They ate a half hour later in the dining room by candlelight. The kids were asleep, and Sarah had dimmed the chandelier after lighting the candles, letting the two tapers’ flickering light fill the room.
“Delicious,” Boone said, wiping his mouth on his napkin before reaching for his wineglass. “Really good, hon.”
Sarah leaned back in her chair, sipped her wine, relaxed, happy, or as happy as she could be knowing he was leaving the day after tomorrow for ten days and that she’d had only a day and a half with him the past twenty. “Thank you, babe.”
He sighed, stretched. “I love that you cook. Lots of the younger guys say their wives don’t make dinner, or won’t, so even when they’re home, they order out every night.”
Having grown up in New Orleans’s Garden District, Boone liked atmosphere, and fine dining, and that included china and crystal and candles even at home for dinner. “It’s not necessarily their fault,” she said. “Girls now spend more time playing soccer than helping Mom in the kitchen.”
“But women need to know how to cook.”
“And so do men.”
“I just hope it’s not a lost art.”
“Just like all the men now who can’t change a tire?”
“Most guys can change a tire.”
“Okay. How many can change the oil in their car?”
“I can.”
“I know. But you’re the exception.”
He grinned. “You’re feisty tonight.”
“I just don’t think women should be expected to know how to cook when they marry. Most girls today grow up spending more time on the soccer field than helping their mothers in the kitchen”—she held up a hand—“and I’m glad. And before you say I’m wrong, think about it. Do you want Ella to grow up more concerned about how to take care of a man or confident that she can take care of herself?”
“Are they mutually exclusive?”
“No. But a girl of twenty or twenty-four doesn’t have to know how to cook. She needs to know how to make a living, support herself, and possibly her family one day.” Sarah felt some of her fire die. Because if something happened to Boone, she couldn’t support her family the way Meg could support hers. Meg had an impressive résumé and years of experience as a successful publicist. Sarah just had a college degree. Yes, she’d planned to go to law school, but she hadn’t gone. And now she was thirty-five.
“Baby, what’s going on?” Boone asked, leaving his chair and coming to tug her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms, held her. “You’re so wound up about everything.”
She relaxed against him, feeling the exhaustion hit. “I think I’m just tired.”
“Not surprised. You’ve had it rough these past few weeks.”
“Don’t want to do that again, anytime soon.”
He rubbed her back. “Let’s go to bed.”
“The dishes.”
“They’re just dishes. They can wait. Everything can wait. Need some time with you before I fly out.”
That’s right. He was leaving Tuesday morning. She swallowed her disappointment. “Let’s go to bed.” She drew back, looked up into his face. “But no molesting me. I need sleep.”
He lifted a long, silky strand of hair from her face, his thumb sweeping over her cheekbone. “But, darlin’, you like it when I molest you.” His eyes glinted with humor and something else. “Especially when I do it with my tongue.”
“Boone,” she choked, pushing against his chest, laughing, blushing.
“You do.”
She broke free, and, shaking her head, she blew out the candles then switched off the dining room lights. “All I know is that I’m tired.”
“I know how to change your mind.”
She headed for the stairs of their Mediterranean-style house. “Go for it, bud.”
He swatted her butt as he followed her up the terra-cotta tile stairs. “Challenge accepted.”
Later, nestling into his arms after some seriously satisfying lovemaking, Sarah closed her eyes. His big chest was damp against her back, but it felt good. He felt good. “Well done, Mr. Walker.”
He settled her more comfortably against him. “My pleasure, Mrs. Walker.”
She lightly raked his forearm with her nails. “Great game today.”
“It was a fun one.”
“You looked good.”
“I felt good.”
“Nothing hurts?”
“No. I feel healthy, strong.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
* * *
Sarah counted the days until Boone’s return. Every day they tried to Skype each other, or do FaceTime, so the kids could talk to their dad. But the trip wasn’t going well. The team had been on the road eight days and they’d won only two games. Boone wasn’t hitting well, but then, none of the players were. Over the weekend, the Red Sox had beaten them up pretty bad, a 12–2 loss on Friday, and a 13–5 loss on Saturday. Sunday had been another loss, too, and now Boone was about to head to the park for the fourth and final game against Boston, and he was short on the phone.