"Well, you got time, don't you? I've got a list here of how many people and the kind of business I'm thinking of." She pulled a file folder out of the enormous purse, pushed it into Nell's hand. "I want to have it right at my house, and I've got my mother's good china and so forth. You just look over what I've put together there, and we'll talk about it tomorrow. You come on by the house tomorrow afternoon."

"I'd certainly like to help you. Maybe I can…" She looked down at the folder, saw that Gladys had marked it "Thirtieth Anniversary" and had added a heart with her initials and Carl's in the center.

Touched, she tucked the folder under her arm, "I'll see what I can do."

"You're a nice girl, Nell." Gladys glanced over her shoulder at the sound of a car, lifted her eyebrows as she recognized Zack's cruiser. "And you've got good taste. You come on by tomorrow, and we'll talk this out. Have a nice dinner now."

She strolled toward her car, stopping to say a few words to Zack. She gave him a pat on the cheek, noted the flowers in his hand. By the time she was behind the wheel, she was planning who she'd call first to spread the news that Zachariah Todd was sparking the little Channing girl.

"I'm a little late. Sorry. We had a fender bender in the village. Put me behind."

"It's all right."

"I thought you might like these for your garden."

She smiled at the pot of Shasta daisies. "They're perfect. Thanks." She took them, set them beside her kitchen stoop. "I'll get the wine and the appetizers."

He walked into the kitchen behind her. "Something smells great."

"Once I got started, I tried out a couple of different recipes. You've got your work cut out for you."

"I'm up for it. Now what's this?" He crouched down, stroked a finger over the smoke-gray kitten circled on a pillow in the corner.

"That's Diego. We're living together."

The kitten mewed, stretched, then began to bat at Zack's shoelaces. "You've been busy. Cooking, buying furniture, getting a roommate." Scooping up Diego, he turned toward her. "Nobody's going to find any moss on you, Nell."

He stood there, big and handsome, with a gray kitten nuzzling at his shoulder.

He'd brought her white daisies in a plastic pot.

"Oh, damn." She set her tray of appetizers down again, took a breath. "I might as well get this over with. I don't want you to get the wrong impression about dinner, and… things. I'm very attracted to you, but I'm not in a place where I can act on my feelings. It's only fair to tell you that up front. There are good reasons for it, but I'm not willing to get into them. So, if you'd rather just go, no hard feelings."

He listened soberly, rubbing a finger between the kitten's silky ears. "I appreciate you spelling that out for me. Seems a shame to waste all this food, though." He plucked a stuffed olive from the tray, popped it into his mouth. "I'll just hang around, if it's all the same to you. Why don't I take the wine outside?"

He picked up the bottle and, still carrying Diego, bumped the screened door with his hip. "Oh, and in the interest of fair play, I'll tell you I'll be nudging you out of that place you're in."

With that said, he held the door open. "You want to bring those on out?"

"I'm not as easy a nudge as you might think."

"Honey, there's nothing easy about you."

She picked up the tray, sailed by him. "I take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one. Now, why don't we have some wine, relax, and you can tell me what Gladys Macey was after."

When they were seated, she poured the wine, and he settled the kitten in his lap. "I thought, being sheriff, you'd know all there is to know about what's going on."

"Well." He leaned over the tray, selected a gnocchi. "I can deduce, seeing as I'm a trained observer. There's a file on your counter, marked with Gladys's handwriting, which leads me to believe she's planning on an anniversary party. And, as I'm sitting here, heading straight toward heaven with whatever the hell it is I just put in my mouth-and knowing Gladys is a shrewd lady-I'd suppose she's wanting you to cater it. How'd I do?"

"Dead on."

"Are you going to do it?"

"I'm going to think about it."

"You'd do a great job." He plucked another selection from the tray, examined it suspiciously. "Any mushrooms in this thing? I hate mushrooms."

"No. We're fungi-free tonight. Why would I do a good job?"

"I said great job." He popped it in his mouth. Some creamy cheese and herbs in a thin and flaky pastry. "Because you cook like a magician, you look like an angel, and you're as organized as a computer. You get things done, and you've got style. How come you're not eating any of this?"

"I want to see if you live first." When he only grinned and kept eating, she sat back and sipped her wine. "I'm a good cook. Put me in a kitchen, and I rule the world. I'm presentable, but I don't look like an angel."

"I'm the one looking at you."

"I'm organized," she continued, "because I keep my life simple."

"Which is another way of saying you're not going to complicate it with me."

"There you go, dead on again. I'm going to get the salad."

Zack waited until her back was turned before he let his amusement show. "Easy enough to ruffle her feathers," he said to Diego, "when you know where to scratch. Let me tell you something I've learned over the years about women. Keep changing the rhythm, and they'll never know what to expect next."

When Nell came back out, Zack launched into the story of the pediatrician from Washington and the stockbroker from New York who'd bumped fenders outside the pharmacy on High Street.

He made her laugh, put her gently at ease again. Before she knew it, she was telling him about various kitchen feuds in restaurants where she'd worked.

"Temperaments and sharp implements," she said. "A dangerous combination. I once had a line chef threaten me with an electric whisk."

Because dusk was falling, he lit the squat red candle she'd set on the table. "I had no idea there was so much danger and intrigue behind those swinging doors."

"And sexual tension," she added, twirling linguini onto her fork. "Smoldering looks over simmering pots of stock, broken hearts shattering in the whipping cream. It's a hotbed."

"Food's got all that sensuality. Flavor, texture, scent. This tuna's getting me pretty worked up."

"So, the dish passes the audition."

"It's great." Candlelight suited her, he thought. It put little gold lights in those deep blue pools. "Do you make this stuff up, or collect recipes, what?"

"Both, I like to experiment. When my mother…" She trailed off, but Zack merely picked up the wine bottle, topped off their glasses. "She liked to cook," Nell said simply. "And entertain."

"My mother-well, we'll just say the kitchen wasn't her best room. I was twenty before I realized a pork chop wasn't supposed to bounce if you dropped it. She lived on an island most of her life, but as far as she was concerned tuna came out of a can. She's hell with numbers, though."

"Numbers."

"Certified public accountant-retired now. She and my dad bought themselves one of those big tin cans on wheels and hit the great American highway about a year ago. They're having a terrific time."

"That's nice." And so was the unmistakable affection in his voice. "Do you miss them?"

"I do. I'm not going to say I miss my mother's cooking, but I miss their company. My father used to sit out on the back porch and play the banjo. I miss that."

"The banjo." It sounded so charming. "Do you play?"

"No. I never could get my fingers to cooperate."

"My father played the piano. He used to-" She stopped herself again, realigning her thoughts as she rose. "I could never get my fingers to cooperate either. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Can you manage it?"