don’t have one,” he informed her with a straight face. “I’ve been in California for the last eleven years. Whatever accent I had has long since been washed out by the surf.”
“You drawl,” she contradicted. “Just a little.” And she had to admit that she found it rather cute. He made her think of lean, tall Texans and other things long buried in childhood fantasies. “I think it comes out most when you say ‘ma’am.”’
She watched, intrigued as he made himself at home in her kitchen. It would have annoyed her if he hadn’t done it so effortlessly, so guilelessly.
Dennis took out the cartons from the bag one by one and placed them in a semicircle in the middle of her table. He laughed. “I’ll have to remember not to say it, then.” Carefully, without being obvious, he took in his surroundings as he worked.
Her apartment was a true mirror image of his own. What was on the right in his apartment was on the left in hers. The only difference was that her apartment was a great deal more cluttered than his. Housekeeping was not a high priority for this woman. Somehow, it seemed to fit her.
The bag emptied, Dennis deposited it into the garbage, then turned to her cupboards. Taller than Nicole by almost a foot, Dennis reached up and took out a stack of plates before she had a chance to stop him or do it herself.
Nicole stepped back from the table as he began to set it. Wariness crept in. He seemed a little too comfortable in her apartment. She didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas. Men had a habit of thinking that widows were emotionally needy and vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was for a man to think of her as vulnerable.
Turning, Dennis saw the look in her eyes. It was the same kind of look a hermit had when he discovered poachers on his land. He could almost guess what she was thinking. Dennis shrugged, making light of it.
“Sorry.” Taking out the utensils, he placed a fork and a spoon beside each of the two main plates. “I’m used to doing for myself.”
She just bet he was. Nicole stood behind her chair, keeping the table between them. “Even in someone else’s apartment?”
She certainly wasn’t trusting, but then, maybe she didn’t have any reason to be. “It feels like mine, only in reverse.” As an afterthought, he drew out a napkin from the holder and tucked one beneath each set of utensils. “It’s like I tumbled through the looking glass.”
Or through his camera lens, he added silently. He’d certainly seen this scene often enough in the last few days. He avoided looking toward the small transmitter he’d positioned on the far end of the top of her refrigerator. Through it, he could see the entire kitchen and part of the living room. There was an identical transmitter planted in the nursery, letting him see that room and the small hallway beyond.
He gestured at the set table. “Besides, you look as if you’ve had a long day and you’re tired. My guess is that you could do with a little pampering.”
She hadn’t done very much to speak of, but he was right about her being tired. Carrying this baby around made her feel as if she were working a twelve-hour shift in the coal mines. And it was nice to be waited on for a change. Usually, she just heated something up and ate it straight out of the pot.
Rather than argue, she sat down at the table. Dennis got busy.
Wisps of steam curled above the soup as he poured it into the two bowls. It smelled heavenly. It was as if he’d read her mind. She raised her eyes to Dennis’s face. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He conceded the point, but he added, “And you didn’t have to let those deliverymen in for me, but you did. One favor deserves another and this is the least I can do.”
Counting the appetizers, there were six small white cartons. Carefully, he deposited the contents of each one on a plate, adding a fork on the side. Within minutes, the cartons were cleared away and the table looked as if it belonged in a restaurant. Only then did he take a seat opposite her in the small breakfast nook.
He was waiting for her to begin. Feeling slightly self-conscious, she dipped her spoon into the soup. “You do that well.” She nodded at the table setting.
Dennis grinned as memories returned to him. “Old habit. I worked as a waiter to put myself through college,” he added in answer to the question that rose in her eyes. That much was true. “There are times I look down and still expect to see one of those half aprons tied around my waist.”
She took more than her share of lobster. Realizing what she’d done, Nicole began to place some of it back on the plate until he stopped her.
“Enjoy it,” he urged.
He made it difficult to resist. “How long did you work as a waiter?”
“Five years.” Passing up the lobster, he took a spoonful of the fried rice and then topped it with a helping of spicy chicken. In her condition, she would avoid it.
Nicole thought of how harried Marlene had been, going to college and working for their father in her so-called “off” time. “Must have been hard, working and studying at the same time.”
He shrugged. At the time, it had been well worth the struggle. “When you want something badly enough, you find a way to get it. Obstacles don’t matter. Making the goal does.”
Now he really did sound like Marlene. Nicole stopped eating and studied the man sitting across from her. “And what’s your goal, Mr. Lincoln?”
He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Please, call me Dennis. When you say ‘Mr. Lincoln’ like that, I feel like I should be wearing a stovepipe hat and tugging at my beard.”
Though he was tall, he was muscular and his hair was a dirty blond. He wore it on the longish side, which led her to believe that whoever he worked for wasn’t a stickler for decorum.
She didn’t particularly want to be on a first name basis with him. That left the door open to becoming more personal than just nodding at one another in passing. And she had all the friends she needed. Or wanted.
“You’re the wrong coloring. And you’re not gaunt enough.” His eyes were still on hers, waiting. Nicole paused, then relented. “All right, Dennis, what is your goal?”
He told her what she wanted to hear. What he might have wanted for himself if he led a more normal life. “What every man wants. To have a good job, to be a success at what I do. To have a family.” That sounded a little too perfect. He paused, then added, “Eventually.”
The honesty surprised her. He was probably too busy sowing oats everywhere. With his looks, he wouldn’t lack for takers. “But not now.”
“No, not now,” he affirmed with feeling. “I still have a long way to go before I ask someone to marry me and share my life.”
Nicole looked down at her plate and wondered where the lobster Cantonese had disappeared to. Could she have eaten it that fast? “Maybe she’ll ask you to share hers.”
If she was looking for an argument, she wouldn’t find one here. “Even better. An independent woman.”
Nicole sombered as she raised her eyes to his. “You’re patronizing me.”
Definitely
