Scott put his arm around Betty and tenderly patted her frail shoulder. He could almost feel her swoon, hoping she got a whiff of his expensive cologne. “I’m so lucky,” he said, willing his voice to crack. “I’m more than lucky, I’m blessed. Jillian means the world to me. I can only pray we have as long and happy a marriage as you and your husband.”

“You will,” Betty said, clutching Scott’s elegant suit jacket. “I know you will. Come, please.” She took his hand.

Scott followed Betty down the hallway into the tastefully furnished, spotless living room. Nothing was out of place. A small, walled-off backyard, resplendent with colorful flowers and plants, was visible through sliding glass doors. Bright patio furniture and a state-of-the-art grill set the scene for summer entertaining. This is all bad for me, Scott thought. Their lives are too orderly.

White-haired Ed Binder emerged from a hallway, moving slowly. He was wearing khaki pants, a red short-sleeved shirt, and like his wife, a pair of white sneakers.

“Hello.” His gravelly voice greeted Scott.

“Hello there, Mr. Binder,” Scott replied, extending his hand. “I was just saying to Mrs. Binder that I hope Jillian and I have as many wonderful years together as—”

“Scott, I told you last night,” Betty interrupted with mock exasperation. “Call us Betty and Ed.”

Scott laughed. “Okay. I will.” He shook Ed’s hand, then turned. His gaze fell onto a framed black-and-white wedding photo obviously taken many moons ago. “Is this …? “he asked, raising an eyebrow and walking toward a table full of pictures.

Betty beamed. “Yes, it’s us. Sixty-seven years ago. What a day. It was so rainy.”

“You looked beautiful,” Scott said.

“She still looks beautiful,” Ed muttered.

“She certainly does.”

“Enough, you two,” Betty joked, her face glowing. “Let’s sit. Scott, I fixed a special lunch. I hope you’ll break bread with us after we talk business.”

“I don’t want you to go to any trouble …”

“No trouble at all.”

“Thank you. That would be an honor.” Scott’s eyes quickly scanned the photos on the table. There was one other wedding shot. “I have to ask,” he said, “who’s the lovely bride here?”

“Our daughter. Diane is our only child.”

“She’s beautiful, too.”

“Thank you. Diane was married thirty years ago. She and her husband, Brad, moved into a tiny studio apartment in New York City. Now they’re so rich you can’t believe it!”

Scott laughed. “Really?”