Fourteen

"I hope you're hungry?" Andrea said. "Otherwise I'll be eating lasagna all week."

"It smells great," Torry assured her. "I hope you didn't go to a lot of trouble. I should have suggested we let Pizza Hut do the work."

"Don't be silly. It's just a simple meal," she insisted, "And it's all ready."

"This is some grand house." Torry looked around as he followed Andrea through the elegant dining room to the kitchen.

"Thank you," Andrea reached to the top shelf of her cabinet for a small vase to put the roses in. "It's more than we need, but it's home." She unwrapped each rose from its green cellophane sheath and slid them in the bud vase, then filled it with water. A person might buy one rose from a highwayman to get rid of him, she thought, but not three. She set them on the breakfast table, picturing her and Torry having their morning coffee. The gesture was sweet, no matter how he discounted it.

Bowing to smell their fragrance, it struck Andrea that they were the same deep red as the roses on Jack's casket had been. She dismissed the thought as she picked up the apron she had lain across the kitchen chair. Andrea would not allow the past to intrude on their evening.

"The 'we,' I'm assuming, means you have children?" Torry said, his eyes drifting to the hint of what lay beneath her jersey as she reached to tie the apron around her waist.