I tasted the omelette. “Not much risk, here.”

“It’s one of the few things I can get through without disaster. Grandma’s recipe.”

“Let’s hear it for Grandma.”

“Grandma was ornery, but she knew her way around a stove.” She talked about her family, and eventually I found myself parceling out bits of self-revelation. As the evening progressed, my shoulders loosened. Allison had relaxed, too, curling up on a couch, her feet tucked under her. Laughing a lot, blue eyes animated.

Pupils enlarged; those who study that kind of thing say it’s a good sign. But shortly before eleven, her posture stiffened and she looked at her watch, and said, “I’ve got an early patient.”

She stood and glanced at the door, and I wondered what had gone wrong.

When she walked me out, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being so abrupt.”

“Patients have their needs,” I said, sounding like a stiff.

She shrugged, as if that wasn’t it at all. But she said nothing more as she extended her hand for a shake. Her house had been warm, but her skin was cold and moist. In bare feet she was tiny and I wanted to take her in my arms.

I said, “Good to see you, again.”

“Good to see you.” I stepped out to her front porch. Her smile was painful as she began to close the door, then she came out and bussed my cheek.

I touched her hair. She turned her head and delivered another kiss, full on the lips but closed-mouthed. Hard, almost assaultive. I tried for another kiss, but she withdrew, and said, “Drive carefully,” and this time she did close the door.

She phoned me the next day, at noon. “Wouldn’t you know it, my early patient was a no-show.”

“Too bad,” I said.

“Yes… I… could we… would you like to… I’m free tonight at seven, if you’re willing.”

“Seven’s fine. Want me to cook?”