Just Beginning by Theresa Rizzo Page B

and thought I’d stop by for a visit.”
    She watched him, a tad wary. “Gabe’s not here.”
    “That’s okay. I wanted to speak to you.”
    She stood. “Can I get you something to drink? A pop or something?”
    “Coke would be fine.” He followed her onto the new glass enclosed porch. The gas fireplace and the windows still had stickers on them, but the tile floor and drywall looked finished. A small refrigerator with plastic cups, cookies, and a fruit bowl atop it was tucked into a corner.
    “The house is coming along.”
    “It’s a mess right now, but it’ll be great when we’re done.” She raised her voice to be heard over the pounding, and grabbed a Ziploc bag of cookies. “Let’s go outside and talk. It’s a little quieter—at least while the landscapers are at lunch.”
    He followed her back to the patio, and she pushed her computer aside. “I was just getting a little work done.” She opened the bag and held it out to him. “Cookie?”
    “Thanks. What’re you working on?” he asked, trying to sound interested to put her at ease. He bit into the cookie, savoring the rich chocolate filling his mouth. Chocolate chip, his favorite. Was that pecans, too? He loved nuts. “This is great. You make them?”
    She nodded. “I was finishing an article covering the Literacy Run next month.” She paused, watched him polish off the cookie, and then put her drink down. “But you didn’t stop by to ask me about work. What can I do for you?”
    He eyed the bag of cookies. “May I?”
    She tilted the open bag toward him, and then sat back, waiting.
    He took a big bite of cookie and chewed it slowly. “Mmmm, you’re a great cook. My wife was a great cook,” he mused. “Gabe’s a lucky man.”
    She didn’t answer, just sat patiently watching him, making him feel like a blabbering old fool. “Anyhow, I wanted to talk with you about your marriage.” He looked sideways at her. “You know why athletes and actors have agents?”
    “To guide their careers.”
    “Right.” He smiled. “And to take care of the money stuff. The talent like to concentrate on the job at hand and not be distracted by finances.”
    Jenny sat silent, waiting. Her expression, polite.
    “Well, Gabe needs an agent. He’s so busy with you and the house, and that new clinic job, he doesn’t have time to look out for the little stuff.”
    She raised an eyebrow.
    “So I’m doing it for him.”
    “Doing what for him?”
    “Talking with you about a prenuptial agreement.” He raised a hand. “Now don’t panic, just hear me out. A prenup is practically standard these days. With the divorce rate still at fifty percent, it’s only smart to play it safe. I mean, nobody gets married thinkin’ they’ll get divorced, right?”
    Her blank look gave nothing away. She wasn’t nodding in agreement, and she hadn’t told him to go to hell—yet, so he pressed on.
    “Grosse Pointe’s a small community. And...well, to be honest, people are talking about you and Gabe. Family, friends, colleagues—everybody. And frankly, honey,” he paused, tilting his head, trying to look honest and sympathetic, “what they’re saying isn’t kind. Because of the age difference.” He gave her a pained look. “They’re saying you’re marrying him for his money.” He paused for dramatic effect, feeling elated when her eyes widened in surprise. This might be easier than he’d thought.
    “A prenuptial agreement would protect both of you. It makes sure that whatever you have before you marry, remains yours. It proves you’re not marrying Gabe for his money and shuts up those gossips.” George pushed a copy toward her. “Here. Take a look. This is only a sample, but I have a friend who could draw one up for you, if you want.”
    She studied him with those spooky pale eyes, then reached out and took the documents. She held them, not looking at them, staring at him.
    “What do you think, George?” she asked, sounding more curious than baiting.