Page 29 of The Perfect Secret
“Okay, do you need help chopping?”
“No, I’m good.”
She set the broiler, slid the meat inside, and moved on to the vegetables. She’d said she wasn’t much of a cook, but she seemed pretty comfortable in the kitchen. When she finished, she pulled a stool from under the sink, stood on it, and disconnected the smoke alarm.
“What did you do that for?” he asked.
She turned on the faucet and washed her hands. “Well, in case I misjudge the broiling…”
He laughed and handed her a dishtowel. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably a bad idea for me to say anything other than no. Now, what would you like to drink? I have wine, beer, soda?”
His mouth grew dry at the thought of taking a long pull on a frosty brew and he swallowed reflexively. Never again. “I’ll have water.”
“So, you don’t drink, right? I mean, it’s the feeling I get from you.”
His stomach clenched.Please don’t let this line of questioning force my hand, not now.“I don’t mind if you do.” He reached for the napkins and silverware and followed her lead, hoping she’d drop the subject, although they were getting closer and closer to a time when he’d have to answer.
She smiled as she set the table. “Is there a reason for you not drinking?”
Dammit. His gut tightened. “Family history.”
“Got it.” She nodded.
No, she didn’t have a clue, but he wouldn’t debate the point with her.
Returning to the oven, she turned the meat and uncovered the vegetables. The aromas made his mouth water. Despite her concerns, no smoke billowed.
“Since you ordered the peach dessert the other night, I bought a peach and plum cobbler for tonight. I assumed you weren’t a chocolate person.”
Another assumption she shouldn’t make—he liked chocolate too much to allow himself to have it—but an assumption he couldn’t correct without starting an avalanche of other questions. “It sounds delicious. But you should have said something. I would have been happy to provide dessert.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can take leftovers home for Tess.” She pulled everything out of the oven. “It must be hard to balance things.”
It was. “Do you want me to slice the meat?”
As he began, he admired the cut of the meat and the meal in general. She was a good cook, if looks were to be believed. “Excellent job. It’s delicious.”
“Thanks. It’s my grandma’s recipe. She’s a wonderful cook.”
“It’s obvious you take after her. You didn’t even have to disconnect the smoke alarm!”
Hannah let out a deep breath as she brought everything to the table. “Previous history indicated otherwise. My grandmother, although supportive, is not convinced I won’t starve you tonight. I think she told me ten times how to cook everything.”
He savored the flavor of the London broil and looked around the dining room. It was a nook off the kitchen, nothing fancy, but homey. A sideboard held Shabbat candles and some China serving pieces. On white walls hung a Chagall print and an old-fashioned wedding portrait. He pointed to it with his fork.
“Your grandparents?”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, I love that one. They were married forty-five years. What about you? How long were you married?”
The meat formed rocks in his stomach. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Ten years.”
“Tess said you hurt your leg in the car accident when you lost your wife.”
His fork clattered to the table. “You talked to Tess about this?”
“It came up in conversation.”