At Stella’s request, Anton seated himself while she did the same. When she was done explaining what they were about to eat, he said, “This all looks wonderful, though I’m somewhat skeptical about its simplicity.” Not wishing to insult the hostess when neither had taken their first bite yet, he said with an easy smile, “But if you say it’s simple, then it’s simple. You are, after all, the cook, and who would know better than the cook?”<br/><br/>Thinking he had already answered her question about a beverage, he responded, “Well, seeing as how we’re having chicken, some wine would be nice, please.”<br/><br/>If his taste buds could dance with every morsel he ate, they would probably be dancing to a reggae beat right about now. Stella certainly knew her ingredients and food, and what to do with it. Anton considered himself a decent enough cook, but he doubted he could bring something like this together. Evangeline was the maestro in the kitchen. She loved listening to her music and cooking, not always in that order, and even enjoying both at the same time every now and then. Thoughts of her seemed to occur at the oddest of moments. Not that he ever minded.