Page 62 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
“She wants thinner thighs.”
Maryanne couldn’t help it; she started to smile. Her eyes met her younger brother’s, and the smile grew into a full-fledged laugh.
Soon they were all laughing.
The doorbell chimed and Maryanne’s parents exchanged brief glances. “Bennett will get it,” Samuel said before the boys could vault to their feet.
Within a couple of minutes, Bennett appeared. He whispered something to Maryanne’s father, who excused himself and hurried out of the dining room.
Maryanne continued joking with her brothers until she heard raised voices coming from the front of the house. She paused as an unexpected chill shot down her spine. One of the voices sounded angry, even defensive. Nevertheless Maryanne had no difficulty recognizing whose it was.
Nolan’s.
Her heart did a slow drumroll. Without hesitating, she tossed down her napkin and ran to the front door.
Nolan was standing just inside the entryway, wearing his raincoat. Everything about him, the way he stood, the way he spoke and moved, conveyed his irritation.
Maryanne went weak at the sight of him. She noticed things she never had before. Small things that made her realize how much she loved him, how empty her life had become without him.
“I’ve already explained,” her father was saying. Samuel managed to control his legendary temper, but obviously with some difficulty.
Nolan’s expression showed flagrant disbelief. He looked tired, Maryanne saw, as if he’d been working nights instead of sleeping. His face was gaunt, his eyes shadowed. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”
“You’re damn right I do,” Maryanne’s father returned.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, stepping forward, her voice little more than a whisper. She was having trouble dealing with the reality that he was here, in New York, in her family’s home. But from the look of things, this wasn’t a social call.
“My newspaper column’s been picked up nationally,” Nolan said, his gaze narrowing on her. “Doesn’t that tell you something? Because it damn well should!”
Maryanne couldn’t conceal how thrilled she was. “But, Nolan, that’s wonderful! What could possibly be wrong with that? I thought it was a goal you’d set yourself.”
“Not for another two years.”
“Then you must be so pleased.”
“Not when it was arranged by your father.”
Before Maryanne could whirl around to confront her father, he vehemently denied it.
“I tell you, I had nothing to do with it.” Samuel’s eyes briefly met Maryanne’s and the honesty she saw there convinced her that her father was telling the truth. She’d just opened her mouth to comment when Nolan went on.
“I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the sale of my novel, either,” he said sarcastically.
Samuel Simpson shook his head. “For heaven’s sake, man, I didn’t even know you were writing one.”
“Your novel sold?” Maryanne shrieked. “Oh, Nolan, I knew it would. The little bit I read was fabulous. Your idea was wonderful. I could hardly force myself to put it down and not read any more.” She had to restrain the impulse to throw her arms around his neck and rejoice with him.
“For more money than I ever thought I’d see in my life,” he added, his voice hard with challenge. Although he was speaking to Samuel, his eyes rested on Maryanne—eyes that revealed a need and a joy he couldn’t disguise.
“Oh, Nolan, I’m so happy for you.”
He nodded absently and turned to her father again. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that?” he asked, more mildly this time.
“Yes,” Samuel answered impatiently. “What possible reason would I have for furthering your career, young man?”
“Because of Maryanne, of course.”
“What?” Maryanne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was ridiculous. It made no sense.
