Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(47)

"I haven't been to the store in a while." I gestured for her to search through the fridge and cupboards if she wished, knowing she'd find mostly canned soup and a few frozen meals.

"Oh, that's part of the fun," she said. "I like grocery shopping."

"Okay, then. Let's go."

She grinned widely as I reached for my car keys. This wasn't how I'd envisioned spending our Sunday afternoon, but if it was what she wanted I wasn't about to complain. From the moment we stepped inside the store, it was clear that Winter was in her element. She maneuvered the aisles like a pro, pausing now and then to throw an item into the cart. She read labels, talked to the butcher requesting a special cut, and smelled and squeezed the fruit and vegetables. It was an experience just being with her. Tagging along, I caught a bit of her enthusiasm. Passion is contagious.

"You've memorized the recipe?" I asked.

She stared at me as if I'd spoken a foreign language. "You know," I said. "The recipe for this fabulous dinner you're cooking me."

"Ha!" she said with a laugh. "I don't have any recipe!" "You said there was one you wanted to try." "Well, yes. It's something I had not long ago while I was out with friends. I've been dying to reproduce it myself." "Oh."

"Never mind--I promise it'll taste like a feast Henry VIII would've been proud to eat."

"Otherwise off with your head?" I joked, and she seemed to find that funny.

Back at the house, I unloaded the car while Winter set to work in the kitchen. She soon had the vegetables in the sink and started organizing ingredients on the counter. I saw the thick slices of fresh tuna and boneless chicken br**sts and couldn't imagine what she might be planning with that combination.

"What can I do?" I asked, my hands in my back pockets. I'd never been much use in the kitchen.

She looked at me and for an instant I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

"Were you thinking of Hannah just now?" I asked. It did seem odd to see another woman in Hannah's kitchen, even if that woman was there by invitation. Almost immediately I realized I'd broken one of my own rules. I'd brought Hannah into our conversation, and I'd been determined not to do that.

"Not Hannah," Winter answered after a brief pause. "Then who?"

"Pierre. He's the chef I mentioned. We used to love cooking together."

I nodded.

Winter turned abruptly away from me. "I think I told you Pierre and I...are taking a break from each other," she said. "Unfortunately it looks like it'll be a permanent one." Winter was preparing a meal, indulging in her favorite pastime--which she used to share with the man she loved. I'd done the same thing when I suggested we take out the bikes. Hannah and I had often gone cycling on a Sunday afternoon, and it appeared that Winter and Pierre had spent their time together in the kitchen, doing something they were equally passionate about.

I could picture them working side by side, offering each other small tastes of their creations, arguing, laughing, kissing.

"What exactly happened with you and Pierre?" I asked. She shrugged. "I don't know," she whispered. Her voice registered such pain that I automatically took a step closer, and stopped myself just in time from wrapping my arms around her.

"I don't know," she said again. "I can't even begin to explain it."

Like me, like Leanne...Winter, too, was dealing with loss.

Chapter Eighteen

G rumbling the entire time, Macy did as Dr. Everett had requested and drew a jungle scene. The problem was that the man had no imagination. She'd met men like him before and found them uniformly boring. He obviously didn't have a sense of humor, either. In her humble opinion, the children's doctor could use a good laugh. He took everything far too seriously.

Monday afternoon, as promised, she showed up at his office--on time. He didn't seem impressed. This illmannered physician hardly even noticed the effort she'd put into making sure she wasn't late.

In fact, Macy was kept waiting for five whole minutes. She could've used those extra minutes. Snowball hadn't eaten that morning, and Macy was concerned. He could be ill. Or mad. He seemed to think he was punishing Macy by not eating. How like a male to punish

himself to spite her. "Dr. Everett will see you now," his nurse told her, holding open the door to the inner sanctum.

Macy hadn't formed an opinion about this nurse. Her name tag identified her as Linda Barclay. The woman was certainly friendlier than the physician who employed her, but that wasn't saying much. However, based on a few comments she'd made, Macy suspected the nurse had a better sense of humor than the doctor.

"He's in his office," Linda said, pointing the way.

The last time she'd stopped by, Linda had escorted Macy directly into Dr. Everett's office; on this visit, she'd been left twiddling her thumbs in the waiting room. That was probably because Macy had taken it upon herself to read one of his precious medical books. He'd practically snatched the book out of her hands, not giving her the opportunity to explain why she'd taken it in the first place. She'd been studying the index because she wanted to look up certain symptoms. Harvey just didn't seem to be himself lately, and she was worried. He blamed his fainting spells on the fact that he hadn't eaten, but Macy thought it was more than low blood sugar. Besides, it'd happened again recently. On that occasion, she knew Harvey had eaten less than an hour earlier. Something else was responsible for all this, and her friend was too stubborn to make a doctor's appointment. Well, there were other ways to deal with this situation.