Chapter 4

He wore a blue tee shirt and white cutoffs. The sun coming in through the window over the sink highlighted the golden hair on his arms. His big hands were nimble, and he moved about his kitchen with an easy grace. He obviously enjoyed cooking. “Are you a chef?” I asked.

He laughed. “Landscape architect, but I do like to fix a good meal.”

“Where are we?” I asked, realizing I had no idea.

“Santa Monica.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine forty-two,” he said, glancing at an old kitchen clock.

“Oh, shit. I’m due at a wedding at two.”

“No problem. We can get you there in plenty of time. Where is it?”

“Palos Verdes.”

“Who’s getting married?” he asked, sliding eggs onto a plate.

“My sister. The whole world will be there.”

“Ah, yes, the family function. So that’s why you flew down.”