You Bet Your Life
“The base of the table was wrought iron in a design that I suspected was the work of the same artist who created the iron gates at the front of the estate. The table was the only modem element in a room that featured traditional chairs upholstered in a classic tapestry pattern, the colors of which matched an antique Native American rug inspired by the Grand Canyon. I tried to question Isobel about some things that had been swimming around in my mind, but at first she was too busy serving to stop... for conversation.
“It is nice to have someone to cook for,” she said, bringing in a tray of home-baked bread and fresh butter.
“Won’t you join me?” I asked. “There’s certainly enough food here for both of us.”
“Muchas gracias, no. You are our guest. Besides, I have my dinner already. I eat earlier than eight.”
I usually eat earlier, too, I thought, but said, “Why don’t you sit down anyway? I’d enjoy talking with you.”
She wiped her hands down the front of her apron, obviously uncomfortable with my suggestion.MoreLess
“It is nice to have someone to cook for,” she said, bringing in a tray of home-baked bread and fresh butter.
“Won’t you join me?” I asked. “There’s certainly enough food here for both of us.”
“Muchas gracias, no. You are our guest. Besides, I have my dinner already. I eat earlier than eight.”
I usually eat earlier, too, I thought, but said, “Why don’t you sit down anyway? I’d enjoy talking with you.”
She wiped her hands down the front of her apron, obviously uncomfortable with my suggestion.MoreLess
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