Whiskey Beach by Nora Roberts

week until we really conquer that stress. Then weekly would do, or even every other week if that doesn’t work for you.”
    “It’s hard to argue when I’m half buzzed.”
    “Good. I’ll write the appointments down on your calendar. I’ll come to you for now. We’ll see how that goes.”
    He sat, took his first sip of wine. It tasted like heaven on his tongue. “Who are you?”
    “Oh, such a long story. I’ll tell you one day, if we get to be friends.”
    “You’ve washed my underwear and had me naked on your table. That’s pretty friendly.”
    “That’s business.”
    “You keep cooking for me.” He angled his chin toward the stove. “What is that?”
    “Which?”
    “The thing, on the stove.”
    “The thing on the stove is a good hearty soup—vegetables, beans, ham. I gave it a mild kick as I wasn’t sure how spicy you can handle. And this?” She turned, opened the oven. More scent poured out and stirred that burgeoning appetite. “Is meat loaf.”
    “You made a meat loaf?”
    “With potatoes and carrots and green beans. Very manly.” She set it on the stove. “You were out over two hours. I had to do something.”
    “Two . . . two
hours
.”
    She gestured absently at the clock as she got down plates. “Are you going to ask me to dinner?”
    “Sure.” He stared at the clock, then back at Abra. “You made meat loaf.”
    “Hester gave me a list. Meat loaf was in the top three. Plus I think you could use some red meat.” She began to plate the meal. “Oh, by the way. If you ask for ketchup to put on this, I’ll hurt you.”
    “So noted, and accepted.”
    “One more stipulation.” She held the plate just out of reach.
    “If it’s legal, I can almost guarantee agreement in exchange for meat loaf.”
    “We can talk about books, movies, art, fashion, hobbies and anything in that general area. Nothing personal, not tonight.”
    “That works.”
    “Then let’s eat.”

Five
    I N THE CHURCH BASEMENT, A BRA BROUGHT HER CLASS OUT of final relaxation slowly. She’d had a class of twelve that morning, a solid number for the time of year, the time of day.
    The number kept her personal satisfaction high, and her budget steady.
    Conversation broke out as her ladies—and two men—got to their feet, began rolling up their mats, or the extras she always carted in for those who didn’t bring their own.
    “You had a really good practice today, Henry.”
    The sixty-six-year-old retired vet gave her his cocky grin. “One of these days I’m going to hold that Half Moon longer than three seconds.”
    “Just keep breathing.” Abra remembered when his wife had first dragged him—mentally kicking and screaming—to her class, Henry hadn’t been able to touch his toes.
    “Remember,” she called out, “East Meets West on Thursday.”
    Maureen walked over as Abra rolled up her own mat. “I’m going to need it, and some serious cardio. I made cupcakes for Liam’s class party today. And ate two of them.”
    “What kind of cupcakes?”
    “Double chocolate, buttercream frosting. With sprinkles and gumdrops.”
    “Where’s mine?”
    Maureen laughed, patted her stomach. “I ate it. I have to go home, grab a shower, put on Mom clothes and take the cupcakes in. Otherwise, I’d beg and bribe you to take a run with me so I could burn that double chocolate off. The kids have an after-school playdate, I’m caught up on paperwork, and filing, so I have no excuse.”
    “Try me later, after three. I’ve got to work until then.”
    “Eli?”
    “No, he’s on tomorrow’s schedule.”
    “Still going good there?”
    “It’s only been a couple weeks, but yeah, I’d say it is. He doesn’t look at me like ‘What the hell is she doing here?’ every time he sees me. It’s more like every other time now. When I’m there during the day, he’s usually closed up in his office writing—and he avoids me by slipping outside for a walk when I head up to do the upstairs. But he’s eating what I leave