The little spinach pies were delicious, and so were the cheese and olive swirls and the bruschetta and the crab and artichoke dip. Lucy was feeling full, and a little bit woozy from the second apple martini, which went down a lot quicker than the first, when Sue announced dinner. They all gathered around the big round table under a market umbrella that Sue had set with Provence-style linens and pottery and Sue started passing the mustard-seed crusted burgers on home-made rolls. Then came the horse-radish slaw, warm mushroom and stilton salad, pea tendrils with lemon dressing, cauliflower-leek kugel, and Southern-fried chicken. “That’s for anyone who doesn’t like fancy burgers,” said Sue, with a nod to the girls.

Lucy knew she shouldn’t, in fact, she kept saying so, but she was unable to pass on any of it, declaring she’d have “just a taste.”

“That’s what French women do,” said Sue. “That’s why they never get fat.”

“And what’s your secret?” asked Lucy, wondering how Sue could cook the way she did and still stay rail thin.

“She doesn’t eat during the week,” said Sid, earning a sharp glance from his wife.

“That’s not exactly true, I just try to balance it out. If I have a big dinner, I just have coffee for breakfast.”

So when the lemon curd mousse cake and strawberries with mint sugar and lavender syrup came, Lucy tried to pass. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” she said, rubbing her taut tummy.

“Oh, Lucy, you have to try it. I worked for hours,” coaxed Sue.

“It’s true,” said Sid. “It’s what she does now. She cooks all day long.”

“I wish Lucy would cook like this,” said Bill, diving into his cake. “Lately all she’s been cooking is dog biscuits.”

Lucy gave him a dirty look and shook her head. “No, no. None for me. Everything is delicious but I’m too stuffed.”

“Oh, just a bite…”

“Okay,” said Lucy, “a bite.”

Sue handed her a plate with an enormous slice of cake topped with heaps of glistening berries. It was too much for Lucy who could hardly bear to look at it; she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach from all the rich food.

“Well, aren’t you going to taste it?” demanded Sue.

“I really don’t think I can,” protested Lucy. “Could you wrap it up for me so I can take it home?”

“I can’t believe this, Lucy Stone,” snapped Sue, her dark eyes flashing angrily. “You know perfectly well you eat everything you’re served when you’re the guest.”

“Be reasonable, Sue. This was an awful lot of food. Absolutely delicious…”

There were nods all around.

“…but a body can only manage so much.”

“I don’t think you like my cooking. You didn’t eat my Better-Than-Sex Brownies, either.”