November 14th

Dana glanced at her watch as she locked the car and turned toward the restaurant. It was a chilly, blustery day, full of grey clouds and a biting wind. Dull brown leaves scattered across the parking lot as she walked to the entrance. Apprehension made her stomach tighten a bit, but she set the feeling aside, as she'd done during the drive to the location. There was no point in anxiety. Better to keep a clear mind and not anticipate trouble.

The interior of the restaurant was quiet and spacious; classical music played softly in the background. The maitre'd greeted her with just the right amount of deference and led her to a table next to one of the tall windows, where Doctor Wilson waited. As she approached he got to his feet, a polite smile in place. "Doctor Gardener," he said, and took her hand for a moment. Dana resisted the urge to give his a hearty shake.

"Doctor Wilson," she said, her tone cool and correct, as he probably expected of her. As they sat down the maitre'd summoned a waiter who helped her with her chair, then offered a wine list. Dana declined and ordered a sparkling water, and Wilson did the same. Once they were alone she said quietly, "This is a lovely choice."

"But you think it's a little over the top for discussing which market to use for Thanksgiving dinner," Wilson's tone was dry, with a faint edge of sarcasm. Dana raised her brows.

"It's a delightful setting to talk about mundane topics. Who says we have to do that in a cafeteria?"

One corner of Wilson's mouth lifted in an almost-smile. "Nicely put."

"Doctor Wilson—"

"Please call me James."

She nodded in acknowledgment. "And I'm Dana. James, I'm not here to analyze your motives. I need your help."

He watched her for a moment as he sipped his Perrier. "House had nothing to offer, I take it."

"Greg suggested I talk with you, as you have better ideas about where to shop."

James made a derisive noise. "He's a total cheapskate, but he knows where to go. He just wanted me to buy you lunch."

Dana felt mild anxiety turn into annoyance. "That's not necessary. I can afford to pay my own way."

James blinked. After a moment he had the grace to look a bit ashamed. "Sorry. I didn't mean . . . sorry."

"James." She waited until he looked up. "There truly is no ulterior motive. I would like your recommendations. So let's start there."

He stared at her. After a moment he smiled slightly—just a little quirk of the lips, but it was genuine this time. Dana caught her breath at the way his expression softened. She knew he was a deeply troubled man who hid his neuroses behind some formidable charm, but this . . . this was a tiny glimpse of someone she'd never met. And then it was gone.

"That's only fair." His tone held a fugitive lilt of humor. "Thanks."

At that point the salads were brought to the table, and talk was suspended for a short time as they put in their orders for the second course. Dana knew James expected her to analyze him; he held up her work between them as a sort of shield, to fend off any insights she might attempt. Therefore she deliberately kept the conversation to the topic at hand.

"I've never made a Thanksgiving dinner," she said to start them off. "I know how to bake a pie and roast a chicken, but not much else." It was a slight exaggeration, but close enough to the truth to work with. James stirred his dressing.

"It's similar to Christmas dinner in other parts of the world. People here tend to customize it to some extent, according to their own ethnic traditions."

Dana took a forkful of greens. Too much arugula, she thought. Aloud she said "Greg mentioned stuffing. And no dry meat."

James nodded. "His aunt never managed a decent meal, at least according to House."

"How difficult is it to roast one?"

"An aunt or a turkey?" James smiled briefly at Dana's chuckle. "About the same as a chicken, it just takes longer. But you'd be expected to make the sides and dessert as well. It's a lot of work. And you won't get any help from House."

Dana chose her words with care. "I'd like to make a pie. Everything else will come from the market."

James nodded. "Good idea. There are a couple of pricey places in Princeton, but the Acme down the street from House's place does a pretty decent dinner for a lot less money." He lifted his fork. "Unless you want to make a big first impression, then I'd go with upscale."

Dana felt the sting of a subtle slap, administered by a master hand. She set the hurt aside. "Thanks. If you could give me some names, I'll check them out."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until James broke the quiet. "Where are you planning to have dinner?"

"We haven't talked about it yet."

James picked up his glass. "Seems a little pointless to buy food in Princeton if you're staying in Philly."

Dana felt another poke of annoyance, but didn't give in to it. "I'm covering all bases. If Greg wants to spend the weekend at his place, that's where we'll do dinner."

"His kitchen . . ." James gestured with his fork. "Not much to work with for a beginner, even if you are having it brought in."

So this is about territorial rights. I thought as much. Dana briefly considered the option to make every single item on the menu herself just to show this man she could work in a small space, inexperience be damned. "Oh, I don't know." She kept her tone casual. "It seems all right to me."

"Not enough counter space. And that oven hasn't seen a cleaner since it was installed, probably."

She didn't tell him she'd scoured it out some months ago to avoid burning down the apartment the next time she baked cookies. It had taken an entire day and two pairs of rubber gloves to finish the job. "It's nice for two people."

"So it's just you and him for dinner, then." James ate some salad, his gaze on the plate. There was an odd note in his tone, subtle but there all the same—an undercurrent of some emotion Dana couldn't place.

"Do you and Greg spend holidays together?"

"We . . . we've been doing them for some time . . ."

Dana nodded. "All right then."

"I don't want to intrude." James glanced at her, then away.

Oh yes you do, Dana thought. Aloud she said "If you've both shared holidays, I see no reason to change anything."

"That's . . . very gracious of you."

"Not at all. I'm glad you're Greg's close friend." That at least was not a lie; she knew Greg treasured his relationship with Wilson, and needed it as much as he needed her.

"There aren't many women who would be so accommodating."

Dana held back an impulsive reply as the waiter appeared to take away the salads and offer the second course. When he left she said quietly, "I wouldn't expect the man in my life to give up his friends just because we're living together. That would be unreasonable, and very foolish."

"My ex-wives would not agree." James tasted some of his poached salmon. Again Dana heard that odd edge in his words. She said nothing, just stirred her broccoli soup. "You're not surprised by that."

"Not really, no." She put some toasted walnuts in the soup. "In Western culture, it's fairly normal for society to expect both men and women to focus on their partner once they become an official couple in some way. Friends are usually placed in the background, at least to some extent."

"Actually I meant the comment about ex-wives."

Dana refused to take the bait. "I haven't studied your personal history and don't intend to. I don't vet Greg's friends."

"I see. And you've decided not to go that route as well—I mean, putting friends in the background." The mockery was less subtle now.

"One of the benefits of my trade. The psychotherapy side of it, anyway."

To her secret amusement James looked away. It was clear he was uncomfortable with her lack of anger. "You . . . you're still . . . you and House are still using sex therapy . . .?"

She offered a smile. "How did you find this place? The food is excellent."

"I don't know how you and House get along so well," James said after a brief silence. "You're discreet. He usually isn't."

Dana kept her reply neutral. "The same could be said of your friendship with Greg."

"If you think you comprehend his behavior, I can tell you this much: you don't." James shook his head. "He likes to let people think that. It amuses him."

"Greg respects honesty. If I don't understand something he says or does, I say so."

"And get mocked for it."

"Of course. But that's part of who he is." She drew her phone out of her purse. "If you can give me a few markets to check out, I'll put them on a list."

James sent her a look that was not quite a glare. "You don't want to talk about him."

"Not when he's unable to offer his own opinion, no."

"Loyal as well as discreet. House doesn't deserve you."

Dana glanced at him in surprise. "You—you really think that?"

"It's just a figure of speech." James picked up his glass. "If you're ready for that list I've got a few places you might like."

Later, as she drove to Greg's apartment through the busy streets of Princeton, she went over the conversation. She wasn't surprised to find an element of reciprocal jealousy in her attitude toward James Wilson. The reason why was nothing mysterious; he'd known Greg far longer, had shared more adventures, both good and bad, might even know her man better than she did. She felt . . . inadequate.

"And that is completely ridiculous," she said aloud, as she turned onto Baker street. "This is not a competition, even if Doctor Wilson thinks it is." But it was clear she herself held the same view, and that was a disaster in the making. She would have to choose another mindset—and it would be far more difficult than it sounded. As for the other issue, that subtle undercurrent of disquiet in James's voice, it seemed to involve Greg in some way. She might be able to ask him about it, though it would take some work to get the answers.

The apartment was empty. Greg was still at PPTH, he'd called her earlier that morning to bitch about all the paperwork that kept him chained to his desk. He'd resigned his position as head of the Diagnostics department before his time off had run out; Cuddy had done her best to persuade him to stay but none of her arguments had changed his mind, much to Dana's secret relief. Greg claimed Cuddy had gotten her revenge with reams of legal documents stacked on his desk, an apparent attempt at restriction of his ability to consult anywhere in the Northeast Corridor. Dana had a strong suspicion he was actually holed up in a doctor's lounge somewhere, to scrounge free food and watch tv while he dumped paperwork on his minions one last time. No doubt he'd arrive home sooner or later.

She didn't have to make anything for dinner at least. On Fridays they ordered out, usually pizza or Indian from local places. So Dana took the opportunity to start a fire in the fireplace, and go down the list Wilson had given her. It felt good to shut the curtains against the encroachment of dusk, and curl up on the couch with her laptop and phone.

After some scrutiny of websites and a couple of calls, the best candidate appeared to be the Brick Market, in Hopewell. They sourced local meat and produce, and the pleasant woman who answered the phone said they would be happy to have a dinner order ready the day before Thanksgiving, provided she called in the next week to confirm and pay for it. Dana found the setup reasonable, and started a checklist of items to ask for. They wouldn't need large amounts, but she wanted to have everything Greg would expect.

Be honest. You also don't want to look inadequate or lacking in front of James Wilson. Dana sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. It was silly to feel this way about her lover's best friend, but it was still true for all that. Choose to set it aside, she reminded herself, and knew it would be an ongoing struggle. She wasn't jealous by nature, but Wilson's possessive attitude sparked the same reaction in her.

Choice, not reaction. She stared at the list. The market was only a few miles from Princeton, but an hour away from her place in Philadelphia. She would talk with Greg about whether they should have the dinner here at the apartment.

As she closed down the list, she heard a familiar thump-step outside the door, and then the key in the lock. The anxiety she'd wrestled with all day lifted as she set her laptop aside and got up to meet Greg.