed. “Just tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Audrey shrugged. “I’m not into relationships, either.”

“Not into relationhips? Is that what Fran said about me?”

Audrey nodded and raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s not that bad.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad, but it’s just not true. Franny doesn’t know everything about my personal life, you know,” Coop said.

“Really?” Audrey’s eyebrows rose. “When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

Coop had to think about it and realized he couldn’t remember. Samantha? No, he’d dated Vanessa after Samantha. How long ago had that been?

“Well, when was the last time you were in a relationship?” Coop asked, feeling suddenly defensive.

Audrey didn’t hesitate. “My husband,” she said.

“But that was what? Five years ago?” Coop asked.

“He passed away seven years ago,” Audrey said.

“Then I’ve been in a relationship more recently than you have,” Coop said triumphantly.

“It’s not a contest.”

“Of course it is. Especially if Fran is going around telling people I’m some sort of an unreliable bounder,” Coop said.

Audrey laughed. “I don’t think she actually used the term bounder.”

“From what you’ve said, she implied it,” Coop said.

Before Audrey could respond, the waitress appeared with their salads, offered freshly ground pepper, and then departed.

“What happened?” Audrey asked, spearing the mesclun mix with her fork.

“With what?” Coop asked. He’d ordered a wedge of iceberg dressed with creamy blue cheese, and was busy cutting the lettuce into edible bites.

“With your last relationship,” Audrey reminded him.

“Oh, right. Vanessa. We dated for a few months and then things just sort of fizzled out,” Coop said. He shrugged. “It happens.”

“That’s not exactly a long-term relationship,” Audrey said.

“Not a one-night stand, either.”

“I think your standards might be a little low.”

“Really, because I was just thinking yours might be a bit too high,” Coop said, which made Audrey laugh. “I almost got engaged once.”

“You did? Really?”

“Your disbelief is so flattering,” Coop said dryly.

“What happened?”

“Well, ah …” Coop wished he hadn’t brought it up.

“Spit it out,” Audrey said.

She seemed to be enjoying his discomfort, Coop thought. And he had to admit, he was enjoying amusing Audrey, even if the conversation was not personally flattering. When Audrey smiled, a small dimple appeared in the corner of her mouth. Coop was quickly becoming obsessed with it.

“Her name was Samantha. She gave me an ultimatum. We had to either get engaged or we were through,” Coop said.

Audrey grinned, waiting for the punch line. “And?”

“And we broke up,” Coop confessed. “But I almost went for it, I swear.”

Audrey laughed again, and Coop held up the wine bottle. “More wine?”



THE REST OF LUNCH passed by in a pleasant haze as they chatted. Between the wine and Coop’s easy manner, Audrey actually started to relax. She could feel the tension in her shoulders loosen, and found herself smiling more.

Coop charmed her with a story about his boyhood obsession with fire trucks, thanks in part to the location of a fire station down the block. One night, when he was six, he snuck out of bed, crept down the street, and climbed up into the cab of a fire truck, left unlocked by a forgetful sergeant. When his parents discovered his empty bed, they panicked and called 911, and the excitable operator dispatched both the police and the fire department to his house. An on-duty fireman found Coop curled up asleep on the vinyl bench seat, and gave him the treat of his life by taking him home in the fire truck, complete with the lights flashing and siren wailing.

Audrey found herself admitting that her girlhood ambition had been to be a professional ice skater. And despite the fact that there wasn’t an ice rink in her small Florida hometown and that she’d never actually ever been ice skating, she was undeterred. She was convinced that, given the chance, she’d be an Ice Capades star. Every Saturday afternoon, when ice-skating competitions were aired, she’d stand in front of the television, pretending her T-shirt and shorts were a satin and sequin short gown, and she’d twirl and jump around the room.

And then, at some point, long after they’d finished their lunch and were lingering over the last of the wine, Coop’s fingers had lightly brushed Audrey’s forearm. Audrey had suddenly become consumed with lust. It seemed unreal, and yet, there was no getting around it. She wanted Coop. Badly.

After that everything happened quickly. Audrey left her car behind at the restaurant—she was too light-headed to drive—and rode with Coop in his truck back to his condo. No sooner were they inside—Audrey barely had time to register the large shaggy dog which nosed at her knees, until Coop pushed him aside, muttering, “Not now, Bear”—then Coop reached for her. Suddenly, Coop’s arms were around Audrey, and they were kissing. Clothes were shed. Coop was leading her back to his bedroom. They were falling together on an unmade bed.

What am I doing? Audrey wondered, suddenly swamped by a wave of panic.

But then Coop kissed her again. And for a long while, Audrey didn’t think of anything at all.



AS SOON AS IT was over—Coop rolled on his back, his eyes closed, his breath shallow—Audrey’s panic returned This was a terrible idea. She’d been celibate for over a year. And now here she was, thoughtlessly, hell, practically drunkenly, jumping into bed with a man she barely knew.

Audrey couldn’t help remembering the first time she’d slept with Ryan. They’d met their senior year of college at the University of Florida and had dated for over a month before going to bed together. And even then, she’d had long, heartfelt discussions with Fran over whether that was moving too fast.

Ryan. God, I just cheated on Ryan, Audrey thought, suddenly flooded with guilt. But, no, that was ridiculous. Ryan had been dead for seven years. And she hadn’t felt this sort of guilt when she’d slept with the handful of other men there had been in the past seven years. Why was that? Maybe because she’d never lost her composure, not even for a moment on those occasions. With Coop, it had been the complete opposite. Sleeping with him hadn’t even been a conscious decision, but a spontaneous event that had seemed entirely out of her control.

“How are you doing?” Coop asked sleepily. He rolled toward Audrey, and slung an arm over her torso. She instantly felt claustrophobic.

“I have to go,” Audrey said, sitting up abruptly.

“What?” Coop opened one eye to peer at her. “Why?”

“Work,” Audrey said. “I have to get back to the spa. I told Lisa she could go home early.” The lie slipped out before she had time to think it through. There was really no reason for her to rush back. Lisa was scheduled to be there until five.

“What time do you have to be back by?” Coop asked.

What time had they left the restaurant? Audrey wondered. “Two-thirty.”

Coop leaned over and picked up a small alarm clock from the bedside table. “It’s three.”

“Oh, no,” Audrey said, jumping up with alarm. It was as if the lie had suddenly become the truth, and she really was worried about being late for work. “Where are my clothes?”

She didn’t wait for his answer, but followed the trail of clothing that started at the foot of the bed and led all the way to the front door. The shaggy brown dog reappeared, wagging his tail and looking at her expectantly. Audrey buttoned her blouse with shaky hands and wiggled into her pencil skirt.

“You missed one,” Coop said. He had appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, still stark naked, his blond hair rumpled.

“What?” Audrey asked defensively.

“A button,” Coop said.

Audrey looked down. He was right, the front of her blouse was askew, none of the buttons in their proper buttonholes. Coop stepped toward her.

“What are you doing?” Audrey asked, alarmed. Somehow, being this close to him while she was dressed and he was naked seemed even more intimate than sleeping together had.

“Helping,” Coop said calmly. He unbuttoned her blouse, and then buttoned it up properly. “There.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Audrey said.

“Happy to oblige,” Coop said. He peered down at her. “Are you okay? You seem a little stressed out.”

“I’m fine. I just hate being late,” Audrey said.

“Why don’t you call work and let them know you’re on your way,” Coop suggested.

“No, that’s okay. Could you take me back to my car?”

“Sure. Where did I put my keys?” Coop asked, looking around, his hands on his hips.

“They might be in your pants pocket. Which you might also want to consider putting on before we leave,” Audrey suggested.

“Oh, right,” Coop said, looking down with surprise, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

They were both quiet on the drive back to the restaurant. When the silence became too awkward to bear, Audrey cleared her throat and said, “It’s warm out today.” And then immediately wanted to slap herself on the forehead. The weather? Could she bring up anything more inane?

“Would you like me to turn the air conditioner on?” Coop asked courteously.

“No, thank you,” Audrey said, just as politely.

We have officially turned into Chip ’n’ Dale, she thought.

After what seemed like an agonizingly long trip—Audrey was fairly sure they hit every red light between Coop’s condo and the Salty Dog—Coop pulled up next to Audrey’s car.

“Thanks,” Audrey said. She busied herself collecting her bag, getting out her keys, putting on her sunglasses.

“Anytime,” Coop said, his voice edged with irony.

Audrey turned to look at him. “I meant for dropping me off,” she said.

“Oh, right. Me, too.” Coop smiled. “What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Dinner?” Audrey blinked. She was no longer the least bit drunk, but her brain felt like machinery that had been rusted through, the wheels and cogs frozen in place.

“Yes. The meal that comes at the end of the day. After lunch, but before bedtime.”

“Thanks, I know what dinner is.”

“I wasn’t sure. You seemed confused. What do you think? We can go out, or I can cook. Get some practice for when it’s my turn to host the dinner party club,” Coop said.

Audrey knew what she thought: It was a truly terrible idea. Right now, all she wanted to do was to get away from Coop, from the sheer physical presence of him, and retreat to somewhere cool and quiet until her head started working properly again.

“No. I don’t think so,” she said, so intent on fleeing that she was more abrupt than she meant to be. She risked a quick look at Coop and saw the hurt clouding his eyes. “Look, it’s just … I meant what I said earlier. This is a bad idea. I don’t think we’re well suited.”

“I thought we were suited just fine,” Coop said, his eyebrows arching.

Audrey felt her cheeks grow hot. “I think we should just be friends,” she said, knowing that this was the oldest, lamest line in the history of old, lame lines. And tacky, too, considering they’d just slept together.

Coop nodded coolly, his face like stone. “Right. Friends. I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yes. At the next dinner party club,” Audrey said. She climbed out of his truck and escaped before she could do any further damage.



“WHAT’S FOR DINNER?” RORY asked. She hopped up on one of the tall stools by the kitchen counter to watch Fran chop a pile of cilantro.

“Fish tacos,” Fran said.

Rory made a face. “Gross.”

“I thought you liked fish tacos.”

“No, Iris is the one who likes them. Or she used to. She’s a vegetarian now,” Rory said.

Fran’s knife stilled and she looked at her younger daughter. “Since when is Iris a vegetarian?”

“I don’t know.” Rory shrugged, unconcerned. “A few weeks.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Fran asked.

Another shrug. “You didn’t notice she hasn’t been eating meat?”

“I thought she was just being difficult to be difficult. I didn’t realize it was a lifestyle choice,” Fran said. She sighed. Now, on top of everything else Iris-related she had to worry about, she also had to make sure her older daughter didn’t become anemic. “Don’t some vegetarians eat fish?”

“Don’t ask me,” Rory said cheerfully. “Can I have a hot dog for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fran said distractedly. “We’re grilling the fish anyway, so throwing a hot dog on the grill will be easy enough. Coop will be here any minute.”

“Coop’s coming over? Awesome,” Rory said.

Will wandered in. He was dressed in his oldest, most stained shorts and a T-shirt that read never forget under a picture of a dinosaur.

Fran looked him over critically. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Will looked down at himself in surprise. “Yes. Why?”

“Because we’re having company,” Fran said.

“Isn’t it just Coop?” Will asked. “Since when did he count as company?”

“Yeah, Mom, why are you so dressed up?” Rory asked.

“I’m not dressed up. This is just really comfortable,” Fran said defensively.

Fran thought, not for the first time, that it must be easier to have sons than daughters. Boys were so much less critical, especially when it came to their mothers. And she wasn’t about to admit to either her husband or daughter that she’d bought the blue knit maxi dress that very day.

The doorbell rang.

“There’s Coop now,” Fran said. She felt a nervous flutter and smoothed her dress down.

“I’ll let him in,” Rory said, scampering out of the kitchen. A moment later, Fran heard the front door opening and Rory’s enthusiastic greeting.

“Coop’s here,” Rory announced, bouncing back into the room. Coop trailed in after her.

“I come bearing fish,” Coop said, holding up a cooler. “Caught fresh this morning.”

“Excellent,” Will said, taking the cooler from him.

“He gets the fish, you get the wine,” Coop said, handing Fran a bottle of Chardonnay and kissing her on the cheek.

“You didn’t have to bring wine, too,” Fran protested. “You brought the fish.”

“But you’re cooking it for me. That’s a trade I’ll always be happy to make,” Coop countered.

“Can I get you a beer?” Will asked.

Will and Coop both had beer, while Fran opted for a glass of Coop’s Chardonnay, which was crisp and buttery. Fran put out blue tortilla chips and a bowl of guacamole she’d made earlier.

“What have you been up to, Coop?” Fran asked, as she wrapped corn tortillas in foil.

“The usual,” Coop said. “I’ve been out on the boat a lot.”

“Can I come fishing with you again?” Rory asked.

“Anytime,” Coop said, smiling at her.

“I hope we see a shark again,” Rory enthused.

“Again?” Fran asked, turning to her younger daughter.

Coop made a throat-slashing gesture at her.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that,” Rory said sheepishly.

Fran looked at Coop, eyebrows raised. “Shark?” she said.

“Just a very small one. It was sniffing around the boat, hoping to snag a snapper off my line,” Coop said.

“Why do I suddenly have a vision of Jaws leaping out of the water and snatching Rory off your boat?” Fran asked.

“Come on, honey, that practically never happens,” Will said.

“And the shark would be much more likely to eat me. I’m sweeter than Rory,” Coop teased. Rory punched him playfully in the arm. “Ow! Yikes, how does such a little girl pack such a punch? Did you take up boxing?”

Rory held up her fists, rolling them like a boxer. Coop held up his hands and laughed.

“I’m officially scared,” he said.

Iris wandered into the kitchen. Her long dark hair was ironed stick straight, and her eyes were ringed with heavy black eyeliner. Her jeans were so tight, Fran wondered how she could walk in them. Or breathe for that matter.

“Hey, Coop. I didn’t know you were here,” Iris said.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Coop said, grinning at her. “Are you still hard at work breaking the hearts of all the boys at your school?”

“You know it,” Iris said, smirking.

“That’s my girl. Just like I taught you,” Coop said, holding up a hand for Iris to slap.

“Iris, where did you get those jeans?” Fran asked. “I haven’t seen them before.”

“Duh.” Iris rolled her eyes. “Where do you think? The mall.”

“Iris,” Will said sharply.

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t duh your mother,” he said.

“That sounds like the title of a rap song,” Coop said. He crossed his arms over his chest, striking a rapper’s pose, and began to sing: “Don’t duh your mother, if you want me to be your brother.”

Everyone laughed, except for Iris, who put her hands over her ears.

“Mom, make him stop,” Iris begged.

“I have no control over him,” Fran said.

Will got in on the action, providing a background rhythm for Coop’s rap. “Pah pah pah pah pah pah pah pah.”

“So listen to me, guv’nor, don’t be rude to your mother,” Coop rapped on.

“Guv’nor?” Fran repeated. “You don’t hear many guv’nors in modern rap. In fact, you don’t hear many guv’nors outside of Mary Poppins.”

Coop paused, mid-rap. “What else rhymes with mother?”

“Judger?” Rory suggested.

Coop tried it out. “Don’t duh your mother, or else I’m going to be a judger.”

“I don’t think you should give up your day gig,” Will said.

“Absolutely not,” Iris said, giggling.

Fran looked around at her family. Happiness fizzed up around them, their faces bright, laughter filling the room. When was the last time she’d heard Iris giggle? It had been so long, she couldn’t even remember. It was Coop, Fran realized. His just being there made them all light up.

“No hot date tonight, buddy?” Will said, slapping Coop on the shoulder.

“No, not tonight,” Coop said.

“Let me get you another beer,” Fran said. She took one out of the fridge, and then closed the door with her hip. She handed Coop the bottle. “Have you been seeing anyone lately?”

“Not really,” Coop said.

Good, she thought, although she smiled sympathetically.

“I did take your friend out once, but it was pretty much a disaster,” Coop continued.

Fran could feel the smile freezing on her face.

“My friend?” she repeated.

“Yeah, your friend. Audrey,” Coop said.

“You and Audrey went out? On a date?” Fran asked.

She swallowed back the urge to pump Coop for details. When had he and Audrey been out? Where had they gone? Why hadn’t Audrey mentioned it to her? And, most important, what had happened between them?

“It didn’t go well,” Coop said.

“Why didn’t you like Audrey?” Rory asked.

“I did like her. I mean, I do like her. She’s just not so crazy about me,” Coop said. He grinned at Rory. “Shocking, right? I mean, who wouldn’t love me?”

“Did you rap for her?” Iris asked. “That might explain it.”

Coop laughed.

“Coop, come out to the garage. You have to see Iggy,” Rory said, tugging at Coop’s arm.

“Who’s Iggy?”

“The battle bot Dad and I are building,” Rory said. Coop allowed himself to be led off, followed by Will and even Iris. Fran was left alone in the kitchen, still trying to process this bombshell.

Coop and Audrey had gone out together. On a date.

Obviously, it hadn’t been a success. Coop had made that clear enough. Maybe there wasn’t any chemistry between them, Fran thought hopefully.

But if that was it, Fran thought, why didn’t Audrey mention anything about it to me?



THE NEXT MORNING, WILL wheeled his lawn mower over to Leland’s yard. He’d mowed three passes before Leland came out onto his front porch, walking slowly, and waved him down. Will turned the mower off.

“What in tarnation are you doing?” Leland asked.

“You sound like Yosemite Sam from Looney Tunes. Are you going to call me a wascally wabbit next?” Will asked.

“I don’t want you mowing my lawn,” Leland said.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t ring your doorbell and ask permission before I started,” Will said.

“Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass,” Leland said. “I have a cane, you know. And I’m not afraid to use it.”

“I had nothing better to do than wander the neighborhood with my trusty mower, looking for lawns that need mowing,” Will said.

“Fran put you up to this, didn’t she?” Leland said.

“She might have mentioned something about it,” Will said.

Leland sighed. He looked older, Will thought. And he was using his cane more than he had in the past.

“I know the lawn is getting to be too much for me,” Leland admitted, which in itself was shocking. Leland had always taken great pride in his yard, and that he did all the work on his own. “But there’s no need for you to do it. I’ll hire a lawn service.”

“No way,” Will said. “They’ll bring those heavy mowers in here, chop up your grass, and before you know it, you’ll have bald patches all over the place.”

“So? That way the lawn will match my head,” Leland said.

“If I don’t mow your lawn, Fran will kill me. Do you really want that on your conscience? Me dead. Fran in jail. Our children orphans.”

Leland looked truly distressed. Will sympathized. The limitations imposed by aging must be hellish. One door after another closing on you, all the while knowing that you’ll never be able to open it again.

“I’ll tell you what. You can consider me your lawn service. And for my payment, you can make me a sweet tea,” Will said, knowing full well that Leland always kept a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.

Leland finally acquiesced, nodding. Will returned to his mowing, wondering why he felt so guilty.

Leland’s yard wasn’t large; it took Will only thirty minutes to mow it. He turned the mower off, and Leland reappeared, moving slowly without his cane and under the weight of a tray, which he set on a wicker table between two rocking chairs.

“Perfect,” Will said, joining Leland on the front porch. He sat in one of the rocking chairs and accepted a glass of cold tea. There was also a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies, which Will helped himself to. “I hope you didn’t bake just for me.”

“No, I whipped these up this morning,” Leland said. “I was going to bring some over to you-all after lunch.”

“I’ll just eat our share now. Save you the trip,” Will suggested. He patted his round stomach. “Although I’m supposed to be cutting back. Fran’s been on my case ever since Christmas, when I was asked to take on the role of Santa at the girls’ school.”

“Never a good sign,” Leland agreed. “Fran’s gotten so thin. How much weight has she lost?”

“I’m not sure. I know she’s been buying a lot of new clothes lately,” Will said. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen his wife naked and couldn’t, which was actually a bit disturbing.

Leland looked sharply over at Will. That was the thing about Leland, Will thought. He seemed ancient, his body stooped and shrunken, his face as lined and veined as old leather. But it would be a mistake to suppose that old age had turned him dithery. His mind was as clear as ever.

“I had a very good marriage,” Leland began.

Will nodded. “I wish we could have met your wife.”

Leland continued, as though Will hadn’t interrupted. “But like any marriage, we had our ups and downs. When you’re with someone for such a long time, it’s easy to start taking them for granted. To stop seeing them when they’re right in front of you.”

In his surprise, Will swallowed the piece of cookie in his mouth before he’d finished chewing it. It caught in his throat, causing him to cough and his eyes to water. He reached for his iced tea, and took a few hasty gulps.

“How do you do that?” Will asked, once he’d regained his composure.

“Do what?” Leland asked.

“Sometimes it’s like you read my mind. Fran said you do it with her, too. Are you a witch doctor? Do you sacrifice goats in your backyard and stick pins in voodoo dolls?”

Leland laughed. “I’ve never sacrificed a goat, but I’ll take the Fifth on the voodoo dolls.”

“Seriously, what’s your secret?”

“I think it comes from my years on the bench. I got good at reading people,” Leland said. He shrugged modestly. “Sometimes what people don’t say is more important than what they do say. I had to be careful, though, to only make my judgments on what was on the record.”

“Yeesh,” Will said. “Makes me glad I’m a humble city planner. The most responsibility I have is to figure out where the next traffic light should go.”

“Every job has its upsides and its downsides,” Leland said.

“Unless you’re a crack whore. There’s no real upside there,” Will joked.

“Satisfaction in a job well done?” Leland suggested.

“I suppose there’s that.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, every marriage goes through lulls. Periods when you’re not as connected. The thing is, you can’t bury your head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening. You have to deal with it before—” Leland stopped abruptly and cleared his throat.

“Before what?” Will asked.

“Before one of you does something stupid,” Leland said.

Will shook his head. “I would never cheat on Fran, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

“You never know what you might do. Or what Fran might do for that matter. Those feelings of loneliness, isolation, of being underappreciated can be powerful,” Leland said.

“Fran and I have been married for a long time. I’ve never come close to cheating on her. And I know her well enough to be sure that she wouldn’t do that to me,” Will said. The whole conversation was making him uneasy. He liked Leland and was happy to help the older man out—to mow his lawn or move a bookshelf for him. But that didn’t mean Leland had an open invitation to probe into his marriage.

Leland shrugged. “I’ve been kicking around for a long time. The one thing I know for sure about people is that they have an infinite capacity to surprise you.”

“Sure, I can see that. But I know Franny,” Will said. He put down his drained glass and stood. “And speaking of Fran, I’d better get home. She has a whole list of chores she wants me to take care of this weekend.”

Leland’s smile was a little sad, Will thought. He felt another pinch of regret. Why was he rushing off like this? What would have been the harm in letting the old man dole out his marriage advice? It probably made him feel wise and still useful.

“Thanks for the iced tea,” Will said awkwardly.

“No, thank you for all your hard work,” Leland said. “It is very much appreciated.”

“We’re always happy to help out,” Will said. “And thank you for your advice. About not ignoring the lulls. I’ll keep it in mind.”



COOKING HAD ALWAYS SETTLED Audrey’s nerves. So much so that Ryan used to joke that he always knew that if he could smell freshly baking bread when he walked in the door, he was in trouble.

She’d baked a lot of bread during that last year of her marriage, Audrey thought. Baguettes, country loaves, tea breads. Her arms had gotten toned from punching down so much dough. And when she’d gotten bored with bread, she’d baked dozens of cookies studded with chunks of chocolate, pans of brownies, towering cakes iced with swirls of cream cheese frosting.

But as soon as the memory had flickered into her consciousness, she pushed it away. Why was she thinking about that now? What was the point?

Standing barefoot in her kitchen, wearing her favorite striped men’s pajamas and her hair caught back in a barrette, Audrey tried to refocus her attention on the recipe for rack of lamb, which she would be serving the next night when she hosted the dinner party club. She’d made rack of lamb plenty of times before—it was always a safe, elegant option for dinner parties—but this was a new recipe. It required crusting the lamb with a mixture of mustard, panko, and herbs.

This will be the best main course we’ve had yet, Audrey thought with satisfaction.

The dinner party club wasn’t a competition. At least, not officially. But everyone secretly wanted to outdo the others. Audrey could tell that Jaime had been annoyed that everyone had raved over Fran’s short ribs, more than they had over Jaime’s individual filets en croûte. And although Leland’s chicken had been perfectly cooked, there was a general sense of pleasure that his was not a hard dish to compete against. Fran was definitely winning so far, but Audrey was convinced that her lamb would top Fran’s ribs.

The only downside to preparing lamb was that there wasn’t much that could be done ahead of time. She had already diced the parsley and rosemary, and picked up the lamb from the butcher. She was pairing the lamb with a heavy potato gratin—the sort of dish that made you gain weight just by looking at it, but that was always a big hit—and that, too, was something she had to do tomorrow.

I’ll make the strawberry-rhubarb pie, Audrey decided. That’s a good Friday night project.

She retrieved the strawberries and rinsed them well in a colander before slicing off their green stems and cutting each berry in half. She dumped the cut strawberries in a large bowl, and then, after first cutting it into quarter-inch chunks, she added the rhubarb. Audrey measured out sugar, vanilla, and tapioca into the bowl, and, as a final touch, added some lemon zest, which the recipe didn’t call for, but which always made pie taste better.

Audrey left the filling to sit, while she turned her attention to the pastry. She pulled out the heavy base of her food processor and fitted it with its plastic bowl and metal blade. There were two rules when it came to making the perfect pie crust. First, you had to use the coldest possible ingredients. And second, you couldn’t overwork the pastry, which was always a danger when you used the food processor. Some pastry chefs insisted on using just butter or just shortening in their pie crusts, but Audrey had always found that a mixture of the two worked best, a one-to-three butter-to-shortening ratio.

She measured out first the dry ingredients, then the fat, into the bowl of the food processor, and pulsed it with quick on-off motions, until the mixture resembled coarse crumbs. Then, a few tablespoons at a time, she dribbled in chilled water, taking care to only pulse three times after each addition.

When the pastry was mixed, she turned half of it out onto her special marble pastry slab and rolled it into an irregular circle with a French pin roller. She had to coax the pastry off the marble—it wanted to stick—but finally was able to transfer it whole into the waiting pie dish. She poured the strawberry-rhubarb mixture into the dish, and then began to roll the second round of dough. This time, she cut the pastry into quarter-inch lengths, which she braided lattice-style on top of the pie. Once it was done, and the edges were tucked under and crimped, Audrey brushed a little cream onto the top crust to ensure it would brown nicely.

Pies were particularly satisfying desserts to prepare, Audrey thought as she popped the pie into the oven. Unlike cakes, which sometimes fell for inexplicable reasons, pies mostly came out the same every time you made them. The only wild card was the fruit. If it was too bland or too ripe, the quality of the pie would suffer.

As the pie cooked, filling the house with its delicious hot fruit scent, Audrey poured herself a glass of wine and took it into her small living room. She sat cross-legged on the white couch and turned on the television. A few moments later, after scrolling through the four hundred channels and finding nothing to watch, she turned it off.

What was it going to be like seeing Coop tomorrow? she wondered, and felt a now-familiar shiver that always seemed to pass over her when she thought of him. The last time she had seen him, he’d been naked. Well, not the very last time—not when he’d driven her back to her car—but right before that. He’d held himself over her, absorbing his weight with his arms, his long muscular torso stretched out over her.…

No, she told herself. No, no, no. I am not going to think about that. If I think about it now, I’ll end up thinking about it tomorrow night when I see him. Then he’ll know what I’m thinking. And what if everyone else senses the tension between us and figures out what happened? It would be nothing short of mortifying.

Luckily, the phone rang at that moment.

“Hey, it’s me,” Fran said when Audrey answered.

“Hi,” Audrey said.

“Where have you been? I’ve left you a bunch of messages,” Fran said accusingly.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy,” Audrey lied. Well, the being busy part wasn’t a lie—work always kept her busy. But the truth was, she had been avoiding Fran. She didn’t want Fran to find out about her lunch date with Coop, and she was afraid that the whole debacle would somehow come out. Fran would want to know all the details—which Audrey was very much against sharing—and would give her all sorts of unsolicited advice.

Although that’s just silly, Audrey thought. I’m not sixteen years old. I’m perfectly capable of having a conversation with a friend without talking about a guy.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you and Coop went out on a date!” Fran said.

Audrey winced. Uh-oh.

“How did you find out about that?” she asked.

“How do you think? Coop told me. Although,” Fran added, with what Audrey considered to be unnecessary belligerence, “I was really surprised that I had to hear about it from him instead of from you.”

Audrey bristled, both at Fran’s tone and implication. Just because she and Fran were friends, and Fran and Coop were friends, that didn’t mean she was obligated to tell Fran every single detail of her relationship with Coop. Not that she had a relationship with Coop, Audrey quickly amended.

“I didn’t know I had to report in,” Audrey said coolly.

There was an awkward silence, broken by a long sigh from Fran.

“I guess I just came across like a total bitch, huh?” Fran asked.

“You were a bit aggressive,” Audrey agreed.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been feeling a little hurt that you didn’t feel like you could confide in me,” Fran said.

Audrey took a sip of wine and considered this. Why hadn’t she wanted to tell Fran? She wasn’t entirely sure.

“We just had lunch together. It was fine. There weren’t any fireworks,” Audrey lied.

“That’s too bad. Was it awkward?” Fran said.

Audrey started to feel guilty for not being more forthcoming. During those bleak, gray days after Ryan died, Fran had been a godsend. She’d accompanied Audrey to the funeral parlor and made the decisions that, in her fog of grief, Audrey had been incapable of making on her own. And then later, after the funeral, when everyone but Audrey had been ready to move on with their lives, Fran had called every morning to make sure Audrey was getting up out of bed, showering, eating. That she was getting on with the minutiae of living her life.

“Honestly? Coop makes me nervous,” Audrey said, only just realizing at that moment that it was true. “I’m never sure how to act around him.”

“I know I’m going to sound like a mom when I say this—I can’t help it, I am a mom—but why do you need to act like anything? Just be yourself,” Fran said.

“That’s just it. When I’m around him, I start feeling unsure of myself.”

“You do? Really?”

“Yes, me. Why does that surprise you?”

“You’re the most self-assured person I know.”

Audrey laughed. “I am not. Just when it comes to work. In every other area of my life, I’m a mess.”

“No, you aren’t. Even your lipstick is always perfectly applied,” Fran said. “It’s actually really annoying.”

“If that’s true, then why, whenever I’m around Coop, do I turn into a pod person?”

Fran laughed. “A pod person?”

“Yes. It’s like my body is inhabited by some completely different being. I get prickly and argumentative. And it’s like I suddenly have the hormones of a thirteen-year-old girl,” Audrey said.

“Oh, really?” Fran said. “I know all too well what thirteen-year-old hormones are like.”

Audrey flushed and took a quick gulp of her wine.

“Anyway, the date was a disaster. You were right. Coop and I would be hopeless together,” Audrey said. “But I was thinking, maybe you were also right that it’s time for me to start dating again.”

“I never get tired of hearing the words you were right,” Fran mused. “I especially like them when they’re followed by and I was wrong. Can you say that?”

“Anyway,” Audrey continued, “I don’t think it was just Coop. It was me, too. I don’t know how to date anymore, or even how to act around men. I’m out of practice. Actually, I’m not even sure if that’s true. I don’t think I ever knew how to do this.”

“What are you saying? You want me to set you up with someone you can practice dating with?” Fran asked.

“Maybe,” Audrey said, considering this, and seeing the genius in the idea. “That way, when I do meet someone I’m really interested in, I’ll be prepared.”

“But what if you like the man you’re supposed to be practicing on?” Fran asked.

“I won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m not ready,” Audrey said.

“You know you sound completely nuts, right?” Fran said.

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s a very sensible plan. Practice makes perfect, right? I just need to practice how to date,” Audrey said. “Can you think of anyone you could set me up with?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Believe it or not, I don’t know many men who would fit your dateable-but-only-for-practice criteria,” Fran said dryly. “Wait, actually, I can’t believe it, but maybe I do know someone who would be pretty much perfect.”

“Who’s that?” Audrey asked eagerly.

“Did I ever introduce you to Kenny? He works with me.”

“Is he a physical therapist, too?”

“Yes. He’s a little older than we are, in his fifties, and divorced. He’s very nice, very pleasant, flirty, but not aggressive. The only thing is he’s not super attractive.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Audrey said. “This isn’t about attraction. It’s about practice.”

“So you keep saying. Anyway, consider yourself warned: He’s vertically challenged. And his ears stick out,” Fran said.

“I won’t wear heels,” Audrey promised. “And I won’t stare at his ears.”

“They’re not freakishly big. I mean, he’s not Dopey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“Good to know,” Audrey said. “Why don’t you bring him tomorrow night?”

“What? To the dinner party club?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Won’t it be weird to have us all hanging around for your first date?”

“No, I think it would ease the tension. If things don’t go well, we’d both have other people to talk to,” Audrey said.

“And what about Coop?”

“What about him?”

“Won’t it be awkward to have a date with another man right in front of him?” Fran said.

Audrey felt a twinge of discomfort and wondered if Fran was right. “We just went out the one time. It’s not like we had an ongoing relationship,” she said defensively. “Besides, there’s no harm in asking, right? This guy—what did you say his name is? Kenny?—he might not even be able to come. It is last minute.”

“Okay,” Fran said, sighing. “I’ll call him. Just …” Fran’s voice trailed off.

“What?”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t worry. I do,” Audrey said, with much more confidence than she actually felt. The truth was, she had no idea what she was doing. Or why she was insisting that Fran bring her a date for the dinner party club the next night. She suspected that it all had something to do with seeing Coop again for the first time after sleeping with him. Kenny—short Kenny, who she was now, thanks to Fran, picturing as an older, grayer version of Dopey—was going to be her armor tomorrow night.



JAIME OPENED HER EYES. The room was unusually bright. Sun streamed in through the edges of the closed plantation shutters.

What time is it? she wondered, her mind still groggy with sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken to a sunlit room. Ava had always been an early riser and rarely slept past five.

Jaime lifted her head and peered at the clock resting on her bedside table. Eight forty-five.

That’s impossible, Jaime thought, sitting up. How can it be so late?

Mark’s side of the bed was empty and as neat as usual. He was an abnormally still sleeper, frequently falling asleep while lying on his back—like a vampire laid out in a coffin—and then staying that way for the whole of the night. In stark contrast, Jaime was constantly restless, turning and shifting and wrestling with her pillows. Her body fought sleep, and she rarely got more than four or five hours even on one of the rare nights when Ava didn’t wake her up every few hours.

Jaime got up, pulled on her favorite black yoga pants, and headed downstairs, following the wafting aroma of bacon and the sounds of clinking dishware, to find her family. They were in the kitchen, all still wearing their pj’s, seated around the table and eating pancakes. Three faces turned to smile up at her as she entered.

“Hey, everyone,” she said.

“Mama,” Ava said, smiling sweetly. Her hair was twisted on top of her head in a tiny pigtail, like Pebbles Flintstone.

Logan had just stuffed a whole pancake into his mouth and his cheeks were sticking out like a chipmunk’s. “Pancakes,” he said thickly, through his full mouth.

Jaime suppressed her instinct to tell him not to talk with his mouth full. “I see that,” she said, dropping a kiss on the top of Logan’s head, before turning to smile at Mark.

Her husband was wearing a navy blue T-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, and hadn’t yet shaved. A shadow of dark, prickly hair covered his jawline. Mark smiled back at her.

“I thought you could use the extra sleep,” Mark said.

“I definitely could. Thank you,” Jaime said. “And you made pancakes. I’m impressed.”

“Sit down, I’ll get you a plate,” Mark said, standing.

Jaime sat while Mark set her a place. Ava leaned toward her, and Jaime kissed her sticky face.

“We’re going to have to hose you off in the backyard,” Jaime teased her daughter, who giggled.

“Here you go,” Mark said, setting a mug of coffee down in front of Jaime.

“I could get used to this,” Jaime said. “Sleeping in late, my breakfast made, coffee served to me.”

“You might want to try my pancakes before you decide to put me in charge of breakfast on a regular basis,” Mark said.

The pancakes did look misshapen, but Jaime wasn’t about to complain. She happily served herself from the serving platter, adding a strip of bacon.

“What do you think?” Mark asked after she’d taken a bite.

The pancakes were floury and undercooked in the middle. “They’re great,” Jaime lied.

Mark beamed at her, clearly pleased with himself.

“I thought you could use a break today. I’ve been working late all week, and spending a lot of time at the club with Emily. You’ve been on your own here a lot,” Mark said. “Why don’t you take the morning off. Go do something fun.”

“Like what?” Jaime asked, confused by this sudden and bizarre transformation of her husband into the perfect man.

“I don’t know. Go for a walk on the beach. Or get your nails done. Or go to the mall. Do whatever it is you girls like to do,” Mark said.

“I wouldn’t mind getting a pedicure,” Jaime said. “And Nordstrom is having a sale.”

“Perfect. A pedicure and shopping. Sounds like your perfect day,” Mark said.

“Pea-cure!” Ava chirped. She adored having her nails polished, especially in lurid shades of green and blue.

“Not today, angel,” Mark said, gently but firmly. “Your mama needs some time off.”

Ava’s lower lips protruded and began to quiver.

“I’ll put polish on your toenails when I get home,” Jaime promised, heading off tears.

“Poirple?” Ava asked hopefully.

“Purple,” Jaime agreed. She turned back to Mark. “Are you sure? I assumed you’d be taking Emily to the club today.”

“No, it’s fine. Em had a sleepover party last night. I’m sure the girls stayed up all night, and she’ll go back to her mom’s house and crash,” Mark said.

Jaime remembered how awful those overnight parties were. No one ever slept, riding late night sugar-highs into inevitable squabbles and hurt feelings. And in the morning, everyone’s nerves were raw with exhaustion. She dreaded the day Ava would be old enough for sleepovers.

“You’re right, Em will probably be too tired to see straight,” Jaime said sympathetically.

“I told her that if she took a nap this morning and was up to it, I’d take her over to hit some balls later. If you get back in time,” Mark said casually.

“Sure,” Jaime said, nodding.

“Great,” Mark said, rubbing her shoulder. “Do you want some more coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to shower and get going before you change your mind,” Jaime said, swallowing one last, tough bite of pancake and standing.

“Why would I change my mind?”

“You just might after you attempt to de-stickify those two,” Jaime said, nodding at their offspring. Ava was rubbing her hands all over her syrup-covered plate and then clapping them together. Logan—who carbo-loaded like a long-distance runner—was still happily stuffing pancakes into his mouth. Mark looked at the children and his expression shifted to one of concern.

“Too late to back out now,” Jaime said, laughing, and quickly retreated to take a shower and get her morning out started.



AUDREY LIVED IN A small cottage, set back from the road, with a long porch and a flowering poinciana tree in the front yard. Coop considered pulling in to the driveway, but then decided to park on the street, just in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

Coop had given considerable thought to skipping the dinner party altogether. It was going to be awkward seeing Audrey again, and he’d never fully embraced the whole dinner party club concept. It was the sort of thing married couples did when they’d reached the point in their relationship where they were too bored to spend another Saturday night alone together in a restaurant.

But if he didn’t show up, Audrey would naturally assume he was avoiding her. Why this should bother Coop, he had no idea. Maybe it was just a perverse unwillingness to cede any ground—even the dinner party club—to her.

Coop steeled himself as he walked up to the front porch and knocked on Audrey’s front door. When the door opened, Coop was relieved to see Fran standing there. A momentary reprieve from having to face Audrey.

“Hi. Are you the hostess for the evening?” he asked, kissing Fran on the cheek. She kissed him back, although her lips landed just below his left ear.

“Whoops, sorry about that. Oh, no, I got lipstick on you,” Fran said, looking flustered. She rubbed at the spot with her thumb.

“You can get lipstick on me anytime you want,” Coop said, grinning at her.

It was the sort of teasing flirtation he and Fran had always engaged in. He’d pretend to hit on her, Fran would make one of her smart-ass jokes back. It was all perfectly innocent.

Except that Fran didn’t make a smart-ass remark. Instead, she looked into his eyes and murmured, “Do you really mean that?”

Coop stared at her, confused and suddenly a little freaked out. Jesus, he thought.

“Hey, Coop,” Will said, appearing behind Fran, a bottle of beer in one hand.

“Will! Hey! How are you, buddy?” Coop said, louder and more enthusiastically than he meant to.

Will looked confused. “Fine. Why are you yelling? And why are you standing on the doorstep?”

Coop cleared his throat. “No reason. Sorry.” He stepped into the house and held up the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Where’s our hostess?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Fran said. She hesitated and exchanged an uneasy look with Will. “But there’s something you should know.…”

“What’s that?” Coop asked. He had a premonition that he didn’t want to hear whatever it was Fran was about to say.

But before Fran could spit it out, a man Coop had never seen before walked into the room. He was short—very short, probably no taller than five foot five—and had thinning dark hair that highlighted a pair of prominent, Prince Charles ears. He wore a short-sleeve blue plaid shirt tucked into khaki pants, and had a cellphone attached to his belt. The guy looked pleasant enough, but Coop was naturally suspicious of anyone who wore a cellphone holster.

“Hi, I’m Kenny Stabler,” he said, approaching Coop with an outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Coop said. “I’m Coop.”

“Just Coop? Like Cher or Madonna?” Kenny asked.

“That’s right,” Coop said, nodding his head. “Minus the pointy bra and sequin costumes.”

“That’s not what I hear,” Will said.

“Have you joined the dinner party club?” Coop asked. The idea annoyed him. Decisions about club additions should be made by the whole Table for Seven Club, not ex parte.

“No, I’m just crashing for the night,” Kenny said.

“Kenny works with me,” Fran explained.

“It’s a blind date,” Kenny said confidingly.

“A blind date?” Coop repeated.

“Yeah, I know. Pretty terrifying, huh?” Kenny said. “But Franny did me a solid. Audrey seems great.”

Coop looked from Kenny to Will—who was studiously staring down at his feet, as though there was nothing more fascinating in the world than his well-worn penny loafers—to Fran.

Fran forced a smile and said, “You know me. I always love playing matchmaker.”

“Yes. I did know that about you,” Coop said, wondering if there was any way he could make a run for it. He’d been at Audrey’s house for all of five minutes and was already dreading the rest of the evening.

There was a knock on the door. As they were all standing in the hallway, Will simply reached out and opened the door, startling Jaime and Mark who—clearly not expecting such a quick response to their knock—were standing very close. Mark had his hand on the small of Jaime’s back and her face was tipped up toward his.

“Ahem,” Will said.

Jaime and Mark started apart and turned to see Will, Fran, Coop, and Kenny standing there. “Oh, hi, everyone,” Jaime said, blushing.

“We decided to all come and greet you at the door. En masse,” Will said.

“So I see,” Jaime said.

The group shuffled around the small foyer to make room for Jaime and Mark, who were now holding hands, their fingers linked loosely together. Coop was pressed back against a narrow console table so as not to rub up against either Kenny or Fran—right now, it was debatable about which alternative would be more embarrassing—when Audrey appeared, looking nonplussed.

“Hey, everyone. Why are you all standing in the foyer?” she asked.

Coop was annoyed at the frisson of excitement that shot through him at the sight of her.

“Yes, we deserted Leland in the living room,” Fran said. “Everyone, move that way.”

As the group went into the living room, Audrey greeted the Wexlers, hugging Jaime and allowing Mark to kiss her on the cheek, and then turned to Coop—the last one left in the entryway.

“Hi,” Audrey said. She was wearing a simple black sheath dress, but instead of her usual high heels, she had on black patent flat sandals.

“Hi. For you,” Coop said, handing her the wine and brushing his lips against her cool cheek. Then, while he was close enough to not be overheard, he murmured, “Are those shoes supposed to make you shorter or to make him seem taller?”

“Thank you for the wine,” Audrey said stiffly, ignoring his crack about her shoes. “That was very thoughtful.”

“I’m a very thoughtful guy,” Coop said, winking as he passed by her, immensely pleased at her discomfort.

But his victory was short-lived. Although thankfully the group didn’t linger long over drinks and quickly moved to Audrey’s small dining room, dinner seemed to drag on interminably. Audrey was distracted and uncharacteristically disorganized, and there were long gaps in between the courses. The salad course was delicious—the mini cheese soufflés perfectly complemented the tarragon-flavored vinaigrette—but then everyone grew so hungry waiting for the lamb, that they ate too much bread and drank too much wine, and when the lamb finally appeared, they were so hungry they devoured it without stopping to savor the flavors.

Conversation was stilted, too. Jaime and Mark were being oddly lovey-dovey with each other and seemed like they’d rather be on their own than out in a group. Coop was avoiding looking at or speaking to Fran, as much as he could get away with it, fearing another weirdly charged interaction. Fran, in turn, was quiet, and not at all her usual animated self, and Will kept glancing uneasily at his wife. Audrey was flustered. Only Kenny seemed unaware of the tension, chatting easily with Leland about a cooking show they both watched, with Mark about junior tennis tournaments, and with Jaime about the dramas of toilet training. Despite his natural antipathy toward Kenny, Coop had to admit that Kenny seemed like an okay guy.

Still, Coop didn’t get the feeling that there was much of a spark between Audrey and Kenny. They chatted about the benefits of massage therapy in patients recovering from sports injuries, which was apparently Kenny’s specialty as a physical therapist. Kenny lavishly praised the rack of lamb and strawberry-rhubarb pie. Audrey smiled and said all of the correct, polite things in response. But they weren’t leaning toward each other, or finding excuses to touch, to brush against each other. In fact, Audrey seemed much more interested in Leland’s story about how two women in his garden club—both widows—were competing for his attention.

“You’re the hot stud of the garden club?” Audrey teased him.

“They keep bringing me casseroles,” Leland said in a melancholy voice.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Mark asked.

“There’s only so much tuna casserole a man can eat before it gets depressing,” Leland said.

“Maybe we should tip them off that the way to his heart is bacon,” Audrey said, laughing. Then, when she saw Kenny’s confusion, she shook her head. “Sorry. It’s an inside dinner-party-club joke.”

At one point, when Audrey was taking a stack of dishes out to the kitchen, Coop caught Kenny looking at Audrey’s backside with frank, open admiration. Coop was seized with the sudden urge to take his fork and drive it into Kenny’s hand, but decided that might be a bit of an overreaction and wouldn’t go unnoticed by his dinner companions.

“Next month we’re meeting at Coop’s,” Fran said, putting down her fork after taking only a bite of her pie. “And I was going to suggest that after that we take off the rest of the summer and then start up again in September.”

“Why’s that?” Will asked.

“We’re going to my parents’ for two weeks in July,” Fran said.

“Oh, God,” Will said, draining the rest of his wine.

“And Mark and Jaime normally go up north in August. And I’m sure other people will be traveling, too,” Fran continued. “It’ll be hard to find one Saturday a month when we’ll all be able to attend.”

“That’s true. Emily has a bunch of tournaments this summer. We’re going to be away nearly every weekend,” Mark said.

“That sounds like fun,” Fran said to Jaime.

“Oh, I’m not going to most of them. Mark will just take Emily on his own,” Jaime said.

“You’ll come to some of the tournaments, though, right?” Mark said, touching his wife’s arm.

She smiled at him. “Of course. And when we start up in September, it will be our turn again.”

“Sounds good,” Will said. “Leland?”

“I’m going on a cruise,” Leland announced.

“You are? I didn’t know that. Where are you going?” Fran asked.

“Alaska,” Leland said. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“And you’re going by yourself?” Jaime said. “Won’t you be lonely?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? Leland’s been fighting the ladies off. He has his choice of the local widow pool to keep him company,” Will said.

“I like traveling alone,” Leland said.

“So do I,” Audrey said. “It’s so freeing. You can do whatever you like, whenever you like, without having to worry about whether your traveling companion is having a good time.”

“But you also don’t have anyone to share the experience with,” Jaime said.

“Maybe it’s like dog people and cat people. People who like to travel alone and people who like to travel with others,” Audrey suggested.

“I’d love to try traveling on my own sometime,” Fran said.

“I thought you hated traveling alone,” Will said, turning to his wife.

“Not at all. Why would you think that?” Fran asked.

“Probably because you’ve told me that. On several occasions.”

“You must have misunderstood me,” Fran said.

Will was looking at her oddly, as though Fran had just announced that she was taking up cannibalism.

“I’ve always wanted to go backpacking through Europe,” Fran said defensively.

“But you can’t read a map. And you get lost here, in town,” Will said in a teasing voice. “How would you possibly navigate yourself through countries where you don’t speak the native language?”

“I can read a map!” Fran said crossly.

“Can’t a person be both a dog person and a cat person?” Kenny asked.

“No,” everyone said together.

“But I had a dog growing up. Now I have a cat.” Kenny shrugged. “I like both.”

“You can like both. But you have to prefer one to the other,” Fran explained. “If you had the choice of living with a cat or a dog—and you didn’t have to concern yourself with the details about how big your house is, or the hours that you work, or anything like that—which would you choose?”

“I don’t know,” Kenny said, shrugging. “They both have their pluses and minuses.”

“I think you’re definitely a cat person, Kenny,” Coop said.

“How can you tell?” Kenny asked.

“Oh, I can just tell these things,” Coop said. He grinned at Audrey, who shot him a sharp, warning look. “No, I can’t really. It’s just that you chose to get a cat. That must mean you prefer them.”

“I didn’t choose him. He chose me. He showed up on my doorstep one day and pretty much never left,” Kenny said. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a very nice man,” Audrey said. “Now, who wants another slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie?”



AUDREY KEPT HER COOL until her guests had left, including Kenny, who had seemed reluctant to leave with the others. But she insisted that she didn’t need help with the dishes and accepted his invitation to lunch the next week, mostly because she couldn’t think of a way to say no without hurting his feelings. It didn’t escape her attention that she hadn’t had any similar problem with hurting Coop’s feelings. But Coop was different, she decided. He needed to be taken down a few pegs.

Coop. Audrey scrubbed at the roasting pan—the meat juices were caked on the bottom, forming a substance so hard and resistant, NASA could use it to patch space shuttles—and wondered what the hell his problem had been. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t have liked it if he had been the one to show up to the dinner party club with a date. But she couldn’t believe that her having done so would really affect him. It wasn’t like he was in love with her. If anything, his ego was probably bruised.

The phone rang. Audrey checked the caller ID, which flashed a local number without giving a name. Probably a cellphone, she thought, and considered not answering it. But then she wondered if it was someone who had been at the dinner party calling, looking for belongings accidentally left behind.

“Hello,” Audrey said.

“He’s not the guy for you,” Coop said, his voice deep and warm in her ear.

Audrey leaned back against her kitchen counter and wrapped one arm around herself.

“And how would you know that?” Audrey asked.

“He has a cat. That’s all I need to know,” Coop said.

“What is it with you and cats?”

“I don’t trust single guys with cats. It’s not normal. Do you know what sort of guys have cats?”

“Do tell.”

“The kind who buy pre-distressed jeans and call themselves metrosexuals,” Coop said.

Audrey laughed. “I thought you were going to say the kind of guy who murders his mother and buries her body under the floorboards of his house.”

“You got that kind of a vibe off Kenny, too?”

“No. I did not get the feeling that Kenny’s a sociopathic killer. He seems like a perfectly nice man.”

“And what sort of a grown man goes around being called Kenny?” Coop countered.

“He can’t help what his name is,” Audrey said.

“He could go by Ken. But Kenny? I never get when grown men want to be called Kenny, or Bobby, or Billy. Why not just have everyone call you Pee Wee and be done with it?” Coop asked.

“Pee Wee?” Audrey felt guilty laughing at this—Kenny had been a perfectly nice man—but couldn’t help herself. “Come on. Pee Wee is much worse than Kenny. And maybe he didn’t want people making Ken doll jokes.”

“I don’t think he’s in any danger of being confused with a Ken doll. For one thing, Ken doesn’t have ears like that,” Coop said. Then, his voice growing softer, he said, “Do you want me to come back over and help you with the dishes?”

“I’ve already done them,” Audrey said.

“Even better,” Coop murmured.

Audrey tried to ignore the physical effect these words had on her. It was what had gotten her in trouble the last time.

“No,” Audrey said. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“That’s too bad,” Coop said. “Lamb is an aphrodisiac.”

Audrey burst out laughing. “I think you’re thinking of oysters.”

“I like oysters, but red meat is much sexier. It’s much more primal.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Audrey said.

“Take it from me—real men do not own cats.”

“Good night.”

“Good night. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Audrey asked, annoyed at how pleased she was. Especially since he probably wouldn’t even call.

Coop laughed. “I was telling you. You can always screen my call if you want.”

“I just may do that,” Audrey said.

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Coop said. Audrey could tell that he was smiling, too. “The suspense is already killing me.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Audrey told him.

“You got that coming over to help you with the dishes was a euphemism for having sex, right?”

“Yes. Shockingly enough, it wasn’t that subtle.”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“Good night.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”