She told herself to relax, that she and Jonny had spent plenty of time together. If they ran out of conversation, there was always the wedding. They could discuss linens and music selections.

They went back into the kitchen. He showed her the pantry off the kitchen. In addition to shelves and prep sink, there was a large upright freezer. She opened it and started to laugh. He moved closer and looked over her shoulder.

“People dropped off some casseroles,” he told her.

“I recognize some of the serving dishes, which means I know what’s inside. We’re very big on casseroles here in town. There’s even a casserole cook-off.”

“I’ll have to be in town that weekend,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “On purpose?”

“Hey, I grew up with a single dad. Anything homemade is my favorite.”

“A man with low culinary standards. Tell me again why women aren’t lining up to marry you?”

He chuckled. “I leave socks on the floor.”

“Oh, well, then. That explains it.” She studied the various selections. “How about lasagna?”

“Sounds good.”

She pulled out the dish, unwrapped it and set it on the counter to start defrosting. She would finish that process in the microwave later, but first went back into the pantry to check for other ingredients.

Whoever did the shopping had made sure he had the basics. She found plenty of fresh vegetables, along with spices, flour and sugar.

“Do you have a generator?” she asked.

“Sure. Whole house. If we lose power, it kicks on in twenty seconds. Why?”

“I think I’ll make cookies.” She found a couple of packages of yeast. “And maybe some garlic rolls. Oh, and salad dressing.” There weren’t any lemons, but he had fresh garlic and white vinegar. She could whip up a flavored ranch dressing easily. “If you have milk.”

“I don’t have any recipes.”

“You don’t need them. I can do this from memory.” She handed him vinegar, garlic and the flour. “You’ve met my mother. Cooking is a big deal to her, so she taught me. Stand back and be impressed.”

“I already am.”

Thirty minutes later peanut butter cookies were in the oven. She set Jonny to work, washing out the cute elephant-shaped cookie jar she’d spotted in the pantry.

While he took care of that, she added flour to the mixture in the bowl. When all the flour was incorporated, she dropped it onto the counter and began kneading.

“When that timer goes off, I’ll need you to take out the first batch of cookies and put in the second,” she told him.

“Just say when.”

“You’re very agreeable.”

“I don’t have a problem being your sous chef. Home-cooked meals are a treat.”

Based on the frozen dinners in his freezer and the take-out containers in his refrigerator, she knew he wasn’t lying.

“You could have a chef or something,” she said.

He put the cookie jar on the counter. “Not my style. I’m not the staff type.”

That was true. She would guess most stars at his level had a personal assistant, but he didn’t. She knew his manager and her people took care of some things, but the rest he did himself.

“In the summer I barbecue a lot,” he said as he sat in a stool at the island. “I grill a mean steak.”

“You’re such a guy.”

He winked. “I am.”

“My dad and brother both love to barbecue, too. But put them in front of a stove and they’re lost. Which makes no sense to me. A gas stove still has fire.”

“But it’s indoors. Not the same at all.”

“Uh-huh. Why do I know that’s a trick to keep women cooking for you?”

“Never.”

“Right.”

She put the kneaded dough into an oiled bowl, then covered it with a clean dishcloth. She set it near the upper oven vents where it would stay warm while it rose.

“Your mom didn’t teach Robbie to cook?” he asked as she washed her hands.

“Apparently not. Or if she did, it didn’t take.” Madeline looked at the timer, then picked up hot pads. The timer dinged. She took out the first pan of cookies and put in the second, then reset the timer.

“I wasn’t around when Robbie was a kid. By the time I was aware of the world around me, he was off to college. So it was like being an only child. It would have been nice to have him closer to my age.”

“I know what you mean. Ginger’s nearly eight years younger than me.”