own bedroom, but sometimes I’d like to watch what I want on TV, or pig out on ice cream in the kitchen without having to share, or cry without having to explain. Or wander around without a bathrobe, or hear about Ginny’s day at school without at least a couple of other people commenting, too, or contradicting me if I’m trying to be stern.” She let out a gusty sigh. “And, oh, I feel so petty and ungrateful even saying that!”
Alec found there was so much he wanted to know about her, he ate without tasting his dinner, and didn’t notice when the waitress cleared their table. The one subject he avoided was her marriage and her husband’s death. He wanted to hear about her husband—eventually. But not tonight.
And he didn’t want to talk about Linda yet, either.
So he heard about Helen’s parents, her dad a mechanic, her mother a nurse, devoted to their only child, and told her in turn about his own upbringing with well-educated, financially successful parents who didn’t have much time for their two offspring.
They each talked a little about their children, and about grandparents and pets and co-workers. Two, then three hours flowed by. Entranced by her every expression, the purse of her lips or brief thoughtful frown or amusement that quivered at the corners of her mouth, he scarcely took his eyes from Helen’s face the entire evening.
He was startled when she suddenly gave a cry and said, “Oh, it’s ten o’clock! How did it get to be so late?”
“That’s not exactly the wee hours,” he teased.
She made a face at him. “No, but I have to work in the morning, believe it or not. Some of us don’t rest on Sundays.”
Alec was surprised himself to realize how reluctant he was for the evening to end. They’d hardly scratched the surface of each other’s lives!
Glancing at the check, he tossed bills on the table and stood. “Then we’d better get you home.”
Night had fallen now. The walk back to the car felt curiously intimate, only the two of them on the dark sidewalk. In the car he was even more conscious of being alone with her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so eager and awkward and nervous.
How would she feel about him kissing her? He hadn’t dated much; she hadn’t at all, apparently. Maybe she’d thought this was just a friendly dinner. Had he imagined the sparkle in her eyes or the warmth of her smile or the way she’d looked at him when she said, “I can’t believe you were ever a geek.” Maybe her apparent fascination with his life had been mere politeness.
She was quiet during the drive, responding with only a few words to his comments or questions. In the light of a streetlamp he saw that her fingers were knotted on her lap and she sat with her knees primly together and her back very straight.
Was she nervous, too?
Scowling ahead, he couldn’t decide if he was glad or sorry. He hated the idea that he scared her. But if she wasn’t nervous at all, then that would mean she didn’t feel the anticipation he did.
He pulled in right in front of her driveway, then turned off the engine. In the sudden silence, Helen gave him the look of a wild creature, cornered.
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