Risky Business

could get Faithto eat because it was the only one Faith considered pretty enough. Liz didn’t realize she was smiling as she began to sauté onions and peppers. She added a healthy dose of garlic and let it all simmer.
    “It already smells good,” Jonas commented as he strode through the doorway.
    She only glanced over her shoulder. “You’re supposed to stay out of my way.”
    “You cook, I take care of the table.”
    Liz only shrugged and turned back to the stove. She measured, stirred and spiced until the kitchen was filled with a riot of scent. The sauce, chunky with meat and vegetables, simmered and thickened on low heat. Pleased with herself, she wiped her hands on a cloth and turned around. Jonas was sitting comfortably at the table watching her.
    “You look good,” he told her. “Very good.”
    It seemed so natural, their being together in the kitchen with a pot simmering and a breeze easing its way through the screen. It made her remember how hard it was not to want such simple things in your life. Liz set the cloth down and found she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Some men think a woman looks best in front of a stove.”
    “I don’t know. It’s a toss-up with the way you looked at the wheel of a boat. How long does that have to cook?”
    “About a half hour.”
    “Good.” He rose and went to the counter where he’d left two bottles. “We have time for some wine.”
    A little warning signal jangled in her brain. Liz decided she needed a lid for the chili. “I don’t have the right glasses.”
    “I already thought of that.” From a bag beside the bottle, he pulled out two thin-stemmed wineglasses.
    “You’ve been busy,” she murmured.
    “You didn’t like me hovering over you in the market. I had to do something.” He drew out the cork, then let the wine breathe.
    “These candles aren’t mine.”
    He turned to see Liz fiddling with the fringe of one of the woven mats he’d set on the table. In the center were two deep blue tapers that picked up the color in the border of her dishes.
    “They’re ours,” Jonas told her.
    She twisted the fringe around one finger, let it go, then twisted it again. The last time she’d burned candles had been during a power failure. These didn’t look sturdy, but slender and frivolous. “There wasn’t any need to go to all this trouble. I don’t—”
    “Do candles and wine make you uneasy?”
    Dropping the fringe, she let her hands fall to her sides. “No, of course not.”
    “Good.” He poured rich red wine into both glasses. Walking to her, he offered one. “Because I find them relaxing. We did agree to relax.”
    She sipped, and though she wanted to back away, held her ground. “I’m afraid you may be looking for more than I can give.”
    “No.” He touched his glass to hers. “I’m looking for exactly what you can give.”
    Recognizing when she was out of her depth, Liz turned toward the refrigerator. “We can start on the salad.”
    He lit the candles and dimmed the lights. She told herself it didn’t matter. Atmosphere was nothing more than a pleasant addition to a meal.
    “Very pretty,” Jonas told her when she’d mixed the dressing and arranged avocado slices. “What’s it called?”
    “It’s a Mayan salad.” Liz took the first nibble and was satisfied. “I learned the recipe when I worked at the hotel. Actually, that’s where most of my cooking comes from.”
    “Wonderful,” Jonas decided after the first bite. “It makes me wish I’d talked you into cooking before.”
    “A one time only.” She relaxed enough to smile. “Meals aren’t—”
    “Included in the rent,” Jonas finished. “We might negotiate.”
    This time she laughed at him and chose a section of grapefruit. “I don’t think so. How do you manage in Philadelphia?”
    “I have a housekeeper who’ll toss together a casserole on Wednesdays.” He took another bite, enjoying the contrast of crisp greens and spicy dressing. “And I eat out a lot.”
    “And parties? I suppose you go to a lot of parties.”
    “Some business, some pleasure.” He’d almost forgotten what it was like to sit in a kitchen and enjoy a simple meal. “To be honest, it wears a bit. The cruising.”
    “Cruising?”
    “When Jerry and I were teenagers, we might hop in the car on a Friday night and cruise. The idea was to see what teenage girls had hopped in their cars to cruise. The party circuit’s just adult cruising.”
    She frowned a bit because