Berry turned on him. “It’s not the ladies who are the problem. You’re the problem. You’re ruining my plan. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want your tuna salad. I was doing just fine until you came along. For the first time in my life I knew where I was going. I had goals, direction, purpose. I had self-esteem. Now I don’t know what I have. Now I have hot flashes and uncomfortable cravings.”

Jake looked outrageously pleased at that. “Really?”

“I don’t need uncomfortable cravings. I need to study my art history. You can understand that, can’t you?” Berry pleaded.

Jake took a step toward her. “What sort of cravings?”

“None of your business.”

“Ah, but it is my business.” He stood so close Berry could feel the warmth from his body swirl around her. “I feel an obligation to take care of these uncomfortable cravings.”

He didn’t understand, Berry thought sadly. She had plenty of the type of cravings he was referring to, but they weren’t the ones that scared her. It was the pudding cravings, and the baby cravings, that turned her stomach into a churning turmoil. It was the way she felt when she did his laundry and found herself fondling his clean white sweat socks, worrying if they were soft enough, white enough.

“Right now I’m going to take care of the food craving,” Berry said, digging in to her salad.

“It’s a start,” Jake said.


Rain slashed down the plate-glass windows of the Pizza Place, casting the small shop in funereal shadow. The ovens were warm against Berry’s back, but the fluorescent lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of cold April showers.

The front door swung open and two bedraggled men entered, stomping the rain off their sneakered feet. Their first reaction was to sniff the air and smile appreciatively.

“Lady, if I were you, I’d move my bed down here. The pizza smells great.”

Berry handed them each a slice on a paper plate. “Are you done? Is my carpet all installed?”

“Yeah. Boy, I was never so glad to be done with a job in my life. Nothing personal, but your apartment really stinks.”

“There was a fire,” Berry said. “And it’s just been painted.”

“What kind of paint did you use? That place smells like old socks.”

The second man shook his head. “Worse than old socks. That place smells like dead socks.”

Berry looked at Miss Gaspich and Mrs. Fitz. “Maybe I’d better go investigate.”

She and Jake had checked on it this morning, and it had definitely had a strong paint odor. She hadn’t been able to open the windows because of the rain, but she’d assumed the fumes would have dissipated by now.

When she reached the top of the stairs her eyes began to sting. Paint, new carpet, dead socks. They were right. It smelled bad, really bad. Worse than this morning. The walls were eggshell white, and the insurance had paid for not the best but not the worst grade of beige wall-to-wall carpet. The windows were sparkling clean. There was insurance money for new curtains and a new couch but no time to shop for them.

She turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and smiled at Jake before he pulled her to him and kissed her hello. Just as he always did. As if they belonged to each other, she thought. Casual husbandly kisses. Hello, good night, good morning.

Jake wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s my apartment,” she said, moaning. “How am I going to live in this?”

“Don’t worry. It’s probably just a combination of fresh paint and new carpet. It’ll be better in a few days.”

Berry felt like screaming. In a few days she’d be a babbling, drooling idiot. She needed to get away from Jake Sawyer. She needed to get out of his bed, out of his house, away from his shower. Especially his shower. A morning shower used to be a wake-up ritual. Now it was an erotic experience that brought her to the breakfast table cracking her knuckles, wondering if Jake was really as good with soapsuds as he claimed.

Jake looked down at her. “You have a peculiar expression on your face. Sort of desperate.”

Desperate. The perfect word. She turned from him so he wouldn’t see the fib. “Not desperate. Just disappointed. I’d hoped to move in tonight.”

“Obviously that’s out of the question. Looks like you’re destined to stay with me a little longer,” he said cheerfully.

“Maybe it’ll smell better tomorrow.”

“I doubt it. Not if it keeps raining, and you can’t open the windows.”

“You seem awfully pleased about all of this.”

“I like having you in my bed… even if I’m not there with you.”

Berry was sure her heart stopped beating. It went thud and then there was nothing but singing. Julie Andrews singing that song from The Sound of Music. Plus the Hallelujah Chorus. Sometimes Jake Sawyer said things that knocked Berry off her feet. And truth was, Berry liked being in his bed, too. She liked imagining him next to her, his arm possessively curled across her chest, his lips pressed against her shoulder.

“Admit it,” Jake said. “You like being in my bed.”

“It’s very comfy.”

“And what else?”

“Nice sheets.”

“What about me? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to have me in bed next to you?”

“Never. Absolutely never. And stop grinning like that.”

“Sometimes you’re such a goose,” he said, draping his arm around her, ushering her down the stairs. “So, how are you and Mrs. Dugan doing today? Selling lots of pizzas?”

“Mrs. Dugan isn’t working today. Miss Gaspich is working today.”

He stopped and grasped her shoulders. “Are you kidding me? I asked Mrs. Dugan at the breakfast table, and she said this was her shift.”

“She decided to trade with Miss Gaspich. It had to do with irregularity, I think.”

“How could she possibly have irregularity? We’ve got stewed prunes, prune juice, dried prunes, and bran nuggets.”

“I’m afraid to ask why you’re so concerned about Mrs. Dugan’s work schedule.”

Jake removed his slicker and wrapped it around Berry’s shoulders. He opened the downstairs door and gave her a push into the rain. “Run for it.”

Miss Gaspich didn’t bother to look up when Berry and Jake burst into the store. She was instructing a burly elderly gentleman in the art of pizza making. “My goodness, you’re good at this,” she murmured to him.

“Used to be a cook in the navy. And then when my hitch was done I was a butcher. Ran my own shop for forty years, until I retired seven years ago.” He shook his head. “Should never have retired. Life is damn boring. The wife and I were going to travel, but she died before we did much of anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Miss Gaspich whispered.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s okay. We had a good life together.”

Berry glared at Jake. “You’ve done it again.”

“He was supposed to be for Mrs. Dugan.”

“You were going to fix Mrs. Dugan up with a man who has a tattoo on his arm?”

Jake grinned. “It’s an anchor.”

Miss Gaspich slid the pizza into an oven and waved to Berry. “This is William Kozinski. I was showing him how to make pizza.”

William Kozinski extended his hand. “Bill. I’m Jake’s friend.”

Berry looked at him through slitted eyes. “Of course you are.”

“Everyone wants pizza delivered tonight,” Miss Gaspich said. “No one wants to go out in the rain.”

Jake balanced the boxes in his arms. “Come on, Berry. You drive. I’ll deliver.”

Berry looked around. “Where’s Mrs. Fitz?”

“She just left.” Miss Gaspich beamed. “She had a date!”

Bill held up his large butcher’s hand. “Don’t worry about a thing. Mildred and I can handle things here. You young folks go off and do your deliveries.”

Berry turned to Jake. “I’m not leaving this geriatric Lothario alone with my cash register,” she whispered.

“He’s my sister’s father-in-law.”

“Oh.”

Berry slid behind the wheel and turned the key. Rain buffeted the car and dark clouds roiled overhead. “Where’s the first delivery?”

“Sudley Road.”

Berry faced him. “Sudley Road? That’s pretty far away. Don’t we have anything closer?”

“Nope.”

Another one of those nights, she thought, sighing. It was hard to make money when she was driving all over the county. In fact, the profit on these nighttime deliveries was marginal once she surpassed a three-mile radius. Heat from the pizzas drifted forward, warming Berry’s neck, and the cozy aroma of fresh-baked dough filled the car.

Jake relaxed in the seat next to her, content with his role of riding shotgun. Berry watched him from the corner of her eye and thought that sometimes life was very comfortable with Jake. There wasn’t the need to fill every moment with chatter. In fact, if she had to analyze her feelings for him, she would have to admit to feeling… married. It was especially disconcerting since she had been legally married to Allen for four years and never once felt this companionable affection. Life was strange, and there was no accounting for emotions. Emotions went their own way willy-nilly, without consulting The Plan.

Jake sat up straighter as they turned onto Sudley and checked the house numbers. “The white ranch on the left.” He grabbed the pizza box and splashed his way to the front door. By the time he got back he was soaked.

Berry grimaced at the sight of his ruined loafers. She should never have let him do the deliveries. He wouldn’t accept any pay. Yet every day he came directly from school and worked at the Pizza Place until closing. The fact that she was beginning to rely on his help only compounded her feelings of guilt.

After the third delivery he didn’t bother with the hood to his jacket. He couldn’t get any wetter. After the seventh pizza he took his shoes off and rolled his pants to midcalf. It was six o’clock and getting dark.