Chapter Seven #2
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
Maryanne wasn’t. The few paragraphs she’d read had mentioned a Maddie who was apparently in danger. Leo had been frantic to save her.
“You had no business going anywhere near that manuscript,” Nolan reminded her.
“I know, but the temptation was so strong. I shouldn’t have peeked, I realize that, but I couldn’t help myself. Nolan, I’m not lying when I say how good the writing was. Do you have a publisher in mind? Because if you don’t, I have several New York editor friends I could recommend and I know—”
“I’m not using you or any influence you may have in New York. I don’t want anything to do with your father’s publishing company. Understand?”
“Of course, but you’re overreacting.” He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. “My father wouldn’t stay in business long if he ordered the editors to purchase my friends’ manuscripts, would he? Believe me, it would all be on the up and up, and if you’ve got an idea for a series using Leo—”
“I said no.”
“But—”
“I mean it, Annie. This is my book and I’ll submit it myself without any help from you.”
“If that’s what you want,” she concurred meekly.
“That’s the way it’s going to be.” The stern unyielding look slipped back into place. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll quietly go back to my messy little world, sans wife and countless interruptions from a certain neighbor.”
“I’ll try not to bother you again,” Maryanne said sarcastically, since he was the one who’d invaded her home this time.
“It would be appreciated,” he said, apparently ignoring her tone.
“Your apartment is yours and mine is mine, and I’ll uphold your privacy with the utmost respect,” she continued, her voice still faintly mocking. She buried her hands in her pockets and her fingers closed around something cold and metallic.
“Good.” Nolan was nodding. “Privacy, that’s what we need.”
“Um, Nolan…” She paused. “This is somewhat embarrassing, but it seems I have…” She hesitated again, then resolutely squared her shoulders. “I suppose you’d appreciate it if I returned your keys, right?”
“My keys?” Nolan exploded.
“I just found them. They were in my pocket. You see, all you had in your refrigerator was one limp strand of celery and I couldn’t very well make soup out of that, so I had to go to the store and I didn’t want to leave your door unlocked and—”
“You have my keys?”
“Yes.”
He held out his palm, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. Feeling like a pickpocket caught in the act, Maryanne dropped the keys into his hand and stepped quickly back, almost afraid he was going to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Which, of course, was ludicrous.
Nolan left immediately and Maryanne followed him to the door, staring out into the hallway as he walked back to his own apartment.
* * *
The next Thursday, Maryanne was hurrying to get ready for work when the phone rang.
She frowned and stared at it, wondering if she dared take the time to answer.
It might be Nolan, but every instinct she possessed told her otherwise.
They hadn’t spoken all week. Every afternoon, like clockwork, he’d arrived at Mom’s Diner.
More often than not, he ordered chili. Maryanne waited on him most of the time, but she might have been a robot for all the attention he paid her.
His complete lack of interest dented her pride; still, his attitude shouldn’t have come as any surprise.
“Hello,” she said hesitantly, picking up the receiver.
“Maryanne,” her mother responded, her voice rising with pleasure. “I can’t believe I finally got hold of you. I’ve been trying for the past three days.”
Maryanne immediately felt swamped by guilt. “You didn’t leave a message on my machine.”
“You know how I hate those things.”
Maryanne did know that. She also knew she should have phoned her parents herself, but she wasn’t sure how long she could continue with this farce. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. Your father’s working too hard, but that’s nothing new. The boys are busy with soccer and growing like weeds.” Her mother’s voice fell slightly. “How’s the job?”
“The job?”
“Your special assignment.”
“Oh, that.” Maryanne had rarely been able to fool her mother, and she could only wonder how well she was succeeding now. “It’s going…well. I’m learning so much.”
“I think you’ll make a terrific investigative reporter, sweetie, and the secrecy behind this assignment makes it all the more intriguing.
When are your father and I going to learn exactly what you’ve been doing?
I wish we’d never promised not to check up on your progress at the paper. We’re both so curious.”
“I’ll be finished with it soon.” Maryanne glanced at her watch and was about to close the conversation when her mother asked, “How’s Nolan?”
“Nolan?” Maryanne’s heart zoomed straight into her throat. She hadn’t remembered mentioning him, and just hearing his name sent a feverish heat through her body.
“You seemed quite enthralled with him the last time we spoke, remember?”
“I was?”
“Yes, sweetie, you were. You claimed he was very talented, and although you were tight-lipped about it I got the impression you were strongly attracted to this young man.”
“Nolan’s a friend. But we argue more than anything.”
Her mother chuckled. “Good.”
“How could that possibly be good?”
“It means you’re comfortable enough with each other to be yourselves, and that’s a positive sign.
Why, your father and I bickered like old fishwives when we first met.
I swear there wasn’t a single issue we could agree on.
” She sighed softly. “Then one day we looked at each other, and I knew then and there I was going to love this man for the rest of my life. And I have.”
“Mom, it isn’t like that with Nolan and me. I…I don’t even think he likes me.”
“Nolan doesn’t like you?” her mother repeated. “Why, sweetie, that would be impossible.”
Maryanne started to laugh then, because her mother was so obviously biased, yet sounded completely objective and matter-of-fact.
It felt good to laugh again, good to find something amusing.
She hadn’t realized how melancholy she’d become since her last encounter with Nolan.
He was still making such an effort to keep her at arm’s length for fear…
She didn’t know exactly what he feared. Perhaps he was falling in love with her, but she’d noticed precious little evidence pointing to that conclusion.
If anything, Nolan considered her an irritant in his life.
Maryanne spoke to her mother for a few more minutes, then rushed out the door, hoping she wouldn’t be late for her shift at Mom’s Place. Some investigative reporter she was!
At the diner, she slipped the apron around her waist and hurried out to help with the luncheon crowd.
Waiting tables, she was learning quite a lot about character types.
This could be helpful for a writer, she figured.
Some of her customers were pretty eccentric.
She observed them carefully, wondering if Nolan did the same thing.
But she wasn’t going to think about Nolan… .
Halfway through her shift, she began to feel light-headed and sick to her stomach.
“Are you feeling all right?” Barbara asked as she slipped past, carrying an order.
“I—I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“This morning. No,” she corrected, “last night. I didn’t have much of an appetite this morning.”
“That’s what I thought.” Barbara set the hamburger and fries on the counter in front of her customer and walked back to Maryanne. “Now that I’ve got a good look at you, you do seem a bit peaked.”
“I’m all right.”
Hands on her hips, Barbara continued to study Maryanne as if memorizing every feature. “Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.” She had the beginnings of a headache, but nothing she could really complain about. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to skip breakfast and lunch, but she’d make up for it when she took her dinner break.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Barbara muttered, dragging out a well-used phone book. She flipped through the pages until she apparently found the number she wanted, then reached for the phone.
“Who are you calling?”
She held the receiver against her shoulder. “Nolan Adams, who else? Seems to me it’s his turn to play nursemaid.”
“Barbara, no!” She might not be feeling a hundred per cent, but she wasn’t all that sick, either.
And the last person she wanted running to her rescue was Nolan.
He’d only use it against her, as proof that she should go back to the cosy comfortable world of her parents.
She’d almost proved she could live entirely on her own, without relying on interest from her trust fund.
“Nolan’s not at the office,” Barbara said a moment later, replacing the receiver. “I’ll talk to him when he comes in.”
“No, you won’t! Barbara, I swear to you I’ll personally give your phone number to every trucker who comes into this place if you so much as say a single word to Nolan.”
“Honey,” the other waitress said, raising her eyebrows, “you’d be doing me a favor!”
Grumbling, Maryanne returned to her customers.
By closing time, however, she was feeling slightly worse.
Not exactly sick, but not exactly herself, either.
Barbara was watching Maryanne closely, regularly feeling her cheeks and forehead and muttering about her temperature.
If there was one thing to be grateful for, it was the fact that Nolan hadn’t shown up.
Barbara insisted Maryanne leave a few minutes early and shooed her out the door.
Had she been feeling better, Maryanne would have argued.
By the time she arrived back at her apartment, she knew beyond a doubt that she was coming down with some kind of virus.
Part of her would’ve liked to blame Nolan, but she was the one who’d let herself into his apartment.
She was the one who’d lingered there, straightening up the place and staying far longer than necessary.