“Why don't you watch television, while I whip something up,” she suggested, and he stared mindlessly at the tube, thinking about the boys, while she clattered around his kitchen. He was listening to her with one ear, and then finally he realized that she was dropping everything. First she dropped the metal mixing bowls, then there was the clatter of pans, the slamming of cupboards, and he started to smile to himself. Adrian was extremely capable everywhere, except in the kitchen.

“Do you need a hand in there?” he inquired above the din, and her voice came back sounding a little distracted.

“No, I'm fine. Where do you keep the vanilla?”

“What are you making?”

“Lasagna,” she answered, dropping three more bowls and slamming the oven door again, and then he appeared, smiling broadly, in the kitchen doorway.

“I hate to tell you this, Adrian. But there's no vanilla in lasagna. Not in my recipe anyway. You must do something different.” He looked highly amused and she looked completely flustered. She had every bowl, every pot, every baking pan, and what looked like every frying pan sitting on the counter, but he refrained from making comment.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, glancing at the look on his face, and pushing the hair out of her eyes with her forearm. “I know there's no vanilla in lasagna. I'm making brownies. For dessert,” she explained. “And a Caesar salad.”

“It sounds lovely. Would you like a hand?”

“No, actually I'd like a cook.” She grinned sheepishly. “How about a sandwich?” He was laughing by then, and walked into the kitchen and put his arms around her. He had never been alone with her, not really, not since the boys had arrived and he told her he loved her. The boys had been with him for a month, and a lot had happened in the time they'd been there.

“Would you like to go out?” he asked, enjoying the smell of her shining dark hair as he held her. “We could go to Spago.” He was one of the few people who could get in almost anytime he wanted. He was one of Hollywood's elite, and most people would have killed to get into Spago. “Or I could cook for you. How about that?” He liked the idea of staying home with her, and he had been looking forward to a quiet evening. It was Saturday night, and all the restaurants in town would be too crowded.

“No,” she said stubbornly, looking at the mess she had made. “I said I was going to cook you dinner, and I'm going to.”

“How about if I help you? I'll be the souschef.”

“Okay.” She grinned mischievously at him. “Just tell me how you make lasagna.” He laughed openly at her then, and started putting things away. And together they made a salad, and he grilled some steaks, and they chatted as they worked, about the boys, and the show, and the new season. He was less affected by the seasons than the evening shows, because his show didn't go into summer reruns, and it was live all year round. But he had to make it lively, and jazz it up to keep it fresh, and he was currently working on developing new subplots, and they had spent a lot of time talking about it together. He liked her ideas and she had given him some notes she had made, and he was impressed with them. And they were discussing them again when they sat down to dinner.

“I agree with you, Adrian.” She had just made an interesting point. “But first we have to get Helen's baby born,” he explained, countering her viewpoint. “But after that, I kind of like the idea of a kidnap. The baby disappears … it turns out that it's someone who hates John, and it has nothing to do with her, or … “He squinted while he thought, penciling it all in his head, “Or …it's actually the baby's natural father who takes it …there's a tremendous chase across numerous states and through all kinds of problems …and when we find him, and the baby, of course, then we know the identity of the baby's father.” He looked pleased and she looked at him in fascination. She wondered how all these people constantly existed in his head, but she was just beginning to understand it.

“Who is the baby's father, by the way?”

“I haven't figured that out yet.”

Adrian laughed at his answer. “She's already pregnant and you don't know who the father is? That's awful!”

“What can I tell you? This is modern romance.”

“Extremely.”

“Actually, I like the direction you suggested yesterday, because if I make it someone plausible and nice, whom the audience likes, we could get a lot of mileage out of it.”

“What about Harry?” Adrian suggested.

“Harry?” Bill looked surprised, it was someone he would never have thought of. He was too obvious, and yet not obvious at all. He was the widower of Helen's best friend, but it was the perfect suggestion. With John in prison for life for two murders, it made sense to link Helen up with someone she could eventually marry. “That's a brilliant idea.” And the actor who played him would be thrilled. His part had been dwindling for months, since the demise of his partner, and he was actually a very fine actor. “Adrian, you're a genius!”

“Yes,” she smiled sweetly, “and a fabulous cook, don't you think?”

“Absolutely.” He leaned over and kissed her with a broad grin. It was so much fun being with her, and so easy, and he loved the fact that she didn't resent the show, he was even getting the impression that she loved it. “Could you ever see yourself working on a show like this?” He had been thinking about it recently, when she started making such useful suggestions.

“I've never thought of it. I'm too busy dealing with rapes and murders and natural disasters in real life. But a soap would be a lot more fun. Why, are you recruiting?”

“I might be, at some point. Would you be interested?”

“Are you serious?” She looked at him, amazed, as he nodded. “I'd love it.”

“So would I.” He loved the idea of working close to her. But they both had a lot of other things to consider first, and she, above all, knew that. She was working on the divorce with the attorney he'd hired for her, and in January she was going to have the baby. She had already decided to take a leave of absence, but she hadn't told the newsroom yet. But maybe instead of going back to work at the news, she could go to work for Bill after the baby. It was certainly an intriguing idea. And as she thought of it as she sipped the cappuccino Bill had made, she realized that she really loved it. It was also a little scary combining their careers with their relationship, but maybe it would work. It was worth thinking about anyway. “Is there anything you can't do?” she asked admiringly, as she sat on a stool and watched him, thinking now nice it would be if they worked together.

“Yes,” he said, with a gentle smile, leaning over to kiss her gently on the lips, “have babies. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?” It embarrassed her when he inquired about her health. She wasn't entirely ready to talk about the pregnancy with him, and yet he had been so sweet about it ever since he'd known it. But talking about it still seemed strange to her. It was her deepest, darkest secret.

“I'm fine,” she reassured him. It was remarkable but she had had no lasting ill effects from her traumatic adventure at Lake Tahoe. She had seen the doctor as soon as she got home, and eventually the stitches in her arm had come out, but the scratches and bruises were gone, the concussion healed, the baby secure. It was truly amazing. The doctor could hardly believe it. He had told her that she was obviously carrying an astonishingly persistent baby, and Bill had been relieved to hear it. He acted as though the baby were his, and whenever he mentioned it, it touched her.

“Does it frighten you, Adrian? Being pregnant, I mean. I've always thought that it must be a little scary. It's so strange. You make love with someone, and this tiny seed grows into a little person, as though you swallowed it or something. And it grows and grows inside you until you look like you're going to pop, and then comes the hard part. You have to get it out. And that must really be scary. Psychologically, I mean. Physically, it all works out somehow. And the thing that always impressed me is that, as a man, you think— God, if I were in her shoes, I would never do this again —and two hours later a woman who just gave birth will tell you it wasn't so bad and she'd do it again in a minute. It's really very remarkable. Don't you think?”

“I do. It all seems a little strange to me. Especially since in my case I haven't had anyone to share it with, so most of the time it was like it wasn't even there. Only now, I'm beginning to realize that I can't ignore it for much longer and I'll have to face it.” He handed her another cappuccino, and she stirred it and then sipped the froth of steamed milk, dusted with grated chocolate. He was definitely a much better chef than she was.

“Can you feel it moving yet?” She shook her head. “That's so wonderful when it happens. Life …” He sat down and looked at her lovingly. “…it's so miraculous, isn't it? I look at the boys, and I still think what a miracle they are, even as big as they are now, with shaggy hair, and ripped knees in their jeans and dirty sneakers. To me, they're gorgeous.” It was part of why she had come to love him. He was so real and so good and so kind, and so serious about the things that were really important, like friendship and love and family and truth. She loved his values and what he stood for. Unlike Steven, who had run in the face of the challenge of their baby. He didn't want to give anything to anyone, which was the antithesis of everything Bill stood for. She still couldn't believe she had been lucky enough to meet him. He was putting their cups in the sink, when he turned to her with a shy smile, and their eyes met, and she felt herself pulled toward him. There was a magnetic quality about him that always drew her to him.