An Appetite for Passion by Cynthia MacGregor Page B

TONIGHT. He wrote in decorative letters with fancy flourishes, and when he’d finished, he put the napkin on the table in front of Kari.
    “I’ve never been known to turn down an apple pie,” she said.
    “I passed a supermarket two blocks from here,” Jeff said, standing up. “I assume you have flour?” Kari nodded. “Salt?” And he continued reciting the list of ingredients, making note of what he’d need.
    Kari had been bummed out over Lylah’s cancelling their get-together...again. But Jeff was as much fun as Lylah, and he liked to cook and bake. She had laughed her way through dinner with him, nearly choking on the Mushrooms Florentine at one point when he made an irresistibly funny joke just as she was swallowing.
    He was back from the supermarket in no time, and as he prepared the dough and filling, rolled out the dough, and got the pie in the oven, he kept up a running commentary that had Kari doubled over with laughter.
    They settled into two chairs in the living room while the pie scented the house with apple and cinnamon. Kari was drooling long before the pie came out of the oven. Jeff talked about politics, about the forthcoming election, about why Larrimore really was preferable to Badley, about the other races in the election, about previous political campaigns, and about the need to get more people involved.
    When the pie was ready, Kari was surprised to see it was 10:00 already. “Do you take your pie with cheese or ice cream?” Jeff asked. “Or should I first ask which you have in the house?”
    “Actually, the answer to your first question is ‘neither’ and the answer to your second question is ‘cheddar cheese and chocolate ice cream,’ but it’s usually American cheese or vanilla ice cream on apple pie.”
    “No problem—I take mine plain too. I’m a purist when it comes to apple pie. I don’t believe in ruining the taste with anything extraneous. If it’s a good pie, let it be, and if it’s a bad pie, don’t bother.”
    “Well, this’ll be a good pie...I can tell by the smell.”
    Kari’s nose wasn’t wrong; the pie, when it had cooled off a little, tasted as good as it smelled. Jeff had even cleaned up the kitchen when he first put the pie into the oven, a fact at which Kari had marveled.
    Jeff was very unlike most guys she had known...he seemed more like one of her woman friends. When he looked at his watch and said, “It’s about that time,” she felt regret that the evening was over...until she realized Max might be waiting for her “inside her computer.”
    “Don’t forget tomorrow,” Jeff reminded her as he put his hand on the doorknob.
    “I’ll be there,” Kari replied. “What time do you want me?”
    “Whenever you can conveniently get there. Grab a bite after work and come right over if you can.” Then, he opened the door, letting the night air swirl into the apple-scented house. Up high, Kari saw the moon, diminished since the other night. Again, she had the thought that it was the same moon that was shining down on Max. And she closed the door hurriedly after Jeff so she could rush to her computer, log on, and check for incoming email.
     
    My dear,
     
    I spent a pleasant evening. Lamb chops, peas, and mashed potatoes for a simple but satisfying dinner, then painted one room. I’m determined to repaint the whole house, but I’m doing it one room at a time when I feel like it, instead of making a must-do, hurry-and-finish, major project out of it.
    Tonight I did the dining room. At the rate I’m going, by the time I finish the last room, it will be time to start over again with the first room.
    Then I settled in to answer my email. Enjoyed your letter, but I’m eager to read your answers to my sexual questions. Do tell me what you like so my fantasies can be more accurate.
    Tell me, too: Are your breasts doughy or firm? Both are good, but I want my fantasies as accurate as possible when I take myself in hand and relieve the pressure that thinking