The Marriage Recipe by Michele Dunaway Page B

grasping for something.”
    â€œHa on the pie-in-the-sky quip. But you’ve got the rest correct. I have these ambitions and I can’t deny myself trying to achieve them. You fit here. You’ll take Erin to the park this summer. Hang out at the country-club pool. That type of life would drive me insane. I don’t know how my mother and grandmother do it, tolerating people like Elmer and Harold on a daily basis. I don’t belong here.”
    â€œWithout the right man, you don’t. You’d be screaming in frustration within the first two weeks if you had to live here as a single woman. Not that I don’t think you’ll make a good mom or anything. Don’t you dare go out and tell people I said that.”
    â€œI just might,” Rachel teased. She toyed absently with her wineglass, making the wine inside form a little current. “Marco wanted at least four kids. He wanted me barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. The prospect scared the crud out of me.”
    â€œThat’s because he wasn’t right for you. When you find your match, everything clicks. You want to be with him and bear his children. It’s the most natural feeling in the world and it’s not describable. You can’t search for it. You just know when you’ve found that nirvana.”
    Heather sipped her wine and then stared at the glass. “This is really great stuff. You’re going to get me tipsy. I only stopped breast-feeding two months ago. This is a treat. I haven’t imbibed in ages.”
    â€œThanks.” Rachel didn’t tell her that she’d brought the vintage with her from New York, or that it retailed for seventy dollars a bottle. “I bought the bottle to go with this steak dish I’d planned to cook for Marco. Seemed like tonight was a good night to drink the thing without him, plus you cooked a great meal.”
    â€œHis loss,” Heather said, grabbing the bottle. “Want any more?”
    â€œI’m fine,” Rachel answered, covering the rim of the wineglass with the palm of her hand.
    â€œGood.” Heather poured the remnants into her own glass. “Beware, honey,” she called to Keith, who was entering the kitchen. “I’m getting tipsy. You know what that means.”
    â€œYep.” Keith gave Heather a secret smile as he passed by and returned to the family room.
    â€œI think you should let yourself go,” Heather told Rachel suddenly.
    â€œHuh?” Not quite following the shift in their conversation, Rachel stared at her friend. Heather was nodding as if she’d just had the best idea in years.
    â€œYeah. With Colin. Sample the man. I think that after all this time, he’d be the perfect rebound guy for you to lose yourself in for a while. Like you said, you’re going back to New York. You already have the perfect escape clause. Moving is the great way to end things.”
    Maybe every last drop of wine had traveled to Heather’s head. A bottle held a little more than four glasses and she’d easily had more than two. Keith, not into wine, had had a small portion and then switched to iced tea with dinner.
    â€œIt’s been, what—almost two weeks since you’ve seen him?” Heather asked.
    â€œYeah. He hasn’t even come into the diner to eat. It’s almost as if he’s avoiding me. His dad’s there just about every day. Not that I should have noticed. Since word got out that I’m baking for hire, I’m swamped. This is a wacky year with St. Patrick’s Day this upcoming Monday and Palm Sunday the very day before. To get ready this week I’ve been cooking something every day. Not only have I had the stuff for the diner, but I’ve had tons of cake orders, and before Saturday night I have to make six hundred shamrock cookies for the Knights of Columbus annual corned-beef-and-cabbage shindig.”
    â€œThat’s two days from now. We’ll be there,