The Secret's in the Sauce Read Online Free PDF Page B

have an idea, want to hear it?”
    “You know I do.”
    “It’s a bank function, right?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I kept talking as I turned onto the street where Jack and I live. “Why not have a ‘money tree’ for the kids. We can get some silk ficus trees with the little white lights—”
    “I’m liking where this is going.”
    “White lights everywhere.”
    “An entire theme of white and green.”
    I pulled into our driveway and shut off the car’s engine. “People can bring money cards that can be clipped to the leaves.”
    “Elegant dinner wear.”
    “Oh, absolutely. Not to sound materialistic, but you said it right when you said ‘posh.’”
    “I didn’t say ‘posh,’” Lisa Leann said with another giggle. “But I should have.”
    “Let’s ask if they’d like to make it a couples event. The women may be throwing it, but I’m thinking black tie.”
    “We’re on the same page, my friend. I’ll let you know more as soon as I know more.”
    I pulled myself out of the car. “Have you talked to Lizzie yet?”
    “Her line was busy. I hear you getting out of the car. Enjoy your evening.”
    I felt my shoulders droop of their own accord. “I’m so tired. I’m going to beg Jack to go to Higher Grounds and pick us up something while I soak in a tub of hot water.”
    “Now that’s the way to train a man. I’m thinking I’ll have Henry do the same thing. Ciao for now, baby.”
    I closed my cell phone with a smile, then trudged up the walkway to the front door, keeping my eyes on my feet. It wasn’t until I’d reached the bottom step of the front porch that I saw the large wicker basket lined in white linen and graced with a simple pink bow along the side of the handle. I stopped for a brief moment, then carefully approached and squatted down. I felt my light overcoat pool around my feet as I fingered the contents of the basket.
    Lavender-scented bath salts, complementary body lotion and spray, a thirsty lavender-colored towel, a terry cloth sponge, and half a dozen lavender-scented floating candles. Tucked between the towel and the sponge was a CD of American standards sung by none other than . . .
    “Frank Sinatra,” I whispered.
    It was then that the front door opened. I looked up to see my husband standing there, looking fairly fine in a pair of dark khaki chinos and a navy blue V-neck sweater over a plaid oxford shirt. There was a time when I rarely saw him out of sweats, but since our reunion he seemed to take special care of his appearance when we were together. “There’s a tub of hot water and a new terry robe with matching slippers waiting for you in the bathroom.”
    I grew uncomfortably nervous; an old voice whispered to my still-fragile heart. Is Jack having another affair? In the past, the end of an affair meant some eye-boggling piece of jewelry for me. This wasn’t jewelry, but . . .
    Jack must have read my thoughts. He frowned at me and said, “Can’t a man buy a gift for his wife without having . . .” He looked away for a moment. “Goldie, I love you. I’m trying to get it right this time.”
    I pursed my lips to keep from laughing (or perhaps crying) at the whole thing. Relief does strange things to a woman’s emotions, especially a woman married to Jack Dippel. Even in his early fifties he managed to look so handsome. His face bore hardly a wrinkle, his gray hair only making him look all the more striking. He kept a year-round tan, and his glasses only served to give him a studious appearance.
    I stood, bringing the basket up with me. “What made you think to do this?” I asked, calling something akin to a truce with my words.
    “Hard day, right?”
    “Very.” I took a step toward him, and he met me, the basket keeping us physically separated. But I managed to nuzzle his neck. “I’m sorry for the slight lack of trust.”
    “It’s going to take time, I know.” Then to change the subject: “I’ve got dinner warm in the oven, straight from