I was breading like pork chops the following evening when Gabriela barreled into the kitchen, leaving the door winging in her wake. Mr. Eliot is here to pick up Angela. I think you should invite him and Angela to stay for dinner. . . And explain to him about, you know, the other night.0
Oh, sure, I mused. Before Gabriela could lunch into an argument, I shook my head and offered the first excuse that came to my mind. “There aren’t enough pork chops to ask him tonight. Beside, Mr Eliot is probably tired from his trip and anxious to get home.”
“I bet he’s hungry, too,” Gabriela pressed, and Angela thinks you are a fabulous cook, and—“
A sharp look from me cut her off. “Another night, Gabriela!”