"That was the best barbecue I've ever had. Jim, you are a magician. Is it the sauce? What's in it?"
"No, Hank. Nothing special about it. The secret is love. You gotta love what you do, that's my secret ingredient."
"A toast. Let's drink to love! Jim, pass me another beer. I'm a lucky guy to have a buddy like you. Where's Barbara, by the way?"
"She's with her mother. We had a fight. Hank, you are drunk. I told you where she is an hour ago. That's why I invited you over, remember?"
"Oh yeah... I hope she'll be back soon. She's an amazing woman. Way out of your league, you lucky bastard!"
"Back soon for what, Hank? So you can shag her again?"
Suddenly, I felt almost sober. For a few long seconds I was intently examining the label on my beer bottle. The silence was unbearable.
I muttered: "Jim... I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. You were away for your convention and she was lonely and sad and... it just happened. I'm so sorry..."
"Shut up, Hank. So tell me, how was she? Any good? Tasty?"
Then I remembered something that set my heart racing. "Jim. Why did you say that she's with her mother? I thought her mother died a few years ago?"
"Yes, she did. Now tell me again how did you like Barbara. Was she tasty?"
The mellow Sunday sun sparkled on the blade of a massive chef's knife in Jim's hand.