All I could think of was Nicholas’s description of Scott as a potato picking Idaho farm boy, which was exactly what he looked like, except without dirt beneath his fingernails. I took his hand. “Thank you. I was glad to be invited.”

“I guarantee you won’t go away hungry,” Scott said. He turned to Nicholas. “I hate to do this today, but can I ask you something about the Avalon case? I’ve got to get back to them by seven.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Nicholas said. He turned back to me. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Just . . . mingle.”

As they slipped off to Scott’s den, I walked into the living room and kitchen area. Adjoining the living room was the dining room, with a long table that was beautifully set with a copper-colored linen tablecloth, gold-trimmed china plates on gold chargers, and crystal stemware. There was a floral centerpiece in autumn colors with two unlit red candles rising from its center.

The two boys were now lying on their stomachs, playing a video game in front of the fireplace. Across from them, on the sofa, was an elderly woman I guessed to be the grandmother. She looked like she was asleep. I drifted toward the kitchen, where Sharon was brushing butter over Parker House rolls.

“May I help?” I asked.

“I could use some help,” she said. “Would you mind opening that can of cranberry sauce and putting it on a plate? The can opener is in that drawer right there.”

I found the can opener, opened the can, and arranged the sauce.

“Your pies look divine,” Sharon said. “Nick usually just picks them up from Marie Callender’s.”

“Thank you. I like making pies. Except mincemeat. We bought the mincemeat.”

“I’m not a mincemeat fan either. It’s really just for Grandma.”

“That’s what Nicholas said.”

“He didn’t bring it one year. Grandma let him know that she wasn’t happy.” We both looked over at the old woman. “It’s a lot of work making pies. Especially the lattice tops,” Sharon remarked.

“I enjoy making them,” I said again. “And Nicholas helped.”

She looked at me with surprise. “Nicholas helped you make pies?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” she said. “You domesticated him. Things must be going well with you two.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Finally I said, “We’re having fun.”

“Fun is good. He said you met at work.”

“Sort of. We work in the same office building. I’m four floors beneath him.”

Sharon donned hot mitts, then opened the oven. “Time to bring out the bird,” she said as she pulled a large roaster out and set it on the granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen. She lifted the lid, exposing a large browned turkey.

At that moment, Nicholas walked in, trailed by Scott. “I see you put her to work,” Nicholas said to Sharon.

“I did,” Sharon said.