The Cookbook Collector by Allegra Goodman Page A

you from Brandeis.”
    “Really? You remember me! Why didn’t you say something?”
    “I thought I’d wait,” he said.
    “How do you remember me?”
    “I remember you as … lovely,” he said.
    She slipped off the swing to face him, laughing in disbelief—not just that he’d find her lovely, but that he would use such a delicate word.
    “I asked people about you.”
    She shook her head at him and he couldn’t help smiling. She was so innocent. Delicious. “Why didn’t you ask me about me?”
    “I was shy,” he said, and that was true enough, although his shyness had been situational. He’d been unhappily involved.
    “Shy?” She remembered him as arrogant, eloquent, and also tough. She’d heard him at a press conference, denouncing violence against the logging industry. He never hesitated at the microphone.
    He couldn’t resist asking, “Did you start volunteering because you remembered me?”
    “Not only shy, but vain!”
    The swing hung between them, but he grasped the ropes above her head.
    “I was interested in halting systematic deforestation of the planet and petitioning for the ballot proposal to ban clear-cutting in Northern California,” she said, “… and I did remember you.”
    “Oh, you did.”
    “Well, vaguely.”
    “Only vaguely?”
    “Very, very vaguely. Just that you were busy, and you never even looked at me. When I got to Save the Trees you stayed true to type.”
    “Now I’m a type.”
    “Well …”
    They were standing so close their noses almost touched. She looked up at him and wondered how his eyes were so blue and his skin so dark, and how he could be shy and also confident, and most of all, what he was thinking, but she didn’t dare ask. And he saw her wondering, and he gazed at her delicate upturned face and felt a sudden tenderness for her, a little pang of responsibility. I’ll never never hurt you , he promised silently, even as he imagined taking her into the office and locking the door. He spoke with a cautious sincerity he didn’t feel. “I know you’re dating Noah and I won’t interfere with that.”
    “Dating is a relative term.”
    “Relative to what?”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Really?” His lips brushed hers.
    “I didn’t take offense that you ignored me,” she explained, “because what interests me is what you do.”
    “That’s good to know.”
    “I meant your work.” Her mouth grazed his. “I wasn’t talking about … right now.”
    At first they kissed so lightly, there was no decision. They kissed the way they might trail their fingers in the water. I’m not really standing here with him, Jess thought, and she kissed him more deeply, just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She touched the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue; she sucked his lower lip and tasted wine, and he was surprised, and also charmed, because he saw that she’d surprised herself. She was so curious. She trembled with curiosity.
    They flew apart as two wailing fire engines careened down the street. Flashing lights illuminated the yard.
    “That must have been the smoke alarm.” Leon stood for a moment, watching as the firemen approached in full regalia—boots, jackets, hats. “Wait here,” he told Jess. “Stay by the tree, and I’ll send someone to take you home.”
    “Shouldn’t I …?”
    “No, I don’t want you to come in. Stay here.”
    Already partiers were streaming out, gathering in the front yard and on the sidewalk. There were hundreds, more than Jess would have thought possible, even in that rambling house. Two police cars pulled up. The hordes spilled onto the sidewalk. Jess stayed in shadow, sheltered by the oak.
    Two officers entered and instantly a hush fell over the assembled. Jess could actually hear a pall fall over the blazing Bacchanalian house. It took her a second to realize that what she heard was the plug pulled on the sound system. The cops had stopped the music.
    One officer stood on the landing, talking