Free Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536) by D. P. Lyle Page A

settled on what to cook for dinner. He had apparently gotten the 1776 theme in his head and decided to make a Williamsburg dinner.
    I couldn’t help but think part of his culinary decision was a remnant of the trip we had taken to Williamsburg when we were kids. Evan had been fascinated with all the workshops—the blacksmith, the tailor, and the glassblowers, but mostly the bread makers. We had stayed in a small off-the-beaten-path bed-and-breakfast with our dad and had dinner at one of the colonial taverns. That was where Evan was introduced to Sally Lunn bread. He obsessed about that for at least a year.
    So tonight he decided to make roast chicken breast, apple-and-cranberry cornbread stuffing, stewed apples, and of course Sally Lunn bread. The aroma of the baking bread made my stomach growl.
    â€œI think I like this new domestic side of you,” I said to Evan.
    â€œWhat domestic side? Just because I like to cook?”
    Jill opened the wine and poured four glasses. She asked Evan if she could help, but he said he had everything under control, so she, Divya, and I sat at the counter and watched him finish things up.
    â€œI got a brief break today and went by a cool costume shop,” Jill said. “They have some pretty amazing stuff.”
    â€œAny bookkeeper outfits?” I asked.
    Evan turned, glared at me, and then returned to stirring the pot of simmering apples.
    Jill laughed. “Didn’t see any of those. But I did like their highwayman outfits. That might be pretty cool for us.” She looked at me.
    â€œMaybe that would be better for Evan,” Divya said. “After all, he’s the money man.”
    Evan turned and looked at her. “Somehow I don’t see the CFO of HankMed dressed as a highwayman. It might send the wrong message.”
    â€œPerhaps. But for you it would be perfect.”
    â€œBut I’m a spy. That’s so much cooler than being a robber.”
    â€œAnd of course you are a superspy,” Divya said.
    Evan looked toward where his cell phone lay beneath the lamp next to the sofa and took a step in that direction.
    Divya stopped him by saying, “Don’t you dare.”
    Evan shrugged. “Not necessary anyway. Everyone knows that Evan R. Lawson is a superspy.”
    â€œAnd a modest one,” Divya fired back.
    â€œWho got the critical information from StellarCare?” Evan asked.
    Evan never lets go of his victories, big or little. He holds on to them forever. I guess we all do that; Evan just does it with passion. The truth was that he did indeed get the crucial information we needed to resolve the Julian Morelli affair.
    Divya rolled her eyes. “You did.”
    â€œYes, I did.” Evan began spooning the stuffing and the apples into serving bowls. “Dinnertime.”
    Jill helped Evan carry the serving dishes to the table and we all sat.
    Evan had outdone himself. The chicken was perfect, the apples sweet and rich, and the Sally Lunn bread light and yeasty.
    â€œExcellent,” I said.
    â€œMaybe you should go as a baker?” Divya said.
    â€œAnd what would you be? A tavern wench?”
    â€œNot likely.” She took a bite of stuffing. “What would a baker wear?”
    â€œAn apron,” I said. “Just not one that says ‘Kiss the cook.’”
    â€œMaybe a puffy hat,” Jill added.
    â€œDid they wear puffy hats back then?” Divya asked.
    Evan hesitated a beat as if considering that and then shook his head. “No, I should be a spy.”
    â€œMaybe a baker-spy,” Divya said. “You could wear the hat and a cape and steal recipes.”
    Everyone laughed.
    â€œMaybe we should consider the highwayman thing,” Jill said to me. “It might not be good for a CFO but for a CEO it would fit.”
    â€œAre you saying I’m a robber baron?”
    She laughed. “No. But it still might be fun.”
    I thought about that for a minute. It beat any idea