It is clear he has never seen a fondue pot before, but she pretends not to notice his bewilderment. His smile is stretched to the point of caricature, and he is starting to sweat. She has never wanted him more. As he skewers the bread morsels and lowers them into the cheese and sherry mixture, surrendering half of them helplessly to its bubbling depths, she thinks of Peter.
Peter knew how to handle a fondue fork. Peter took her to see Pavarotti. And their lovemaking reached uncharted lows of passion.
She smiles, and knows she has chosen well.