Free Stake & Eggs by Laura Childs

surrounding
     Ben Busacker’s death, she’d had to batten down the hatches on excitement. She’d had
     to focus on the storm that was directly in front of her nose.
    Life was like that sometimes, she thought. She hadn’t had more than a minute to think
     about this special night. But even though her plans had been on the back burner, she
     was simmering tonight. Because Sam was coming over to her house, and she was going
     to cook.
    “Are you sure you’re up to it?” he had asked on the phone earlier this afternoon.
     Before she could answer, he added, “Especially after the Busacker incident? Really,
     Suzanne, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
    Suzanne smiled as he spoke to her. She couldn’t help it. What was it about this man
     that sent a shiver through her bones?
    She had an image of Sam on the other end of the line as they spoke. Tall, check. Handsome.
     Oh yeah. Tousle of brown hair with a slightly unruly forelock spilling onto his forehead.
     Bit of a crooked smile. A kind, inquisitive face. And those strong but slender hands…
    Where’d this guy come from, anyway? How had helanded in her life? She wondered what forces in the universe had put them on a collision
     course and then brought them together.
    In so many ways, Sam Hazelet was just what the doctor ordered. Except, of course,
     he
was
the doctor.
    “I’m fine,” she’d said into the phone. Sounding calm, even as her heart was beating
     a little faster. “Not to worry. You know that cooking’s my thing.”
    “And a fine thing it is.”
    “So, come on over,” she said. “Around sixish.”
    “What can I bring?” asked Sam. “How about a bottle of wine?”
    “Perfect.”
    “Red or white?”
    “Up to you, but we’re having steak.”
    “Mmn,” said Sam. “Red, then.”
    S UZANNE bustled around her kitchen, an apron tied at her waist and the nape of her neck still
     slightly wet from the shower she’d taken just minutes before. She cubed a few slices
     of brioche, tossed them into a bowl with four beaten eggs, then added butter, raisins,
     milk, sugar, and cinnamon. That went into the oven.
    Now what?
    Suzanne opened the refrigerator and grabbed her steaks. She unwrapped them, knowing
     it was always better to let meat come to room temperature before cooking it.
    When she glanced around, she saw two dogs sitting there, eyes lasered on the steaks.
    Baxter was sitting there with limpid eyes and a softly graying muzzle. He was Mr.
     Cool Dude Dog, pretending not to care but salivating over the idea of grilled steak.
    Scruff was just plain anxious, his tail thumping constantly, no pretense of being
     laid back or blasé. Then again, Scruff was a rescue dog, a poor pathetic pup she’d
     found wandering on a lonely highway one night. Now, almostthree months later, he was starting to relax and getting used to being in a warm,
     loving home. Suzanne had been dropping subtle hints to Sam that he should adopt Scruff,
     but he hadn’t taken her up on it yet.
    Hands on hips, Suzanne gazed at the dogs. “What? You guys are hoping for scraps already?
     I haven’t even started dinner.”
    The dogs continued to stare at her. Casting polite but pathetic glances at the food.
    “Okay, but kibbles only,” said Suzanne. She grabbed two aluminum dog dishes, filled
     them with a scoop of kibbles each, and placed the dishes on the kitchen floor. Two
     muzzles dug in eagerly, sending little avalanches of kibbles over the side.
    S UZANNE had stopped at the market on her way home and picked up a few more of her favorite
     ingredients for dinner. Besides the New York strip steaks, she’d gotten a bunch of
     asparagus, a French baguette, and an enormous heirloom tomato that wasn’t in season
     but had hopefully been flown in from some warm and wonderful South American country
     where it
was
in season.
    Now she bustled about what she thought of as her dream kitchen with its Wolf gas range,
     Sub-Zero refrigerator, granite countertops, and