'Nah, there's somethin' wrong with a guy who leaves a sweetheart like you alone in a big house like that. I can do that, too.' Of course, Brenda sold me the house and beat feet for her yacht in the middle of a marina, but. 'Hey, Brenda lived out here alone for years, and she did just fine,' Agnes said.

'He shouldn't leave you out there by yourself.' Joey snorted his contempt, the sound exploding through the phone. 'And we've got a great future in this house together.' Assuming he ever comes out here again. 'And he's very sweet.' When he has the time. 'He's a terrific chef.' Which is why I'm still with him. 'Look, Joey, Taylor's not that bad.' Agnes cradled the phone between her chin and her shoulder, turned down her CD player, where the Dixie Chicks were doing a fine rendition of 'Am I the Only One,' and then frowned over the tops of her fogged-up glasses at the raspberries, which were being annoying and uncooperative, much like Taylor lately. One fine August evening in South Carolina, Agnes Crandall stirred raspberries and sugar in her heavy nonstick frying pan and defended her fiancé to the only man she'd ever trusted. If I could find a man that versatile and dependable, I'd marry him. Besides the obvious braising, browning, and frying, I can make sauces and stirfries in it, toast cheese sandwiches and slivered almonds, use the underside to pound cutlets, and in a pinch probably swing it to defend my honor. In a pinch, I can do it all with my good heavy nonstick frying pan. A complete set is whatever you need, and maybe all you need is a wok and a hot place to grill your bacon.

Do not be seduced by those big-box come-ons, full of 'complete sets' of extraneous cookware.

Agnes and the Hitman by Jennifer Crusie