Summer Desserts

champagne warm.” Opening the door, she climbed out with the box in hand. Once inside the building, Summer started up the stairs.
    “Does the elevator ever work?” Blake shifted the bag in his arm and joined her.
    “Off and on—mostly it’s off. Personally, I don’t trust it.”
    “In that case, why’d you pick the fourth floor?”
    She smiled as they rounded the second landing. “I like the view—and the fact that salesmen are usually discouraged when they’re faced with more than two flights of steps.”
    “You could’ve chosen a more modern building, with a view, a security system and a working elevator.”
    “I look at modern tools as essential, a new car, well tuned, as imperative.” Drawing out her keys, Summer jiggled them lightly as they approached her door. “As to living arrangements, I’m a bit more open-minded. My flat in Paris has temperamental plumbing and the most exquisite cornices I’ve ever seen.”
    When she opened the door, the scent of roses was overwhelming. There were a dozen white in a straw basket, a dozen red in a Sevres vase, a dozen yellow in a pottery jug and a dozen pink in Venetian glass.
    “Run into a special at the florist’s?”
    Summer raised her brows as she set the pizza on the dinette. “I never buy flowers for myself. These are from Enrico.”
    Blake set the bag next to the box and drew out the champagne. “All?”
    “He’s a bit flamboyant—Enrico Gravanti—you might’ve heard of him. Italian shoes and bags.”
    Two hundred million dollars worth of shoes and bags, as Blake recalled. He flicked a finger down a rose petal. “I hadn’t heard Gravanti was in town. He normally stays at the Cocharan House.”
    “No, he’s in Rome.” As she spoke, Summer went into the kitchen for plates and glasses. “He wired these when I agreed to make the cake for his birthday next month.”
    “Four dozen roses for a cake?”
    “Five,” Summer corrected as she came back in. “There’s another dozen in the bedroom. They’re rather lovely, a kind of peach color.” In anticipation, she held out both glasses. “And, after all, it is one of my cakes.”
    With a nod of acknowledgment, Blake loosened the cork. Air fizzed out while the champagne bubbled toward the lip of the bottle. “So, I take it you’ll be going to Italy to bake it.”
    “I don’t intend to ship it air freight.” She watched the pale gold liquid rise in the glass as Blake poured. “I should only be in Rome two days, three at most.” Raising the glass to her lips, she sipped, eyes closed, senses keen. “Excellent.” She sipped again before she opened her eyes and smiled. “I’m starving.” After lifting the lid on the box, she breathed deep. “Pepperoni.”
    “Somehow I thought it suited you.”
    With a laugh, an easy one, she sat down. “Very perceptive. Shall I serve?”
    “Please.” And as she began to, Blake flicked on his lighter and set the three staggered-length tapers she had on the table burning. “Champagne and pizza,” he said as he turned off the lights. “That demands candlelight, don’t you think?”
    “If you like.” When he sat, Summer lifted her first piece. The cheese was hot enough to make her catch her breath, the sauce tangy. “Mmmm. Wonderful.”
    “Has it occurred to you that we spend a great deal of our time together eating?”
    “Hmm—well, it’s something I thoroughly enjoy. I always try to look at eating as a pleasure rather than a physical necessity. It adds something.”
    “Pounds, usually.”
    She shrugged and reached for the champagne. “Of course, if one isn’t wise enough to take one’s pleasure in small doses. Greed is what adds pounds, ruins the complexion and makes one miserable.”
    “You don’t succumb to greed?”
    She remembered abruptly that it had been just that, exactly that, that she’d felt for him. But she’d controlled it, Summer reminded herself. She hadn’t succumbed. “No.” She ate slowly, savoring. “I don’t. In my profession, it would be disastrous.”
    “How do you keep your pleasure in small doses?”
    She wasn’t sure she trusted the way the question came out. Taking her time, she set a second piece on each plate. “I’d rather have one spoonful of a superb chocolate soufflé than an entire plateful of food that doesn’t have flair.”
    Blake took another bite of pizza. “And this has flair?”
    She smiled because it was so obviously not the sort of meal he was used to. “An excellent balance