Page 9 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
“Please.”
“To Seattle,” he said, his mischievous gaze meeting hers. “May she forever remain unspoiled.” He reached over and touched the rim of her glass with his.
“To Seattle,” Maryanne returned. “The most enchanting city on the West Coast.”
“But, please, don’t let anyone know,” he coaxed in a stage whisper.
“I’m not making any promises,” she whispered back.
They tasted the wine, which had come highly recommended by a colleague at the paper. Maryanne had only recently learned that wines from Washington state were quickly gaining a world reputation for excellence. Apparently the soil,a rich sandy loam over a volcanic base, was the reason for that.
They talked about the wine for a few minutes, and the conversation flowed naturally after that, as they compared experiences and shared impressions. Maryanne was surprised by how much she was enjoying the company of this man she’d considered a foe. Actually, they did have several things in common. Perhaps she was enjoying his company simply because she was lonely, but she didn’t think that was completely true. Still, she’d been too busy with work to do any socializing; she occasionally saw a few people from the paper, but other than that she hadn’t had time to establish any friendships.
After a second glass of wine, feeling warm and relaxed, Maryanne was willing to admit exactly how isolated she’d felt since moving to Seattle.
“It’s been so long since I went out on a real date,” she said.
“There does seem to be a shortage of Ivy League guys in Seattle.”
She giggled and nodded. “At least Dad’s not sending along a troupe of eligible men for me to meet. I enjoyed living in New York, don’t get me wrong, but every time I turned around, a man was introducing himself and telling me my father had given him my phone number. You’re the first man I’ve had dinner with that Dad didn’t handpick for me since I moved out on my own.”
“I hate to tell you this, sugar, but I have the distinct impression your daddy would take one look at me and have me arrested.”
“That’s not the least bit true,” Maryanne argued. “My dad isn’t a snob, only... only if you do meet him take off the raincoat, okay?”
“The raincoat?”
“It looks like you sleep in it. All you need is a hat and a scrapof paper with ‘Press’ scrawled on it sticking out of the band—you’d look like you worked for thePlanetin Metropolis.”
“I hate to disillusion you, sugar, but I’m not Ivy League and I’m not Superman.”
“Oh, darn,” she said, snapping her fingers. “And we had such a good thing going.” She was feeling too mellow to remind him not to call her sugar.
“So how old are you?” Nolan wanted to know. “Twenty-one?”
“Three,” she amended. “And you?”
“A hundred and three in comparison.”
Maryanne wasn’t sure what he meant, but she let that pass, too. It felt good to have someone to talk to, someone who was her contemporary, or at least close to being her contemporary.
“If you don’t want to tell me how old you are, then at least fill in some of the details of your life.”
“Trust me, my life isn’t nearly as interesting as yours.”
“Bore me, then.”
“All right,” he said, drawing a deep breath. “My family was dirt-poor. Dad disappeared about the time I was ten and Mom took on two jobs to make ends meet. Get the picture?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “What about women?”
“I’ve had a long and glorious history.”
“I’m not kidding, Nolan.”
“You think I was?”
“You’re not married.”
