tables. Another pair was making out at the table beside the juke.
"So, I'm a what, few-weeks stand for you?" Travis asked with a teasing grin. "You're going to love me and leave me?"
Her gaze hit his, hard and direct. "I will leave you, Travis Campbell, but I won't love you."
He grinned. "You think so?"
"I know so."
"Have this pretty planned out, don't you?"
"Down to the last contingency."
"No, you haven't. I'm a contingency you haven't counted on. Me. And what I might want from you ."
She'd deal with that, and what he meant—later. For now, Meredith had one goal and a short timeline. Rebecca could have the baby early or Meredith's own obligations could come knocking, and Meredith would be back on her way to the cornfields before she had a chance to work a life transformation. She was afraid if she left Boston too early, she'd slip back into that complacent life she'd led before and end up married to Caleb, passing out Kleenexes and grave-site plans for the rest of her life.
"So," she said, drawing in a breath, "shall we get started?"
Travis took a look around the bar, filling up now that the hour was getting late. "Now?"
"No time like the present." She smiled. That was exactly how a city girl would act. Confident, sure ... and ready anytime.
Travis, though, shook his head, deflating her confidence balloon a little. "Nope. No can do. You want to do this, you need to do it right." He trailed a slow, sure finger along her lower lip, teasing her with a taste of what had been there earlier. Need tingled inside Meredith for more, for a firmer touch, for... anything. Travis traced her lips, then drew back, leaving her feeling like something had been half-started between them. "You want to do this right, don't you, Meredith?"
She gulped. "Oh, absolutely." If doing it right meant more of that kind of touch, she'd do it right many, many times.
"Good. Then I'm going to make damned sure you get what you asked for."
And with that, Meredith knew she was no longer in charge of her destiny. Not tonight.
Cordelia's True-Wealth-Is-in-Your-Friends Oysters Rockefeller
4 tablespoons parsley
2 shallots
4 tablespoons celery leaves
1-1/4 pounds fresh spinach leaves
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup fresh white breadcrumbs
Salt and pepper
Tabasco, to taste
Rock salt or kosher salt
24 fresh oysters on the half shell
2 tablespoons Pernod or other licorice-flavored liqueur, optional
Lemon wedges, optional
Just because you aren't wealthy doesn't mean you can't live like those who are. It's all a matter of perceptions, dear, starting with your own. If you see yourself as rich, well then, you are. Just don't go acting that way with your Visa too often. The banks don't quite see the fantasy the same way, silly gooses.
Preheat your broiler. Then chop the parsley, celery leaves, shallots and spinach, nice and fine. Melt the butter in a pan and cook the shallots first, then add the spinach and the other veggies, just long enough to soften them up for the next step. Sort of like how you'd soften up a man to ask him for a really big favor.
Add the breadcrumbs and cook for another few minutes, melding those flavors like a happy little group (not at all like one of those society parties where you have the parsleys over here and the spinaches over there; how I despise those cliques). Season with salt, pepper and as much Tabasco as your mouth can take.
Now, nestle those pretty little oysters in a bed of rock salt on a baking sheet. Spoon the stuffing onto the oysters. If you're feeling decadent, drizzle each with a little Pernod. Then pop them under the broiler, a couple spaces below the top so you don't end up with a three-alarm fire instead of a gourmet treat.
Be sure to watch them, instead of tending to your company. I know, it's hard to be a proper hostess then, but believe me, when guests taste this, they'll be friends for life (of course, some may just be mooching for the free oysters; kick them off your Christmas
"So, I'm a what, few-weeks stand for you?" Travis asked with a teasing grin. "You're going to love me and leave me?"
Her gaze hit his, hard and direct. "I will leave you, Travis Campbell, but I won't love you."
He grinned. "You think so?"
"I know so."
"Have this pretty planned out, don't you?"
"Down to the last contingency."
"No, you haven't. I'm a contingency you haven't counted on. Me. And what I might want from you ."
She'd deal with that, and what he meant—later. For now, Meredith had one goal and a short timeline. Rebecca could have the baby early or Meredith's own obligations could come knocking, and Meredith would be back on her way to the cornfields before she had a chance to work a life transformation. She was afraid if she left Boston too early, she'd slip back into that complacent life she'd led before and end up married to Caleb, passing out Kleenexes and grave-site plans for the rest of her life.
"So," she said, drawing in a breath, "shall we get started?"
Travis took a look around the bar, filling up now that the hour was getting late. "Now?"
"No time like the present." She smiled. That was exactly how a city girl would act. Confident, sure ... and ready anytime.
Travis, though, shook his head, deflating her confidence balloon a little. "Nope. No can do. You want to do this, you need to do it right." He trailed a slow, sure finger along her lower lip, teasing her with a taste of what had been there earlier. Need tingled inside Meredith for more, for a firmer touch, for... anything. Travis traced her lips, then drew back, leaving her feeling like something had been half-started between them. "You want to do this right, don't you, Meredith?"
She gulped. "Oh, absolutely." If doing it right meant more of that kind of touch, she'd do it right many, many times.
"Good. Then I'm going to make damned sure you get what you asked for."
And with that, Meredith knew she was no longer in charge of her destiny. Not tonight.
Cordelia's True-Wealth-Is-in-Your-Friends Oysters Rockefeller
4 tablespoons parsley
2 shallots
4 tablespoons celery leaves
1-1/4 pounds fresh spinach leaves
1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup fresh white breadcrumbs
Salt and pepper
Tabasco, to taste
Rock salt or kosher salt
24 fresh oysters on the half shell
2 tablespoons Pernod or other licorice-flavored liqueur, optional
Lemon wedges, optional
Just because you aren't wealthy doesn't mean you can't live like those who are. It's all a matter of perceptions, dear, starting with your own. If you see yourself as rich, well then, you are. Just don't go acting that way with your Visa too often. The banks don't quite see the fantasy the same way, silly gooses.
Preheat your broiler. Then chop the parsley, celery leaves, shallots and spinach, nice and fine. Melt the butter in a pan and cook the shallots first, then add the spinach and the other veggies, just long enough to soften them up for the next step. Sort of like how you'd soften up a man to ask him for a really big favor.
Add the breadcrumbs and cook for another few minutes, melding those flavors like a happy little group (not at all like one of those society parties where you have the parsleys over here and the spinaches over there; how I despise those cliques). Season with salt, pepper and as much Tabasco as your mouth can take.
Now, nestle those pretty little oysters in a bed of rock salt on a baking sheet. Spoon the stuffing onto the oysters. If you're feeling decadent, drizzle each with a little Pernod. Then pop them under the broiler, a couple spaces below the top so you don't end up with a three-alarm fire instead of a gourmet treat.
Be sure to watch them, instead of tending to your company. I know, it's hard to be a proper hostess then, but believe me, when guests taste this, they'll be friends for life (of course, some may just be mooching for the free oysters; kick them off your Christmas
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