Angels Fall

another time."
    She took the wine he offered, noted it was a nice Pinot Grigio. He paid attention, she realized, even when he didn't seem to be.
    "Thanks. I've got some Cabernet open, if you'd like a glass."
    "'Wouldn't turn it down." He took off his jacket, tossed it over the back of a chair. "New lock?"
    Paid attention, she noted again.
    "Mr. Drubber put it in for me. I guess it's overkill, but I'll sleep better."
    "TV. You're coming up in the world."
    "I decided to embrace technology." She poured him a glass of wine. Turning, she took the roast out of the oven, set it on the stovetop.
    "Ah. just like Mom used to make."
    "Really?"
    "No. My mother could burn takeout."
    Amused. Reece finished stuffing the mushrooms. "What does she do?"
    "She's a psychiatrist. Private practice."
    Trying to ignore the automatic bump in her belly. Reece concentrated on the mushroom caps. "Oh."
    "And she macrames."
    "She what?"
    "Makes things by tying rope into knots. I think she once macramed a small studio apartment. Furnished. It's an obsession."
    Reece slid the mushrooms into the oven, set the timer. "And your father?"
    "My father likes to cook out on the grill, even in the winter. He's a college professor. Romance languages. Some people think they're an odd combo. She's intense and sociable, he's on the shy and dreamy side. But it works for them. You having any of this wine?"
    "In a minute." She set out a dish of olives. "Any siblings?"
    " Two, one of each."
    "I always wanted a brother or sister. Someone to fight with, or to bond with against authority. I'm an only child, and both my parents were only children."
    "More turkey at Thanksgiving that way."
    "Always a bright side. One of the reasons I loved working at Maneo's was that it was so noisy and full and dramatic. We weren't noisy and dra-matic at home. My grandmother's wonderful. Steady and loving and fair. So good to me." She raised her glass in a halt toast, drank. "I've given her a lot to worry about the last couple of years."
    "Does she know where you are?"
    "Oh. sure. I call back home every couple weeks, e-mail regularly. My grandmother especially loves e-mail. She's a busy, modern woman, with a very full life of her own." She turned to check the mushrooms, flipped the gauge to broil. "She divorced my grandfather before I was born. I've never met him. She started her own decorating business."
    Absently, Reece glanced around the tiny apartment. '"She'd shudder to see what I haven't done with this place. Anyway, she loves to travel. Had to put a lot of that on hold when my parents were killed—car accident when I was fifteen, and Gram raised me from there. She didn't want me to leave Boston. And I couldn't stay."
    "Steady and loving and fair. She probably wants you happy more than she wants you in Boston."
    She mulled that over as she got out a plate. "You're right, but I've so enjoyed all my servings of guilt the last months. Anyway, I've got her mostly convinced I'm fine. So she's in Barcelona right now, on a buying trip."
    She pulled out the mushrooms, sprinkled them with Parmesan. Set them under the broiler. "These would be better with fresh, but I couldn't find any."
    "I'll probably be able to choke one or two down."
    Once they were done to her specification, were arranged on a plate, she set them on the counter between them. "This is the first meal I've cooked for anyone in two years."
    "You cook every day downstairs."
    She shook her head. "That's work. I mean it's the first meal I've cooked for pleasure. The other night doesn't count. That was a throw-it-together deal. I've missed doing this, and didn't realize just how much until tonight."
    "Glad to help." He picked up a mushroom, popped it in his mouth. "Good."
    She took one herself, bit in. Smiled. "Yes, they are."
     
    IT WASN'T so hard. Easier for her than going out, finding or going along with some activity designed to pass the time or create conversational gambits. She could relax here, enjoy making the final preparations for the meal. And oddly, she could relax with and enjoy him.
    "It'll be easier with this setup if I plate the food. Is that all right with you?"
    "Go ahead." He gestured toward his plate with his wineglass. "Don't be stingy."
    While she served, he poured them both more wine. He'd noted the candles, the fancy napkins, the sturdy pepper grinder. All new, he thought, since his last visit.
    And he'd noticed his book sitting on the tiny table by her daybed.
    The woman was settling in, he decided,