The wine was poured and her CD of the Grieg piano concerto was playing when she returned. Sam was ensconced in his favorite place on the leather couch. Joining him, she spread cheese on several crackers and handed one to him, then settled back, nestling next to him.
“Dinner’s ready any time we are but it’ll hold for a while,” she said.
“Let’s wait a few minutes. I haven’t seen you all week.” He touched his glass to hers. “I’ve missed you. Maybe we should … ”
She handed him another cracker and interrupted. “Did you see Pink Martini’s playing with the symphony in a couple weeks? I tried to get tickets but they’re sold out.”
He let the interruption go although his expression was more frustrated than usual when she changed the subject to something less intimate. “I have tickets for the Saturday night performance. I was going to ask if you’d like to go.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I bought them when I renewed my symphony season tickets.”
“Season tickets? I thought you just had those two we used a couple weeks ago.”
“Nope. Whole season — well, part of the whole season. But you don’t need to know the intricacies of the Oregon Symphony’s ticket options. All that matters is … ”
“I get to hear Pink Martini! I love you!”
“So, that’s what it takes. I wondered.”
Thanks to her outburst, the conversation was back to where she wasn’t comfortable. To top it off, she couldn’t tell how serious he was.
But he let her off the hook. “I can’t sit here any longer smelling that wonderful smell. How about I help you get dinner on the table.” Picking up their glasses and the bottle of wine, he headed for the dining room.
She’d dodged the bullet. For the moment.
When the Brie and wine, beef bourguignon, salad and chocolate mousse were finished, they stayed at the table drinking coffee, exchanging horse stories. Hers were about competing in dressage and jumping at her private high school in Ohio, his about his Appaloosa, Chief, and his rodeo experiences in Eastern Oregon when he was young. She bragged about her ribbons and medals on her horse Tiger Lil. He allowed that he’d won a belt buckle or two.
Then the conversation veered again.
“I’ve been meaning to ask — are you still getting false alarms from your security system?” he asked.
This was one of the subjects she’d tried to keep Sam away from. Even in her most paranoid moments, when she was afraid that the repeated alarms from the security sensor on her basement door meant the intruders from the year before had returned, she hadn’t given in to the temptation to tell him about it. She was not going to be one of those women who ran to a man the first time she heard a strange noise.
But she wasn’t going to lie to him either.
“I’ve had a couple more. I’m beginning to wonder if the sensor is faulty and maybe I should have it removed.”
He was quiet for a moment, seeming to think about what she was saying. “There’s nothing in your basement worth stealing, is there? If these aren’t false alarms, if someone is trying to break in, they’re trying to get in the house, aren’t they?”