CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
It was the first time she’d made pesto from scratch and Kate did not mind saying that it was damned good. She poured it from her pot into a ceramic bowl and placed it on the table by the salad. The entire house smelled of baked ziti and garlic bread. Her back door was open, the screen door allowing a breeze inside. As she stood at the table, making sure she had not missed a beat, the breeze that came through froze her for a moment.
I’m happy here, too, she thought.
She smiled and went to the wine rack in the kitchen. She plucked one bottle of white and one bottle of red from the rack. She set them down on the table just as someone knocked on her front door.
“Come in!” she called.
The door opened and Allen came walking through. He was carrying a small plastic bag and
