So much of what she’d done in the past few days had been difficult or strange. It was a relief to make a decision no more vital than the proper way to slice her fruits and vegetables. In the end, she fussed with the arrangement a bit more, pleased with the contrasting colors of greens and oranges and cherry tomatoes. It was, she recalled, the only salad she could get Faith to eat because it was the only one Faith considered pretty enough. Liz didn’t realize she was smiling as she began to sauté onions and peppers. She added a healthy dose of garlic and let it all simmer.

“It already smells good,” Jonas commented as he strode through the doorway.

She only glanced over her shoulder. “You’re supposed to stay out of my way.”

“You cook, I take care of the table.”

Liz only shrugged and turned back to the stove. She measured, stirred and spiced until the kitchen was filled with a riot of scent. The sauce, chunky with meat and vegetables, simmered and thickened on low heat. Pleased with herself, she wiped her hands on a cloth and turned around. Jonas was sitting comfortably at the table watching her.

“You look good,” he told her. “Very good.”

It seemed so natural, their being together in the kitchen with a pot simmering and a breeze easing its way through the screen. It made her remember how hard it was not to want such simple things in your life. Liz set the cloth down and found she didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Some men think a woman looks best in front of a stove.”

“I don’t know. It’s a toss-up with the way you looked at the wheel of a boat. How long does that have to cook?”

“About a half hour.”

“Good.” He rose and went to the counter where he’d left two bottles. “We have time for some wine.”

A little warning signal jangled in her brain. Liz decided she needed a lid for the chili. “I don’t have the right glasses.”

“I already thought of that.” From a bag beside the bottle, he pulled out two thin-stemmed wineglasses.

“You’ve been busy,” she murmured.

“You didn’t like me hovering over you in the market. I had to do something.” He drew out the cork, then let the wine breathe.

“These candles aren’t mine.”

He turned to see Liz fiddling with the fringe of one of the woven mats he’d set on the table. In the center were two deep blue tapers that picked up the color in the border of her dishes.

“They’re ours,” Jonas told her.