She pulled open the bedroom door, and went out to make the noodles.

At just the minute Byron walked in, she was dumping the cooked noodles out of their pot and into a colander in the sink. The steam and the noise of pouring water obscured her vision and hearing. When she turned to put the empty pot back onto the stove, he was standing there watching her. He raised his eyebrows, but made no comment, just jingled his keys in his pocket.

“Hi, Doll,” he said. “We eating?” He gestured to the kitchen table with his elbow. She usually had the table set by the time he got home.

She bit back her irritation and treated him to a smile. “Of course, Byron,” she said. “But I thought we could eat in the dining room tonight.” The stroganoff was already in a serving bowl, and she picked it up off the counter.

“Oh,” he said. “All right.” His eyes drifted to her newly enhanced chest.

She smiled sweetly, and enjoyed the swirl of her skirt as she turned to carry the stroganoff in to the candlelit table.

The evening was growing cooler, and the air that drifted in through the dining room windows was pleasant.

Byron fumbled with his fork and knife as he cut his beef. “This—uh—You look nice, Doll,” he said.

She was pleased.

“Everything,” he went on. “It’s great. The house, and dinner, and everything.”

“I thought it would be nice to make a little extra effort,” Dolly said. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“What about?”

“The war.”

He sighed. “I already told you, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t think it’s something you need to know about.”

“But you might feel better if you did talk about it. And maybe I would feel like I know you better.”

“I don’t think so, Doll. Can’t we just enjoy this nice dinner?”

She sighed. “All right, Byron,” she said, pouting. But, as the saying went, there was more than one way to skin a cat. After a moment, she reached her foot across under the table, found his ankle with her toes, and caressed it. She batted her eyes at him, and gave him an impish smile.

He smiled, too, the shadows clearing from his face.

He ate quickly. The minute he had cleaned up his plate, he stood, held out his hand, and led her toward the bedroom.

Ten minutes later, he kissed her cheek and stood up from the bed, straightening his clothes, zipping his pants. He’d been in such a hurry that he hadn’t removed any of their clothing except her stockings and panty-girdle. (She’d had to assist him with the technicalities of both.)

She lay back on the bed, her arms stretched above her head, watching him.

“Thanks, Doll,” he said, with a cute smile. “That was great. Everything.”