She looked at him and saw that teasing glint in his eye.

“Mr. Youngson, I believe you’re pulling my leg,” she said.

“Ms. Gardiner, I’m not, but I’d love to,” he replied.

Jennifer let that one pass. They got into the car and Lee instructed the driver to take them to an address in Newtown, which turned out to be a bustling, crowded Italian restaurant. Lee dismissed the driver and they approached the entrance, where a bald, rotund, middle-aged man could be seen through the plate glass window, making change at the register. Lee signaled to him from the sidewalk, and the man broke into a broad grin, collaring a younger man to take over for him and rushing outside to greet them.

“Chief! How ya doin!? Angelo wrote his mother you’d be coming out here, and then I saw it in the papers and on TV. What’s happening, where ya stayin’?”

The two men had a very physical reunion, with much hugging and backslapping, and then Lee introduced Jennifer to his friend, Sal Barbetti, the owner of the restaurant. Sal’s nephew, Angelo, was a second string quarterback for the Broncos, and Lee had met his family when they were out visiting Angelo.

“Hey, Chief, I never forget what you did for my boy, I mean it Anything you want, anytime, no charge. You’re always welcome here. That kid is a changed boy since, you should see him.”

Jennifer glanced curiously at Lee, who was frowning at Sal, trying to make him drop the subject Sal finally took the hint and did so, leaving Jennifer burning with the desire to know what they were talking about. But the riddle would not be solved that day. Sal hustled them around the comer of the building and took them in through the kitchen entrance, setting up a table for them in a quiet alcove behind the busboys’ station. Every few minutes a dark-haired teenager would dash past in a red jacket, grabbing a tray full of glasses or a stack of dishes. Jennifer winced as she waited for a crash, but it never came. They were remarkably adept.

Sal shook out a red and white checkered tablecloth and repolished the already sparkling glassware before putting it on the table. He inspected the silverware for spots it didn’t have and then pulled a paper tablet from his back pocket.

“I take your order myself, one of these idiots here might get it wrong,” he said.

Lee smiled at Jennifer. “What would you like?”

“Could I have a salad?”

The owner beamed at her. “Best salad in the house, beautiful lady, plus pasta, veal scaloppini or parmigiana, we got it all.”

“I think just the salad.”

Sal’s smile faded. “What do you mean, that’s all?” He stared at Lee. “What’s a matter with you, Chief, you got to get this girl to eat Look at her, she’s a bone.”

Lee coughed delicately, trying not to laugh. “I know, Sal, what can I tell you. Look, bring me the veal, just give the lady an antipasto, okay?”

Sal scribbled unhappily on his note pad and then seemed to have a thought which brightened him up a little. “I bring you dessert, lady,” he kissed his fingers, “cannoli, tortoni, melt in your mouth, you see.” He nodded, beaming, and took off to get their order.

“Wait until you see the salad he brings you,” Lee grinned. “You could live off it for a week.”

“What was he talking about when we first came here, something to do with his son, a favor you did for them?”

Lee made a gesture of dismissal. “Oh, don’t pay any attention to that, Sal is just one of those people, heart as big as the Atlantic, effusive, eternal gratitude for any little thing you do for him, you know the type. It was nothing.”

Jennifer was sure he was lying, but she didn’t know why. “Do you always get such special treatment?” she asked, changing the subject.

He chuckled. “From Sal, yeah. He takes care of me.”

“In other words, rank has its privileges.”

Lee sobered, looking up at her. “I think it has more to do with friendship, but if you want to look at it that way, yes.”

“Can’t have Lee Youngson waiting around for a table with the rest of the peons,” Jennifer went on.

Lee sighed. “Are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked, arching his brows.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Youngson, this little luncheon date not working out the way you planned? Am I not suitably impressed? You should have asked Miss Bucks County Apple Polisher to lunch, I’m sure she would have been more congenial.”

“Apple Princess,” Lee corrected, amused. “And I asked you because I wanted to talk to you.”

A waiter scuttled over and deposited a carafe of ice water on the table, pausing a moment to stare at Lee.

“Talk,” Jennifer said.

Lee waited until the boy had left, and then folded his arms on his chest and surveyed her critically.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the distinct impression you don’t care much for me.”

Nonplussed, Jennifer made no reply.

“The first time we met,” he continued, “you gave me that ‘you’re too stupid to understand’ routine, which I suspect was deliberate, and ever since then, despite a thin veneer of politeness on your part, I feel a definite chill in the air. You’re only here with me right now because I practically coerced you into it Now why is that, Ms. Gardiner?”

Jennifer studied him, weighing her answer.

He saw her indecision. “Go ahead. You can tell me,” he prompted.

“I suppose I resent the amount of money you’re paid to play what is essentially a children’s game,” Jennifer said. But she knew that wasn’t the whole truth. Her calculated aloofness was a defense against the overwhelming attraction she felt for him. But it was a reasonable explanation, one he could accept.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

She gestured expansively. “After all, you weren’t raking in enough bucks playing for the Broncos, you had to dicker for top dollar to come here. It’s difficult to read in the Inquirer about the millions of children starving in Asia and Africa and then turn to the sports section and see the columnists guessing at your six-figure salary.”

He didn’t seem angry. “You’re working very hard for a fraction of what I’m making, and that bothers you. That’s natural.”

Sal brought their food. He placed in front of Jennifer the biggest salad she had ever seen.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” he asked her anxiously.

“I’m positive. This is fine.”

Sal waited until Lee had taken a bite of his veal, which was golden brown, sautéed in thin strips, delicately seasoned, as Jennifer could tell by the delicious aroma wafting across the table.

Lee made a circle of his thumb and forefinger. “It’s great, Sal.”

Sal was satisfied. He gave Jennifer one more wounded glance and disappeared.

“You’d better have some dessert, or he’ll burst into tears,” Lee warned her.

“How could I possibly eat dessert? Look at the size of this thing. It looks more like a small shrub than a salad.”

“Do the best you can. Take some of it out of the bowl and distribute it around your plate.”

Jennifer was arranging pieces of ham and cheese and lettuce decoratively on Sal’s china when Lee said, “Jennifer, I think you should understand something. I didn’t leave the Broncos for money. The team drafted a rookie end from Northwestern who was breathing down my neck, and I didn’t wait around for him to wind up standing on it The Freedom needed me for first string. The move was made for reasons of survival, not greed.”

Jennifer listened, chastened. She hadn’t known about that For the first time she realized that it must be precarious at the top—always waiting for, and fearing, the talented youngster who could come along and topple you from your perch.

“I’ve been playing ten years, Jennifer. Every season if s harder to get back into shape, the kick coming up look younger, the tackles are tougher to take. I can’t do this forever; nobody can. The money seems like a lot, I know, but I can only earn it for a short period of time.”