Man In A Million

“Grilled or cold?”

“Cold. Can I do anything to help?”

She pointed to the work island. “Just pull up a stool and relax. We can eat out on the deck. It’s my favorite place.”

He obeyed. She seemed to be relaxing and he didn’t want to do anything to interrupt the process.

She made the sandwiches quickly and efficiently while standing opposite him at the work island. She added a bread-and-butter pickle to each plate, then pulled a face at him. “Ordinarily, I’d add potato chips to this, but in view of the red dress, we’d better make it carrot sticks.”

“I’m not wearing the red dress,” he teased.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean, you’d make me watch you eat chips while I have to eat carrot sticks?”

“Depends.” He was suddenly aware of an angle he could work. “Do I have some sort of stake in this dress?”

She looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, it occurs to me that I could support your effort to get in shape for this notorious red dress,” he bargained, “if you’ll go somewhere with me while you’re wearing it. Bearing in mind that I don’t think training’s really necessary. I think you look pretty terrific already.”

She tried to withhold a smile at the compliment but didn’t quite succeed. She pretended to concentrate on cutting the sandwiches at an angle. “It’s for the fashion show,” she said.

He nodded. “I understand that. But we could go somewhere after the show.”

She put the knife down and frowned at him. “Why are you doing this,” she asked, “when you were so determined to avoid me while Addy was trying to get us together?”

“Simple,” he answered. “I hadn’t met you then.”

She handed him two cans of diet soda, then, carrying the plate, led the way onto the deck.

It had a magnificent view of Maple Hill Lake. It was absolutely quiet at the moment, nothing moving on it but a family of mallards several yards away. The afternoon sun shone brightly on it, bees hummed, and water lapped against the dock with a sound he’d always found quieting. The breeze was a little cool as fall took hold.

They settled onto a canopied glider fitted with cup holders. He put a soda can in each hole, and she placed the plate between them on the blue-and-yellow upholstered seat.

“But everyone who knows you,” she went on, continuing their conversation from the kitchen, “says you’re not interested in a relationship.”

She took half a sandwich and gestured him to do the same. He did. “People always think they know what other people are thinking.”

She leaned into a corner of the glider and met his gaze. He could tell she was going to ask him something difficult.