most that should be asked of anyone, Leslie.”
Now, looking at April’s drooping mouth and pugnacious chin, Leslie thought a weekend might be more than should be asked. She also thought April deserved an answer.
“You’re visiting me again because I’ve always enjoyed kids, and our family thought we’d have a good time together.”
“Well, I’m not.” Leslie took that to mean April wasn’t having a good time, though April might have been declaring she wasn’t a kid, or perhaps that she wasn’t a member of the family. “And if you enjoy kids so much why don’t you have some of your own to drag around to all these stupid places instead of picking on me?”
From long practice, Leslie stifled a wince, grateful when the downstairs buzzer gave her time to regain her equilibrium. After buzzing in the pizza delivery man, she opened her eyes wide at her cousin’s daughter and said, with her most exaggerated drawl, “Why, darling, April, it’s exactly because I don’t have any of my own that I turn to you. Because I do so looooove torturing young girls.”
April’s mouth twitched, and Leslie hoped a smile might follow. But April, after all, was a Craig.
“Very funny.” She snarled, and her face slipped into accustomed unhappy lines as she again faced the TV.
The doorbell cut short Leslie’s mental debate whether to push April toward a real conversation. She dipped into her purse for her wallet to pay for the pizza and opened the door.
* * * *
It should be arriving just about now.
Grady grinned to himself.
The roses had been standard, as classic as a Tracy-Hepburn movie. And he’d send more next week—he wondered if he could have garden roses delivered like the ones they’d seen at the Smithsonian. But some situations, some women, called for something different, and this had never failed.
The only question had been timing. He didn’t want to be too obvious, but he also wanted Leslie to feel his presence this weekend. Friday would have been overanxious; Sunday might have been too late. Yeah, this would work.
He might need lessons in housewarming gifts, but nobody could question Grady Roberts’s success in wooing women.
* * * *
Leslie stared at the man outside her apartment door.
Instead of the familiar red, white and blue shirt of the pizza delivery, there stood a man in a neat tan uniform, a man who looked closer to retirement than puberty. Instead of a flat box showing grease spots and oozing tempting smells, he held a large wicker basket with its contents hidden by tinted cellophane and its handle decorated with a silken yellow bow.
“Leslie Craig?”
“Yes.”
“Delivery from Not Just Another Gourmet.”
She gawked at him. She’d shopped there, but the prices were so high she saved it for special occasions. And delivery? With what they charged? Never. “For me?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll sign here.”
Dully, she followed his order, fished out a tip and took the basket.
“That’s not pizza,” April accused when Leslie sat beside her with the basket on her lap.
“No.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I’m not sure.”
April shot her a disgusted look and started peeling back the cellophane. “Well, look.”
The retreating cellophane first revealed the long thin neck of a bottle of wine—a very good bottle of wine. Then an assortment of foreign cheeses, two tins of pate, four kinds of crackers, a minibowl of strawberries and another of raspberries.
April had the flap of a small envelope opened before Leslie took it away.
“Yech.” April vibrated disapproval as she rooted through the basket’s contents. Leslie wished she could have appreciated that April was more interested than she’d been all of her visit. “Who’d send junk like this? What’s the card say?”
Leslie had a suspicion, a fear, really. She drew the card from the envelope and read: You wouldn’t come to dinner with me, so I’ve sent an appetizer to you. Enjoy. Grady .
“Well?” April
Now, looking at April’s drooping mouth and pugnacious chin, Leslie thought a weekend might be more than should be asked. She also thought April deserved an answer.
“You’re visiting me again because I’ve always enjoyed kids, and our family thought we’d have a good time together.”
“Well, I’m not.” Leslie took that to mean April wasn’t having a good time, though April might have been declaring she wasn’t a kid, or perhaps that she wasn’t a member of the family. “And if you enjoy kids so much why don’t you have some of your own to drag around to all these stupid places instead of picking on me?”
From long practice, Leslie stifled a wince, grateful when the downstairs buzzer gave her time to regain her equilibrium. After buzzing in the pizza delivery man, she opened her eyes wide at her cousin’s daughter and said, with her most exaggerated drawl, “Why, darling, April, it’s exactly because I don’t have any of my own that I turn to you. Because I do so looooove torturing young girls.”
April’s mouth twitched, and Leslie hoped a smile might follow. But April, after all, was a Craig.
“Very funny.” She snarled, and her face slipped into accustomed unhappy lines as she again faced the TV.
The doorbell cut short Leslie’s mental debate whether to push April toward a real conversation. She dipped into her purse for her wallet to pay for the pizza and opened the door.
* * * *
It should be arriving just about now.
Grady grinned to himself.
The roses had been standard, as classic as a Tracy-Hepburn movie. And he’d send more next week—he wondered if he could have garden roses delivered like the ones they’d seen at the Smithsonian. But some situations, some women, called for something different, and this had never failed.
The only question had been timing. He didn’t want to be too obvious, but he also wanted Leslie to feel his presence this weekend. Friday would have been overanxious; Sunday might have been too late. Yeah, this would work.
He might need lessons in housewarming gifts, but nobody could question Grady Roberts’s success in wooing women.
* * * *
Leslie stared at the man outside her apartment door.
Instead of the familiar red, white and blue shirt of the pizza delivery, there stood a man in a neat tan uniform, a man who looked closer to retirement than puberty. Instead of a flat box showing grease spots and oozing tempting smells, he held a large wicker basket with its contents hidden by tinted cellophane and its handle decorated with a silken yellow bow.
“Leslie Craig?”
“Yes.”
“Delivery from Not Just Another Gourmet.”
She gawked at him. She’d shopped there, but the prices were so high she saved it for special occasions. And delivery? With what they charged? Never. “For me?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll sign here.”
Dully, she followed his order, fished out a tip and took the basket.
“That’s not pizza,” April accused when Leslie sat beside her with the basket on her lap.
“No.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I’m not sure.”
April shot her a disgusted look and started peeling back the cellophane. “Well, look.”
The retreating cellophane first revealed the long thin neck of a bottle of wine—a very good bottle of wine. Then an assortment of foreign cheeses, two tins of pate, four kinds of crackers, a minibowl of strawberries and another of raspberries.
April had the flap of a small envelope opened before Leslie took it away.
“Yech.” April vibrated disapproval as she rooted through the basket’s contents. Leslie wished she could have appreciated that April was more interested than she’d been all of her visit. “Who’d send junk like this? What’s the card say?”
Leslie had a suspicion, a fear, really. She drew the card from the envelope and read: You wouldn’t come to dinner with me, so I’ve sent an appetizer to you. Enjoy. Grady .
“Well?” April
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