Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(56)

When I arrived at Leanne's I was glad I'd gone to the trouble of buying something out of the ordinary. The aroma coming from her kitchen was delectable, and I sniffed appreciatively.

"I'm making an Italian dish," Leanne said as she led me into her apartment, "but my family background is German. My great-grandmother came through Ellis Island in the late 1890s. Apparently, she was a wonderful cook."

I was grateful for a homemade meal, especially after my excellent dinner with Winter. I'd forgotten how good it was to eat something that didn't come from the freezer or out of a can. And any meal I didn't have to fuss with was a major improvement over my own haphazard dinners.

"My grandmother used to make a pot roast every Saturday," Leanne said. "She baked it in the oven with different vegetables and then parceled out the leftovers to whoever came for the meal. That sometimes meant a dozen people."

"That many?" She smiled. "Always. Grandma never learned to cook for two. She made enough to feed a family of ten her whole life. No one complained--except Grandpa, who peeled the potatoes."

"Well, I may not be doing anything as useful as peeling potatoes, but I did bring this." I set the cold bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter.

"Thank you," Leanne said with another smile. She motioned toward the stove. "I hope you like lasagna."

"Sure do."

"I prepared it yesterday afternoon, so all I had to do was put it in the oven once I got home from work."

She moved to the cupboard and took down two wineglasses. "I apologize, but I don't have champagne flutes." "These will do just as well." I tried to sound knowledgeable, as if I often served high-quality champagne and other wines. Actually, I'd gotten quite an education that afternoon and was intrigued by the number of wines available from every corner of the world. I'd return to that store, I decided. It was time I took an interest in something other than medicine.

While Leanne washed and dried the glasses, I removed the foil and the wire casing. I turned my back, thankful for the clerk's advice on how to remove the cork, which came out with a festive pop. I figured that made me look like an expert. If I'd been with Ritchie, I would've lifted the bottle high and demanded extravagant praise. But because I was playing the role of sophisticate, I acted as though this accomplishment was par for the course.

Speaking of Ritchie... I'd made the mistake of mentioning dinner with Leanne at the gym that morning. Naturally, my brother-in-law felt obliged to give me a list of dos and don'ts. This dinner was a much bigger deal than our first date. Tonight I'd been invited to Leanne's home and she was cooking for me.

According to Ritchie--when did he become so knowledgeable about dating etiquette?--this was a significant gesture on Leanne's part. In his view, making me dinner was a clear sign that she was willing to move forward with the relationship. I wasn't sure, despite Ritchie's insistence that I take her invitation seriously.

I poured us each a glass of Drappier and we sat down in her small living room. She had appetizer plates out with olives and roasted red peppers and two kinds of cheese. I leaned forward and speared an olive.

"I suppose you're wondering why I didn't arrange this dinner for the weekend," she said, "since that's when I originally invited you."

I hadn't given it much thought; I'd surmised that she had other plans. Monday worked fine for me--regardless of Macy's assumptions. Like I said earlier, I didn't have what you'd call a busy social calendar.

"My mother-in-law phoned to tell me they were planning to visit Mark this weekend and that she'd get in touch with me while she was in town."

I didn't know if that required a response or not.

Leanne stared down at her champagne. "I...I didn't want her to call--or worse, drop by--in the middle of our dinner."

"I understand." It would've been awkward for us both. "Did she contact you?"

Leanne nodded. "She phoned me early Sunday evening."

Just about the time we would've been sitting down to eat.

"Muriel was terribly upset. Apparently, Mark's accepted a job that'll take him to Afghanistan."

"He joined the military?"

"No, this is a company the army's contracted with. Mark was rather vague on the details. All he'd tell his family is that the money will enable him to pay back what he...took and help with the fines. His sister tries to contribute, but she's having financial troubles of her own."

I could see the worry etched on her face. It was more than obvious that she still had feelings for her ex-husband.

"He didn't want his mother to tell anyone, especially his sister and me, but she refused to make that promise."

"You're very concerned, aren't you?"

She lowered her head, and I noticed the way her hand tightened around the stem of her glass. "Yes. Muriel doesn't really know what Mark will be doing there, but we both suspect it doesn't have anything to do with accounting."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, hoping I sounded sympathetic. Discussing her ex-husband was uncomfortable, but I wasn't opposed to it. If she brought up the subject of Mark, then I could introduce Hannah into the conversation, too. That degree of honesty would probably be good for both of us.