surface of the table, and a candle burned brightly in its perch atop an empty wine bottle. Soft music played in the background, and Talbot recognized Dean Martin singing something in Italian.
âI will show you to your table, Madam Judge,âAndrew said, offering her his arm in gentlemanly fashion.
âThank you, sir. Iâve heard that the pizza here is world-renowned.â It was obvious she intended to throw herself fully into her sonâs game.
Suddenly that was what Talbot wanted, as well. A night of laughter, of fun, with no thoughts of the past, no worries about the future.
He grabbed Roseâs apron from the hook next to the stove and wrapped it around him with a flourish. âAnd of course, I am the master chef of this establishment.â He flicked his fingers toward Andrew and Richard. âAnd these are my rather dull students attempting, in vain of course, to best me at my specialty.â
Richard hooted his derision and Andrew giggled. âWe will see who is the true master when the contest is over. Let the baking begin.â
Elizabeth had shopped to make the contest as even as possible. At their separate workspaces on the countertop, each had a package of pizza-crust mix, a large jar of sauce and a dozen toppings to use at his discretion. They were allowed to use any spices in the cabinet, and they each had a pizza stone to prepare their creation on.
Talbot was acutely aware of Elizabeth seated at the table, sipping a glass of red wine. Clad in a pair of rust-colored slacks and a blouse to match, she looked like a beautiful autumn leaf blown into thekitchen. He frowned, pulling his gaze from her and to the work at hand.
âHey, Andrew, did you know that a crushed, flat box can sail over tall grass as fast as a sled can slide over snow?â Richard asked.
âReally?â
Richard nodded. âWhen we lived in Twin Oaks, your uncle Talbot and his buddies used to race down a big hill on crushed boxes. Remember that, Talbot?â
Talbot grinned as he covered his ball of crust to allow it to rise for a few minutes. He turned around and smiled at his brother. âI remember. And if I recall, you insisted on trying it even though we all told you that you were too young.â
âAnd what happened?â Andrew asked.
âYour dad took off like a kite in the wind, flying down the hill. Unfortunately he forgot one little thing.â
âWhat?â Andrew asked eagerly.
âI forgot to watch where I was going,â Richard replied. âI flew right off that hill and into a pond. I sank to the bottom like my rear end was filled with stones. Your Uncle Talbot had to jump in and save me.â
âAnd then I got grounded when we got home, because Richard told Mom and Dad I tried to drown him in the pond,â Talbot added.
Richard laughed. âThatâs true. As Talbot pulledme out of the water, he called me a pain-in-the-butt twerp, and that made me so mad I got him into trouble.â
This story invoked another, and another, and as they worked, the kitchen filled with laughter and the warmth of family.
Talbot tried to keep his gaze from Elizabeth, but it was impossible. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he was drawn again and again to the laughter in her eyes, the obvious pleasure that lit her features as the stories grew wilder and crazier.
By the time the pizzas were all in the oven, the kitchen looked like a battle zone. Flour splattered every surface, and sauce speckled the top of the stove. Bits of mushrooms, shredded cheese, slices of pepperoni and onion littered the floor, transforming the plain white tile into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.
âRose is going to kill us all,â Elizabeth said, then took a sip of her second glass of wine. Talbot didnât know if it was the wine or the laughter that filled her cheeks with blossoms of color. In any case it didnât matter. All that mattered was that she looked lovelier than
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