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a family. We’re hoping to have kids soon.”
    “Are you talking about me?” Stephanie emerged from the kitchen. Andre came up behind her. His shirt was smooth, his expression bland. They had only been gone a few minutes. Maybe I was making something out of nothing.
    I looked at Glenn closely. He seemed so innocent. He must be one of those “numbers” guys who was a fox with figures but a lamb in the real world.
    “You’re lucky, Amanda.” Stephanie refilled Andre’s champagne glass. “I want babies so badly.” Her face crinkled into a sexy pout. “But it hasn’t happened yet.”
    “We’ve only been trying for three months,” Glenn reminded her.
    “I guess we’ll have to try harder,” Stephanie said. She seemed to be talking directly to Andre.
    Before I could get up and strangle her, the doorbell rang. Stephanie dashed to answer the door.
    I looked at Andre leaning against the bar. He wore navy wool pants and leather loafers. It was time I stopped being a jealous wife and became Andre’s supportive partner. As much as I abhorred Stephanie, I trusted Andre. Stephanie and Glenn could obviously afford to invest in a restaurant, and we had no other prospects. I put down my champagne glass, rubbed my stomach, and went and slipped my hand in Andre’s.
    Andre turned and gave me his radiant smile. I squeezed his hand tighter. When Stephanie returned with two other couples, Andre and I stood side by side, shoulders touching.
    *   *   *
    Stephanie seated Andre on her right at the long cherry dining room table. Glenn was on my left, and a man in his mid-forties named Harvey was on my right. Harvey’s wife, Jane, sat across from me. Harvey and Jane oohed and aahed over each course Stephanie served. It was as if she invited them to be her own personal cheering section, just in case Andre didn’t notice how wonderful she was.
    “This bread is too good to be store bought. Did you make it yourself?” Jane dipped a chunk of bread in her soup and made appreciative smacking noises.
    “Stephanie has been taking some Cordon Bleu courses,” Glenn said proudly.
    The other couple were named Tom and Dell. Tom had a face full of acne that made him look like a teenager. Dell had small brown eyes framed by brown hair. Stephanie was like a movie star at her own premiere. She flitted around the table flashing her breasts every time she bent down to serve a dish.
    “Stephanie told me Andre has a restaurant called Crepe Suzette on Sacramento Street,” Glenn said, sipping his expensive French wine.
    “Had a restaurant, unfortunately,” Andre replied. “My partner wanted to serve peanut butter crepes. I could not bastardize my beloved French cuisine, so I resigned.” He bowed his head as if he should be awarded the Medal of Honor for his sacrifice for France.
    “That’s terrible.” Stephanie’s mouth formed its sexy pout. “How could he suggest peanut butter crepes?”
    “I don’t know.” Andre let out a long sigh.
    “Andre wants to open a new restaurant,” I said.
    “I’m sure you’ll do well,” Glenn said. I glanced at Andre. That wasn’t the response we were hoping for.
    “I thought of opening my own catering company,” Stephanie said, licking her soup spoon. “I’d cater dinner parties in town. Just to keep busy, till we have babies.”
    “You don’t want to cook in other people’s houses,” Andre said and shook his head. “But if you had your own restaurant people would come to you.”
    “My own restaurant,” Stephanie mused.
    “I don’t think you have time to run a restaurant, darling,” Glenn said nervously.
    “Andre could be my partner. We could have a French restaurant right here in Ross. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before!” she exclaimed.
    Probably because there wasn’t a hot French chef sitting at her table before, I thought miserably.
    “Stephanie, you would make a wonderful maître d’.” Andre gave her a movie star–caliber smile.
    “There’s a space on