“No way. We made a deal. This kid doesn’t get to spit beans on anybody but me… or you. Here.” She handed the gook to Pat. “You get to feed him dessert. Rice pudding.”

“Looks pretty good. Do we have an extra jar? I didn’t have time for lunch.”

“Sorry. We have junior beef stew and smashed beets.” She looked in her freezer. “Turkey dinner, ham and sweet potato, veal parmigiana.”

“Veal parmigiana. You weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t cook? Do you always eat frozen dinners?”

“No. Mostly I eat peanut – butter – and – jelly sandwiches. Why is this kid eating his food for you? Why isn’t he decorating your face with it?”

“Would you spit out dessert?”

Pat certainly had chosen the right profession, Megan thought as she sat down across from him. He was great with babies.

“Are you a pediatrician because you know a lot about kids? Or do you know a lot about kids because you’re a pediatrician?”

“A little bit of both. I have an older brother and three younger sisters. I guess I did my share of baby – sitting.”

“Do they live around here?”

“My parents live in San Diego. My brother and his wife and kids live in Connecticut. My oldest sister is a graduate student at Berkeley. My two younger sisters go to UCLA.” He grimaced. “Everyone’s coming here for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, boy.”

“It seemed like a good idea two weeks ago. A real, old – fashioned Thanksgiving in Williamsburg.” He thunked the spoon into the empty pudding jar and stared at the steaming frozen dinner she slid in front of him. “You sure you don’t know how to cook?”