Page 34 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
“No,” he answered, grabbing his napkin just in time to catch a violent sneeze.
Now that she had a chance to study him, she saw his nose was red and his eyes rheumy. In fact he looked downright miserable. “You’ve got a cold.”
“Are you always this brilliant?”
“I try to be. And I’ll try to ignore your rudeness. Would you like a glass of orange juice or a couple of aspirin?”
“No, Florence Nightingale, all I want is my usual bowl of chili,withoutthe cheese. Have you got that?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, writing it down. Nolan certainly seemed to be in a rotten mood, but that was nothing new. Maryanne seemed to bring out the worst in him.
Barbara met her at the counter. “From the looks your boyfriend’s been sending me, he’d gladly cut off my head. What’s with him, anyway?”
“I don’t think he’s feeling well,” Maryanne answered in a low worried voice.
“Men, especially sick ones, are the biggest babies on earth,” Barbara said wryly. “They get a little virus and thinksomeone should rush in to make a documentary about their life-threatening condition. My advice to you is let him wallow in his misery all by himself.”
“But he looks like he might have a fever,” Maryanne whispered.
“And he isn’t old enough to take an aspirin all on his own?” The older woman glanced behind her. “His order’s up. You want me to take it to him?”
“No...”
“Don’t worry, if he gets smart with me I’ll just whack him upside the head. Someone needs to put that man in his place.”
Maryanne picked up the large bowl of chili. “I’ll do it.”
“Yes,” Barbara said, grinning broadly. “I have a feeling you will.”
***
Maryanne got home several hours later. Her feet hurt and her back ached, but she felt a pleasant glow of satisfaction. After three days of waitressing, she was beginning to get the knack of keeping orders straight and remembering everything she needed to do. It wasn’t the job of her dreams, but she was making a living wage, certainly better money than she’d been getting from Rent-A-Maid. Not only that, the tips were good. Maryanne didn’t dare imagine what her family would say if they found out, though. She suffered a stab of remorse every time she thought about the way she was deceiving them. In fact, it was simpler not to think about it at all.
After his initial reaction, Nolan hadn’t so much as mentioned her working at Mom’s Place. He clearly wasn’t thrilled, but that didn’t surprise her. Little, if anything, she’d done from the moment she’d met him had gained his approval.
Maryanne had grown accustomed to falling asleep most nights to the sound of Nolan’s typing. She found herself listening for it when she climbed into bed. But she didn’t hear it that night or the two nights that followed.
“How’s Nolan?” Barbara asked her on Friday afternoon.
“I don’t know.” Maryanne hadn’t seen him in days, but then, she rarely did.
“He must have got a really bad bug.”
Maryanne hated the way her heart lurched. She’d tried not to think about him. Not that she’d been successful...
“His column hasn’t been in the paper all week. TheSun’s been running some of his old ones—Nolan’s Classics. Did you read the one last night?” Barbara asked, laughing. “It was about how old-fashioned friendly service has disappeared from restaurants today.” She grinned. “He said there were a few exceptions, and you know who he was talking about.”
As a matter of fact, Maryanne had read the piece and been highly amused—and flattered, even though the column had been written long before she’d even come to Seattle, let alone worked at Mom’s Place. As always she’d been impressed with Nolan’s dry wit. They often disagreed—Nolan was too much of a pessimist to suit her—but she couldn’t help admiring his skill with words.
Since the afternoon he’d found her at Mom’s, Nolan hadn’t eaten there again. Maryanne didn’t consider that so strange. He went to great lengths to ensure that they didn’t run into each other. She did feel mildly guilty that he’d decided to stay away from his favorite diner, but itwashis choice, after all.
During the rest of her shift, Maryanne had to struggle to keep Nolan out of her mind. His apartment had been unusually quiet for the past few days, but she hadn’t been concerned about it. Now she was.
“Do you think he’s all right?” she asked Barbara some time later.
“He’s a big boy,” the older woman was quick to remind her. “He can take care of himself.”
Maryanne wasn’t so sure. After work, she hurried home,convinced she’d find Nolan hovering near death, too ill to call for help. She didn’t even stop at her own apartment, but went directly to his.
