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Luke put a skillet on the stove and sprayed it with Pam. He soon had the onion, bell pepper, and celery browning, and the kitchen filled with their delicious aroma. He took a sip of his tea and watched Catherine stare out into the patio. Her tea sat untouched on the table, and he walked around the cooking island to join her.
“Catherine?”
“Hmm?” She finally recalled her tea and took a small sip.
“When I left the hall at noon, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. Obviously it was. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll feel better after supper.”
The man had buckets of charm when he wished, but she needed more than slick apologies. “You’re being excruciatingly nice. Do you really feel that guilty?”
“Give me a minute.” He got up, checked the Tuna Helper box and then had to search for a measuring cup for the water and milk. Once he had that in hand, he tossed and poured the rest of the dinner ingredients into the skillet, plunked on a lid, set the timer and started on the salad.
“All right, it’s plain you won’t wait until after dinner, so here’s my best shot.” He paused to gather his thoughts while he tore the lettuce into bite-size pieces, and the effort furrowed his brow. “I just had to get out of there. Please don’t press me for more. I’m sure there’ll be times when you’ll lose it and prefer not to leave me to pick up the pieces.”
Catherine regarded him with a suspicious stare. “That’s it, you just lost it?”
“Big time,” Luke claimed, and he sliced a tomato into chunks.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” she prodded.
Obviously reluctant to say more, Luke added avocado to the salad. “Look, I’m not proud of the way our first few conversations went, and I chose to leave rather than blow up again.”
“So whenever you disappear, I should assume you’re too furiously angry with me to stay in the same room?” It made her mad all over again.
“No. I wasn’t running from you but from myself.”
She gaped at him. “Even if you weren’t a psychologist, you ought to know you can’t escape yourself.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t try.”
Growing wary, she sat back in her chair. “Does that mean I’m merely an escape?” she asked softly.
He responded with a rueful laugh. “Hardly. Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask.”
“What sort of chance? Are you referring to time, or until we’ve had X amount of arguments?”
“I’ll be damned if I know. Will you set the table, plea
se?”
Catherine still had no real appetite but returned to the kitchen to take out plates and silverware. “Fine, we’ll eat, but as soon as you swallow the last strawberry, I want you to leave. I won’t sleep with you again until I can trust you to be there when I turn around.”
“Is that why you think I came here tonight?”
“Don’t push your luck, buddy, or I’ll boot you out now.” She placed the plates by the stove and carried the silverware to the table and took out napkins. He’d used a wooden salad bowl, and she found the matching wooden serving forks.
“While I think of it, you put me in charge of the mural project, which you didn’t explain to the kids. So if I want to stand on Dave’s shoulders half the day while I direct the work, why should you care?”
“Because I do!”
She responded with a wicked grin. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Are you jealous of Dave? He’s cute, but I’ve always preferred you.”
“I didn’t say it was a rational response.” He stirred the tuna mixture another time and adjusted the heat on the burner. “Now will you just let it drop? If I have to leave the room, just let me go.”
“If you can’t be charming, then you’ll hide?”
“I prefer to regard it as a strategic retreat.”
She leaned against the cooking island. “Do you actually expect me to accept temper tantrums as normal behavior?”
