Love Me Tonight. Gwynne Forster

it good?”

      He smiled at that evidence that she made an effort to understand him. “Yeah.” He ran his right hand over his hair. “A lot has happened.” He handed her the flowers.

      “Judson, these are beautiful.” She hugged the flowers. “You’re spoiling me, and I like it. I really do.” She stepped closer to him, put her free arm around his shoulder, parted her lips and took him into her mouth.

      He stopped kissing her and grinned. “Honey, you have to be careful about lighting these fires.”

      “I’m not even going to pretend to know what you’re talking about. That was a sweet little kiss.”

      “Yeah. If you say so. This wine isn’t cold.”

      She took it from him. “I’ll chill it. Have a seat someplace.”

      Heather arranged the flowers in a crystal vase and put it on the table between two silver candlesticks, gifts to herself when she moved into the apartment. She lit the twelve-inch beeswax candles, stepped back and admired the beautiful place settings.

      With that setup, the food had better be good. She took the hors d’oeuvres out of the oven, placed cheese puffs, tiny quiches and grilled mini-franks on a serving dish and walked back to the living room where Judson sat on the sofa looking ill at ease. She put the platter on the coffee table. “You don’t seem comfortable. What’s the matter?”

      “I’m comfortable,” he said brightly. “Too comfortable. Suppose you got an assignment to say, Luxembourg, and you were engaged to get married. What would you do?” Her lower lip dropped. He held up his hand to ward off a less than thoughtful answer. “And suppose your husband-to-be couldn’t get a job in his field in Luxembourg? What would you do?”

      What a question! Heather thought. She controlled her hands before they locked to her hip bones, because she didn’t want to give the impression that his questions had surprised her.

      “You have a right to know what you’d be in for if we get engaged. I’m way ahead of you, and I don’t think that scenario could sustain a marriage or even a live-in relationship. According to my dad, a man’s work, his woman and his children—in that order—define him, and he’s only happy if he finds pleasure and contentment in all three. Cheer up, and eat your hors d’oeuvres before they get cold. What would you like to drink?”

      It pleased her that he smiled. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “But I’m also a lawyer, so I got enough out of that long reply to corner you if I ever have to. I’m driving, so I’d better stick to wine. Most any kind would be nice.”

      She didn’t rush him but allowed him to take his time with telling his “good news,” because she sensed in him a new kind of peacefulness. “Let’s eat now,” she said after he finished a glass of wine and several of the hors d’oeuvres. “I hope you like what I prepared.”

      He tasted the cold, sour cherry soup. “This is delicious. I have a feeling I’m going to be sorry I ate so many hors d’oeuvres with the wine.”

      The meal continued with filet mignon, sautéed cremini mushrooms, asparagus and dauphin potatoes, a green salad and assorted cheeses, and ended with raspberry sauce over vanilla ice cream.

      “I didn’t have time to make a complicated dessert today,” she told him.

      “Please, don’t apologize, Heather. I love ice cream, and raspberries are one of my favorite fruits. This combination is delightful.”