Cooking Dinner

Otto pointed at the grocery bags he'd just hauled in. "No need to go out. I bought fresh lobster at the marina. And the grocer had some good steaks on sale. I'm grilling."

"Is there a grill here?"

"Of course. The house may be old, but we have the most modern amenities. A gas grill of the finest brand."

"Oh, Sears Kenmore?"

"Nope, a genuine Jenn Air all the way from Fredericton."

"Oh, my," she said smartly. "The big time."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Indubitably."

"A man who cooks. I can't argue with that." Actually, the thought made Iva salivate. Lobster and steak on the grill? By a man? Noah wouldn't have touched the stove or a sink to save his life.

Otto headed back out to his car, unloading the final two bags which included ingredients for a fresh salad and a vinaigrette dressing, as well as breakfast items, bread, lunch meats, and cheese.

"Go ahead and relax," Otto said, searching the kitchen drawers for tongs and hot pads. "Take a bath or something---I mean, no. Not what I meant. I meant to tell you that I brought home some extra locks for your upstairs doors, okay?"

Her face had actually turned red, and now he was amused.

"I'm going to change out of my work clothes. Unless you need help reading the directions on how to press the buttons on the grill." Iva gave him her poker face and he laughed.

"Okay, smartie. I got it."

At the door, Iva turned back, watching Otto run the sink water to clean the lobster tails. She said, "Maybe we can take down the sheet over the kitchen table while we eat."

"It'll be easier to pass the salt and pepper," he agreed.

Iva headed upstairs, knowing she couldn't stay angry forever. And Otto had apologized nicely. She had needed to hear another apology after the scare last night.

But a sincere, heartfelt apology was something she hadn't received from Noah yet. The hurt stabbed at her chest, and Iva wondered if she could ever get over the pain he'd caused her.

Upstairs, Iva took a quick shower, changing into fresh slacks and a blue blouse. Fluffing at her hair, she realized that her eye makeup was smudged a bit. She considered fixing it, but decided she was not going to primp for Otto Bergmann.

When she returned downstairs, the table was set with old-fashioned china and glass goblets.

"Real cloth napkins?" she exclaimed, impressed. "Is there a washer and dryer on the premises?"

"In the garage. Added to the house when my mother was a teenager."

"That's nice to know," she said with a nod. I already have a stack of work clothes to wash."