“To optimism,” Blake countered before he drank.

“If you like,” Summer said with a shrug as she sat. She transferred one of the suprêmes from the platter to his plate. “Unfortunately the calf’s brains looked poor today, so we have to settle for chicken.”

“A pity.” The first bite was tender and perfect. “Would you like some time off to spend with your mother while she’s in town?”

“No, it’s not necessary. Mother’ll divide her time between shopping and the health spa during the day. She tells me she’s about to begin a new film.”

“Really.” It only took him a minute to put things together. “Morrison—the director?”

“You’re very quick,” Summer acknowledged, toasting him.

“Summer.” He laid a hand over hers. “Do you object?”

She opened her mouth to answer quickly, then thought it over. “No. No, object isn’t the word. Her life’s her own. I simply can’t understand how or why she continually plunges into relationships, tying herself up into marriages which on the average have lasted 5.2 years apiece. Is the word optimism, I wonder, or gullibility?”

“Monique doesn’t strike me as a gullible woman.”

“Perhaps it’s a synonym for romantic.”

“No, but romantic might be synonymous with hope. Her way isn’t yours.”

Yet we both chose lovers from the same bloodline, Summer reminded herself. Just what would Blake’s reaction be to that little gem? Keep the past in the past, Summer advised herself. And concentrate on the moment. She smiled at him. “No, it’s not. And how do you find my cooking?”

Perhaps it was best to let the subject die, for a time. He needed to ease her over that block gently. “As I find everything about you,” Blake told her. “Magnificent.”

She laughed as she began to eat again. “It wouldn’t be advisable for you to become too used to it. I rarely prepare meals for only compliments.”

“That had occured to me. So I brought what I thought was the proper token.”

Summer tasted the wine again. “Yes, the champagne is excellent.”

“But an inadequate token for a Summer Lyndon meal.”

When she shot him a puzzled look, he reached in his inside pocket and drew out a small thin box.

“Ah, presents.” Amused, she accepted the box.

“You mentioned a fondness for them.” Blake saw the amusement fade as she opened the box.

Inside were diamonds—elegant, even delicate in the form of a slender bracelet. They lay white and regal against the dark velvet of the box.

She wasn’t often overwhelmed. Now, she found herself struggling through waves of astonishment. “The meal’s too simple for a token like this,” she managed. “If I’d known, I’d’ve prepared something spectacular.”

“I wouldn’t have thought art ever simple.”

“Perhaps not, but…” She looked up, telling herself she wasn’t supposed to be moved by such things. They were only pretty stones after all. But her heart was full. “Blake, it’s lovely, exquisite. I think you’ve taken me too seriously when I talk of payments and gifts. I didn’t do this tonight for any reason more than I wanted to do it.”