Identity

“And it looks”—she leaned in closer, sniffed—“and smells just like it’s supposed to. Do you need to sit down?”

“Maybe. You have to do the potatoes. Having men for dinner, meat and potatoes. And since April, asparagus. And we have to cook all of that, set the table and make it nice, and make ourselves look good.

“What were we thinking?”

“Too late for that now. The table’s no problem, you’ve got that. But if you have trouble there, I can help. They’re always showing table settings on HGTV. I can do those damn potatoes. If you can do the marinade, I can do the damn potatoes. Let me at ’em.”

She donned an apron. By the time she’d scrubbed the potatoes, cut them into wedges as Nina’s mother’s recipe instructed—then fretted because the wedges weren’t the same size, and what did that mean?—it pleased her to see her apron wasn’t nearly as close to a Jackson Pollock painting as Nina’s.

She followed Mama’s instructions to the letter, and that wasn’t a snap, as, rather than precise measurements, Mama had instructed her to: Use your eyes, use your nose.

So she started. Mixing spices together in a bowl, she sniffed, eyed. Then after tossing it all together, adding the oil, she spread the potatoes on a baking sheet and hoped for the best.

She left the table to Nina, where she shined, and dived into the kitchen cleanup, where she did.

Already exhausted, she changed out of her work clothes into cropped khakis and a bright pink T-shirt, and she wondered, sincerely, how people did this sort of thing every day.

And they still had the asparagus to deal with, the rolls to warm. She donned her apron again.

Nina, looking as fresh as a spring morning, met her in the hallway.

“So just olives, cheese, some raw veggies. We’re good at that part. It’s too bad the kitchen’s so small, no real let’s-all-hang-around space.”

“Next spring,” Morgan vowed. “It actually smells good in here, Nina. It smells like we knew what we were doing.” In the kitchen, they stood hip-to-hip and stared into the oven. “It looks right, too. Are you sure it’s only, like, ten minutes for the asparagus?”

“Mama knows,” Nina said, voice solemn. “But we trim it before they get here, so that’s now. Then, say about seven-fifteen or so, we really casually start the asparagus. Which five minutes do you want, sauté or steam?”

“God. God. Steam.”

“That’s the part I want. So.” Nina held out a fist. “On three.”

“Damn it.” Morgan hissed when Nina’s rock crushed her scissors.

By seven, they had the music down to a murmur, the oven on coast, the finger food arranged.

The knock came promptly.

“Aprons off!” Nina ordered.

They answered the door together, and found two men on their stoop.

“We pulled up at the same time.” Adorable Sam in his horn-rims offered Nina a bouquet of pink tulips and Morgan a bottle of wine.

“I’ll reverse that.” Luke handed Morgan a clutch of purple hyacinths in a clear balloon vase. “Hi, Nina. I’m Luke.” And offered her another bottle of wine.

And after all the work and worry, it was easy after all.

They crowded into the kitchen and the excuse for a dining alcove with glasses of wine. It seemed to her that Luke and Sam bonded quickly—the IT guy and the more-than-casual gamer had plenty to talk about.

Hoping their luck held, Morgan dropped butter into the skillet for the asparagus.

“Nothing like a home-cooked meal when you’re on the road.” Luke gave her a casual kiss on the cheek. “I really appreciate it.”

“Let’s hope it ends up being a home-cooked meal and not a cry for help.”

He laughed. “It smells fantastic. Mind if I go wash up?”

“Sure. Hallway on the left of the living room, door on the right.”

“Ten-minute countdown about to start,” Nina announced, and Sam slid an arm around her.

“I can’t believe you guys did all this. Worked all day, then made a meal like this.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet,” Morgan reminded him.

“Worked all day,” Sam repeated, and kissed the top of Nina’s head. “And spent all this time making dinner.”

Pleased, Nina lifted her face for a kiss.

“Okay, here goes.” Morgan slid the asparagus into the melted butter, set five minutes on her phone. She stirred and shook it around, tried to use her eyes and nose with the salt, the pepper.

While she worked the skillet, Sam helped Nina take the chops and potatoes out of the oven, slide the rolls in to warm.

“Teamwork. That’s my five. You’re up, Nina.”

They shifted positions, with Morgan arranging the chops on a platter—Mama’s—and adding the fresh rosemary as garnish—as instructed.

“Sorry.” Luke came back in. “I got a phone call, had to take it.”

“No problem, we’re coming down to the wire.” Morgan looked over at him. “Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, just a minor schedule change for tomorrow. Can I help here?”

“Why don’t you top off the wine, in case we need it.”

At the table, the cooking and serving done, Sam took the first bite. “Babe,” he said to Nina, then smiled at Morgan. “Other babe.”

Nina sampled a bite of chop. “Uh-oh. We’re good at this, Morg. Now what?”

“Home-cooked meal on the road. Ladies?” Luke lifted his wineglass. “To the chefs.”

“And to Mama. We did her proud, Morgan.”

Despite the long day, Morgan enjoyed every minute. An actual dinner party, in her home—a first that didn’t include takeout or delivery. Conversation, laughter, the occasional touch of Luke’s hand on hers.

She found it sweet the men insisted on handling the cleanup, and relaxed into the lingering after, over coffee and—bakery bought—red velvet cake.

“I hate to break this up. Tonight’s going to be a highlight of my trip. But the schedule change has me on-site at eight tomorrow.”

“Where are you heading?” Sam asked him.

“They’re taking me into Baltimore. House flipper bought a pair of row houses and wants to connect them into one, and wants it smart. It looks like I’ll need to stay over a couple days. Maybe three.”

He shrugged. “They squeezed it into my schedule the end of last week. A friend of one of the bosses.”

“Eight a.m. in Baltimore. That’s early to rise.”

He nodded at Nina. “Yeah, it sure is, and a nice challenge. Converting a couple of old row houses into a smart urban mini-mansion—while maintaining the history of the place.”

He glanced around. “I’d love to tackle this one for you. You’ve got good bones here, Morgan.”

“I think so. When that wall comes down, maybe I’ll add smart as well as space.”

“When you do, you call me. I’ll make sure I can work you in. That’s a promise. Thanks, Nina, and thank your mother.” He rose. “Everything was amazing. Really great meeting you, Sam. And I should be able to take a look at your system next week. There’s always a way to add some bells to the whistles.”

“That would be great.”

Morgan walked him to the door.

“I’ll stop into the bar when I get back. Couple of days. Okay if I text you now and again when I’m in my lonely Baltimore hotel room?”

“Sure.”

“Can I take you out to dinner when I get back? Maybe a step up from pizza?”