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outside?” she asked Sam.
    Christine’s parents, former Georgia governor and congressman Hiram Fletcher and his wife Nola, had two spoiled shih tzus that Christine adored. Sam was astute enough to recognize the difference.
    “I’ll be back.” He whistled for the dogs, who, having ascertained that Christine did not have food or affection to offer, covered the distance to the kitchen in great leaping strides. Or rather, Shad and Shack did. Bed, who weighed all of thirteen pounds, followed as fast as she could.
    He returned a few minutes later to the sound of forlorn howls from the dog pen. The dogs were too well-behaved to continue for long.
    Christine had made herself at home in his kitchen, and she flipped on his coffeemaker as he entered. He began to open all the windows. “Have you had lunch?” she asked.
    “I’m not even sure I had breakfast.”
    “I’m starved. I had to be at the airport at dawn. I’ve been up forever.” She opened the refrigerator. “Want an omelet?”
    “That’s a lot of trouble. I have some leftovers. I did a stir-fry last night.”
    She peeked over the top of the door. “You made it?”
    He tried not to smile. “Uh-huh.”
    Her eyes widened. “I’ll do omelets.”
    He was perfectly satisfied with his own cooking and never understood why others weren’t. There had been a time in his life when the meals he now prepared for himself would have tasted like five-star cuisine.
    “I’ll do toast,” he said.
    She considered a moment. He could read her indecision. “Christine, I can toast bread, I promise.”
    She shrugged and dove back into the contents of his fridge. Sam hoped she wouldn’t remove everything inside. From experience, he knew he would have to replace anything she took out, as well as wash and dry every plate, cup and frying pan. Christine liked to cook, but she did not clean up after herself. She had never needed to and couldn’t see why she should start now.
    He thought of Elisa, who cleaned up after anybody who would let her.
    Christine closed the refrigerator door, eggs, milk and cheese cradled in her arms. “I checked in before I came looking for you. I like the inn. Quaint and tasteful. I suppose it will keep people from talking.”
    Mostly, as they both knew, Christine sleeping somewhere else would keep Sam from succumbing to his fiancée’s considerable charms.
    “I’m glad you decided to come.” He took a loaf of bread from the cupboard, a knife from a drawer and a butter dish from the counter. Then he made himself comfortable at the small kitchen table and started spreading butter from one crust to the other.
    “I didn’t want to.” Christine began breaking eggs into a bowl. “But I missed you. I don’t see why you haven’t been able to get away and come home.”
    He didn’t remind her that Atlanta was not his home and probably never would be again. He didn’t remind her that he had a job that required his presence on weekends. She knew both and chose to forget them whenever the facts got in the way.
    “I’m coming to see you next month,” he reminded her. “For Torey’s wedding.” Against his better instincts, he had agreed to help preside at a ceremony in his former church for one of their friends.
    “Well, I’m here now. But the whole time I was packing, I thought about that fund-raiser Savior’s Church did in the last year of your ministry there. Do you remember?”
    He remembered all too clearly. At the time he had been the assistant minister of The Savior’s Church, one of Atlanta’s oldest and most influential congregations. He had given an invocation that had prompted the wealthiest members to fund a fledgling television ministry. Just two months later, they had begun televising their early-morning service, at which he almost always presided. The church’s membership had increased substantially because of it.
    In case he didn’t remember everything, Christine hit the high points. “City Grill catered the dinner. We had Kobe