Page 53 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
“Dad, I refuse to quit now.”
“I want you to move back home. As far as I can see, you’ve got one hell of a lot of explaining to do.”
“It seems to me,” Maryanne said after a moment of strained silence, “that we should both take time to cool down and think this over before one of us says or does something we’re all going to regret.”
“I’m calm.” The voice that roared over the long-distance wires threatened to impair Maryanne’s hearing.
“Daddy, I love you and Mom dearly, but I think it would be best if we both slept on this. I’m going to hang up now, not to be rude, but because I don’t think this conversation is accomplishing anything. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”
“Maryanne... Maryanne, don’t you dare—”
She didn’t allow him to finish, knowing it would do no good to argue with him when he was in this frame of mind. Her heart was heavy with regret as she replaced the receiver. Knowing her father would immediately call again, she unplugged the phone.
Now that her family had discovered she wasn’t working at theReview, everything would change. And not for the better. Her father would hound her until she was forced to tell him she’d taken a job as a waitress. Once he discovered that, he’d hit the roof.
Still thinking about what had happened, she put on her flannel pyjamas and pulled out her bed. With the demanding physical schedule she kept, sleeping had never been a problem. Tonight, she missed the clatter of Nolan’s typing. She’d grown accustomed to its comforting familiarity, in part because it was a sign of his presence. She often lay awake wondering how his mystery novel was developing. Some nights she even fantasized that he’d let her read the manuscript, which to her represented the ultimate gesture of trust.
But Nolan wasn’t at his typewriter this evening. He was giving a speech. Closing her eyes, she imagined him standing before the large dinner crowd. How she would have enjoyed being in the audience! She knew beyond a doubt that his eyes would have sought her out....
Instead she was spending the night alone. She lay with her eyes wide open; every time she started to drift off, some smallnoise would jerk her into wakefulness. She finally had to admit that she was waiting to hear the sounds of Nolan’s return.
Some time in the early morning hours, Maryanne did eventually fall asleep. She woke at six to the familiar sound of Nolan pounding on his typewriter.
She threw on her robe, thrust her feet into the fuzzy slippers and began pacing, her mind whirling.
When she could stand it no longer, she banged on the wall separating their two apartments.
“Your typing woke me up!” Which, of course, wasn’t fair or even particularly true. But she’d spent a fretful night thinking about him, and that was excuse enough.
Her family had found out she’d quit her job and all hell was about to break loose. Time was running out for her and Nolan. If she was going to do something—and it was clear she’d have to be the one—she’d need to do it soon.
“Just go back to bed,” Nolan shouted.
“Not on your life, Nolan Adams!” Without questioning how wise it was to confront him now, Maryanne stormed out of her apartment dressed as she was, and beat hard on his door.
Nolan opened it almost immediately, still wearing the tuxedo from the night before, without the jacket and cummerbund. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled past his elbows and the top three buttons were open. His dishevelment and the shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn’t been to bed.
“What now?” he demanded. “Is my breathing too loud?”
“We need to talk,” she stated calmly as she marched into his apartment.
Nolan remained standing at the door. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself at home?” he muttered sarcastically.
“I already have.” She sat on the edge of his sofa and waited until he turned to face her. “So?” she asked with cheerful derision. “How’d your hot date go?”
“Fine.” He smiled grimly. “Just fine.”
“Where’d you go for dinner? The Four Seasons? Fullers?” She named two of the best restaurants in town. “By the way, do I know Prudence?”
“No,” he answered with sharp impatience.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Maryanne—”
“I don’t suppose you have coffee made?”
“It’s made.” But he didn’t offer her any. The fact that he was still standing by the door suggested he wanted her out of his home. But when it came to dealing with Nolan, Maryanne had long since learned to ignore the obvious.
