Everything was set. He was intentionally running behind, because people like the smell of someone else cooking, but the Caprese salad was ready. He had made it with slices of tomato and cheese, to be eaten with the hands.
There was also a small bottle of wine, recently removed from the refrigerator, on the table. It was just big enough to help facilitate conversation; it wouldn’t do for anyone to get too tipsy.
The pineapple was sliced and chilling, it simply waited for the Cointreau and it would be ready to be served.
When the doorbell rang, he was ready.