Page 36 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
Fifteen minutes passed without their exchanging a word. When Maryanne had finished, she looked in the living room and wasn’t surprised to find him sound asleep on the sofa. A curious feeling tugged at her heart as she gazed down at him. He lay on his back with his left hand flung across his forehead. His features were relaxed, but there was nothing remotely angelic about him. Not about the way his thick dark lashes brushed the arch of his cheek—or about the slow hoarse breaths that whispered through his half-open mouth.
Maryanne felt a strong urge to brush the hair from his forehead, to touch him, but she resisted. She was afraid he’d wake up. And she was even more afraid she wouldn’t want to stop touching him.
Moving about the living room, she turned off the television, picked up things here and there and straightened a few piles of magazines. She should leave now; she knew that. Nolan wouldn’t welcome her staying. She eyed the door regretfully, looking for an excuse to linger. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Nolan’s raspy breathing.
More by chance than design, Maryanne found herself standing next to his typewriter. Feeling brave, and more than a little foolish, she looked down at the stack of paper resting beside it. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was still asleep, Maryanne carefully turned over the top page and quickly read the last couple of paragraphs on page 212. The story wasn’t finished, but she could tell he’d stopped during a cliff-hanger scene.
Nolan had been so secretive about his project that she dared not invade his privacy any more than she already had. She turned the single sheet back over, taking care to place it exactly as she’d found it.
Once again, she reminded herself that she should go back to her own apartment, but she felt strangely reluctant to end these moments with Nolan. Even a sleeping Nolan who would certainly be cranky when he woke up.
Seeking some way to occupy herself, she moved down the hall and into the bathroom, picking up several soiled towels on the way. His bed was unmade. She would’ve been surprised to find it in any other condition. The sheets and blankets were sagging onto the floor, and two or three sets of clothing were scattered all about.
Without questioning the wisdom of her actions, she bundled up the dirty laundry to take to the coin-operated machine in the basement. She loaded it into a large garbage bag, then set about vigorously cleaning the apartment. Scrubbing, scouring and sweeping were skills she’d perfected in her Rent-A-Maiddays. If nothing else, she’d had lots of practice cleaning up after messy bachelors.
Studying the contents of his refrigerator, more than an hour later, proved to be a humorous adventure. She found an unopened bottle of wine, a carton of broken eggshells and one limp strand of celery. Concocting anything edible from that would be impossible, so she searched the apartment until she found his keys. Then, with his garbage bag full of laundry in her arms, she let herself out the door, closing it softly.
She returned a half hour later, clutching two bags of groceries bought with her tip money. Then she went down to put his laundry in the dryer. To her relief, Nolan was still asleep. She smiled down at him indulgently before she began preparing his dinner. After another forty-five minutes she retrieved his clean clothes and put them neatly away.
She was in the kitchen peeling potatoes when she heard Nolan get up. She continued her task, knowing he’d discover she was there soon enough. He stopped cold when he did.
“What are you doing here?”
“Making your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” he snapped with no evidence of appreciation for her efforts.
His eyes widened as he glanced around. “What happened here? Oh, you’ve cleaned the place up.”
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” she answered sweetly, popping a small piece of raw potato in her mouth. “I’ll get soup to the boiling stage before I leave you to your... peace of mind. It should only take another ten or fifteen minutes. Can you endure me that much longer?”
He made another of his typical grumbling replies before disappearing. No more than two seconds had passed before he let out a bellow loud enough to shake the roof tiles.
“What did you do to my bed?” he demanded as he stormed into the kitchen.
“I made it.”
“What else have you been up to? Damn it, a man isn’t safe in his own home with you around.”
“Don’t look so put out, Nolan. All I did was straighten up the place a bit. It was a mess.”
“I happen to like messes. I thrive in messes. The last thing I want or need is some neat-freak invading my home, organizing my life.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Maryanne said serenely, as she added a pile of diced carrots to the simmering broth. “All I did was pick up a few things here and there and run a load of laundry.”
“You did my laundry, too?” he exploded, jerking both hands through his hair. Heaven only knew, she thought, what would happen if he learned she’d read a single word of his precious manuscript.
“Everything’s been folded and put away, so you needn’t worry.”
Nolan abruptly left the kitchen, only to return a couple of moments later. He circled the table slowly and precisely, then took several deep breaths.
“Listen, Annie,” he began carefully, “it isn’t that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done, but I don’t need a nurse. Or a housekeeper.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes, her own large and guileless. “I quite agree,” she answered.
“You do?” Some of the stiffness left his shoulders. “Then you aren’t going to take offence?”
“No, why should I?”
