pte

the car. He killed the engine and got out quickly, shutting the car door and blocking out the smell. He t

n the city. Now it was just what air smelled like. He could smell the freshly cut grass of his neighbor's lawn and the flowering bushes in the yard. He smiled and his stomach

urself tonight, " a voice said

he two properties. No doubt the pot roast smell came from her place. Mrs. Callahan liked the kitchen wind

ession. Mrs. Callahan was an easy seventy-five years old and didn't care who knew it. Steve once overheard her telling the Avon lady who came

lahan was full and genuine, reaching all the way into

ked, leaning against the closed car door. M

t of his things out of the house, so he can't stay." She pursed her lips in distaste for a second and Steve recalled what a battle Jacob's divorce had been. Mrs. Calla

gencies, I'm good. Make all the noise you want, " Steve replied. A car pulled into Mrs. Cal

they raced across the yard

a smile and a wave as he pushed away fro

afternoon, " Mrs. Callahan called as she

th. Most of his co-workers shook their heads in disbelief when they heard where he lived. After all, he made quite a bit of money; he could afford something almost as

w their lives were going. It oddly made him feel more secure than a huge stretch of isolating lawn and a high-t

he older house was solid with built- in cabinetry, wooden floors and actual plaster walls instead of drywall. He dropped his keys into

he furniture, while attractive, was designed more for comfort than appearance. To Steve, home was a retreat. All

rug. No decorator had set foot in his home, a fact Steve was more and more proud of every time he attended a f

n dominated here. Above his low bed was an abstract painting done in green

g them in the hamper. His work clothes followed and he was soon dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans and a soft gray t-shirt that had been washed so many times that wh

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that all he had given it today was coffee. Steve pulled a package of g

owsill. He placed it beside the cheese and retrieved a small glass baking dish, spoon and jar

He said to himself as he worked. He placed t

ulled down a bag containing a round loaf of kalamata olive bread. Th

oaf of bread was more than half depleted. As he unwrapped it, the sharp

ople who hired chefs to cook all of their meals at home for them. Sure, having a professionally cooked

and put them in his toaster. Since the artisan bread he favored never fit properly in a normal toaster he had picked up a special one that you dropped the bread into the top and each individual slice could be accommodated without crimping, coming out p

t, sniffing appreciatively at the scent. He then covered the cheese with three slices of the prosciutto, added a layer of figs, drizzled a little honey over the top

Vineyards a few months prior. The wine he brought back with him had become a staple in his kitchen, its spice and fruit flavors mixing well with most of the fo

herbs and vegetables so that one could not be easily distinguished from the other. Trees ringed the perim

he rack and slid it into the player. He turned the volume up loud enough to be heard on the back porch but not loud enough to disturb his neighbors. He picked up the bottle of wine

the song crooned. Steve smiled

ew girlfriends. "Too much rushing around for Sundays anymore." He

ant to be prepared by professionals. You were meant to be seen eating it, not actually appreciating it.

ed the earthy wine just as well as the sandwich did. Steve poured himself a second glass