We passed a dining room table covered in mail. It was a bit like our house. Did anyone really use their dining rooms?

“One of these days, I’ll clear off that table and start having dinner like an adult. I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen is absolutely fine,” I said.

I put the cooler on the counter, where a cheese board sat with a wedge of Brie and some grapes and crackers. And I noticed that he had set the table for us. There were wineglasses and cloth napkins, which I also considered a good sign. I set the oven to 350 degrees and slid my casserole and garlic bread in, thinking it would all warm up in the oven together.

“This is going to take about twenty minutes, I’m guessing,” I said.

“That’s fine. I opened a bottle of red wine for us,” he said. “May I pour a glass for you?”

“Please. That would be lovely. Thank you,” I said. “I brought a bottle, too.”

“Great! We’ll have a reserve bottle. But it’s not good to overimbibe on a weeknight. Unless, of course, you feel compelled to overimbibe.” He said this smiling, and his eyes just twinkled. “And then, overimbibing is fine.”

“Are you nervous, Archie?”

“Um, why, no. Should I be?”

He poured a healthy measure into two wineglasses and offered one to me.

I took the glass from him and said, “Heavens, no! Thanks. Cheers! Here’s to renewing old friendships!”

“I’ll drink to that! Cheers!”

The edges of our glasses clinked, and we took a sip.

“Cheese?” he said.

“Sure!” I said. “Let me fix some for you.”

“Thanks.”

We stood there eating rock-hard cold Brie and making polite conversation for a bit until I checked on the garlic bread and decided it was ready. I took it out of the oven, put the salad in a bowl, and fixed two plates of food.

“This looks amazing,” he said. “It smells really good.”

“Darlin’, the Jensen girls know how to put the hurt on a bird.”

“They sure do!”

He refilled our glasses and we sat down to eat.

“Bon appétit!” I said.

“You are so right. Bon appétit!” he said, and our glasses touched again.

We took a bite and he said, “This is really delicious.”

To which I answered, “I know, right? Here’s a piece of unsolicited advice for you, Archie. Never fall in love with a woman who can’t cook.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“Because if they don’t cook, they can’t nurture. A nonnurturing woman ain’t got no soul.”

I realized the wine was quickly going right to my head. I decided to let him talk for a while and I’d just eat.

“Is that a fact?” he said, and he was smirking at me. “How did you and Holly learn to cook as well as you do?”