Ten minutes later, her suit was hanging neatly in the closet, her shoes were on the shoe tree, and she was dressed in a pair of sweats and sneakers. She rummaged for combs in the vanity, piling the shimmering silver hair on top of her head. Her two cell phones went into her pockets. As soon as she got dinner under way, she would call Cosmo, and they would talk until her guests arrived. She brightened immediately at the thought of talking to her new husband.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Lizzie hummed to herself as she banged pots and pans, opened jars, and got out her cutting board.

Lizzie was the first to admit that she was no great shakes as a cook, but she did watch the Food Network from time to time. She especially liked the program where the host and cook prepared what she called semihomemade dinners. She’d paid attention, and now was able to prepare spaghetti that tasted like she’d slaved for hours. Thank goodness, for that was precisely what she was going to prepare for her guests.

Lizzie dumped a huge jar of store-bought spaghetti sauce into a pot, squeezed some tomato paste right from the tube into the mix, and stirred. A can of fire-roasted tomatoes went in next. She chopped garlic and onions and sautéed them in a small frying pan, and the moment the onions were translucent, she spooned them into the sauce. In the blink of an eye she chopped basil and parsley and scooped it into the pot. She frowned as she remembered who her guests were. Maggie Spritzer could eat the whole pot of sauce on her own, so she added two more jars of the bottled sauce, squeezed in some more tomato paste, then chopped and sautéed more garlic and onions. Cosmo said his favorite scent in the whole world was the smell of frying onions and garlic. She had to admit she loved the aroma herself.

Continuing with the semihomemade theme, Lizzie preheated the oven, took a berry pie out of her freezer, and waited ten minutes before crimping the edges and making fork marks all around. What’s-her-name on the semihomemade show said guests always looked at the edges to see if they were cookie-cutter or homemade. Fork marks made it look homemade. Then Lizzie brushed an egg white over the top, covered the crimped edges with tinfoil, slid the pie into the oven, and set the timer.

The kitchen clock told her she had ninety minutes before her guests arrived. Time enough to set the dining room table, cook the pasta, and get a salad ready. Five minutes later she had a bag of four kinds of lettuce washed, drained, and in a wooden bowl. She added some cherry tomatoes, sliced a cucumber and a purple onion, tossed the whole thing lightly with her fancy-dancy salad fork, and the salad was ready. The dressing was a combination of three store-bought bottled dressings that she poured into a gravy boat. Semihomemade was a lifesaver.