“Max?” It must be him; that was his car she’d driven by on the way here. He tended to park a block or two away, and in a slightly different place every time so no one would notice his car in front of her house.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Was he … cooking? Max had many strengths, but she’d never seen him do anything in the kitchen other than move takeout from boxes to plates.

She walked down the hallway and saw him leaning over the counter, a lump of dough in front of him and a rolling pin in his hands.

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

He looked up at her and made a face.

“Well, I was trying to make you a pie. Strawberry rhubarb, your favorite. But … I’ve run into some difficulties.”

She moved closer to the counter.

“I can see that.”

He stuck out his tongue at her.

“I didn’t do a … great job of reading the recipe before I started—I thought I’d be able to surprise you with a pie when you got home, but I didn’t realize the dough had to rest in the fridge for an hour after I made it. And now I’m trying to roll it out, and it’s rock hard!” He banged the rolling pin in the middle of the dough again and tried to move it from side to side. It didn’t budge.

Olivia held in her laughter.

“Where’d you get the rolling pin?” she asked. “I don’t have one.”

He gestured to the bag on the other end of the counter.

“Yes, I realize that now. I bought it, along with a pie pan.” He smiled sheepishly at her. “Also, um. I’m sorry about the mess. I promise I’ll clean all of … that up once I’m done with this part. And I swear, I absolutely did not kill anyone in your house this afternoon!”

Olivia walked around him and saw the bowl of cut-up strawberries and rhubarb next to the sink … and the bright red spatter everywhere around it.

Now she laughed so hard tears streamed from her eyes. After a few seconds, Max joined her.

“It does indeed look like you committed a murder in this kitchen,” she said as she gasped for air.

Max smashed the dough again with the rolling pin. Olivia thought she saw tentative movement.

“I knew conceptually that strawberries had lots of red juice, but I didn’t quite understand what that meant in practice until today.” He rolled again. “Oh, look, it’s moving! Thank God.”

Olivia opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine. This felt like the kind of thing where she should stand back and watch instead of offering to help out.

Plus, no one had ever made her a pie before. She didn’t even care how it turned out; she wanted to enjoy this.