Page 16 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
ChapterThree
“Idon’t need a babysitter,” Maryanne protested. She had some trouble maintaining the conviction in her voice. In truth, she was pleased to learn that Nolan’s apartment was next door, and her heart did a little jig all its own.
Nolan turned away from the window. His mouth was set in a thin straight line, as if he was going against his better judgment in arranging this. “That night at the radio station,” he mumbled softly. “I knew it then.”
“Knew what?”
Slowly, he shook his head, apparently lost in his musings. “I took one look at you and deep down inside I heard a small voice cry out, ‘Here comes trouble.’”
Despite his fierce expression, Maryanne laughed.
“Like a fool I ignored it, although Lord only knows how I could have.”
“You’re not blaming me for all this, are you?” Maryanne asked, placing her hands on her hips, prepared to do battle. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who invited yourself to dinner that night. Then you got me all mellow with wine—”
“You were the one who brought out the bottle. You can’t blame me forthat.” He was muttering again and buried his hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat.
“I was only being a good hostess.”
“All right, all right, I get the picture,” he said through clenched teeth, shaking his head again. “I was the one stupid enough to write that column afterward. I’d give a week’s pay to take it all back. No, make that a month’s pay. This is the last time,” he vowed, “that I’m ever going to set the record straight. Any record.” He jerked his hand from his pocket and stared at it.
Maryanne crossed to the large overstuffed sofa covered with faded chintz fabric and ran her hand along the armrest. It was nearly threadbare in places and nothing like the supple white leather of her sofa at The Seattle. “I wish you’d stop worrying about me. I’m not as fragile as I look.”
Nolan snickered softly. “A dust ball could bowl you over.”
A ready argument sprang to her lips, but she quickly swallowed it. “I’ll take the apartment, but I want it understood, right now, that you have no responsibilities toward me. I’m a big girl and I’ll manage perfectly well on my own. I have in the past and I’ll continue to do so in the future.”
Nolan didn’t respond. Instead he grumbled something she couldn’t hear. He seemed to be doing a lot of that since he’d met her. Maybe it was a long-established habit, but somehow she doubted it.
Nolan drove her back to The Seattle, and the whole way there Maryanne could hardly contain a feeling of delight. For the first time, she was taking control of her own life. Nolan, however, was obviously experiencing no such enthusiasm.
“Do I need to sign anything for the apartment? What about a deposit?”
“You can do that later. You realize this studio apartment is the smallest one in the entire building? My own apartment is three times that size.”
“Would you stop worrying?” Maryanne told him. A growing sense of purpose filled her, and a keen exhilaration unlike anything she’d ever felt.
Nolan pulled into the circular driveway at her building. “Do you want to come up for a few minutes?” she asked.
His dark eyes widened as if she’d casually suggested they play a round of Russian roulette. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
She wasn’t.
He held up both hands. “No way. Before long, you’ll be serving wine and we’ll be talking like old friends. Then I’ll go home thinking about you, and before I know how it happened—” He stopped abruptly. “No, thanks.”
“Goodbye, then,” she said, disappointed. “I’ll see you later.”
“Right. Later.” But the way he said it suggested that if he didn’t stumble upon her for a decade or two it would be fine with him.
Maryanne climbed out of his car and was about to close the door when she hesitated. “Nolan?”
“Now what?” he barked.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Predictably, he started mumbling and drove off the instant she closed the door. In spite of his sour mood, Maryanne found herself smiling.
Once inside her apartment, she was immediately struck by the contrast between this apartment at The Seattle and the place Nolan had shown her. One was grey, cramped and dingy, the other polished and spacious and elegant. Her mind’s eye went over the dreary apartment on Capitol Hill, and she felt a growing sense of excitement as she thought of different inexpensive ways to bring it color and character. She’d certainly faced challenges before, but never one quite like this. Instinctively sheknew there’d be real satisfaction in decorating that place with her newly limited resources.
