I wasn't totally sure how Smith liked his eggs, but I'd seen him eating them scrambled, so I scrambled a batch. He came down the stairs, dressed impeccably as always. We were out in the country, yet he had on a perfectly-wrinkle-free, white, button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. I glanced down at my own outfit, which was comprised of the new clothes we'd bought in town: a pair of short, black shorts, and a ruffled white top that revealed my midriff. That was when I realized he'd been dressing up for me, just as I'd been dressing up for him. He poured some tea and kissed me on the cheek. “You'll make someone a fine wife some day,” he said. “Ha ha,” I said. “I'm serious! A lot of women your age don't know how to cook.” He took a seat at one of the stools near the counter and watched me. I could feel his gaze on me, and got nervous and dropped some utensils.
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