Page 3 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
“Not yet,” Bailey said. “I can’t sleep, I’m too excited.”
“I can’t either.” Courtney gazed up at her mother.
“Tell us a story,” Bailey suggested. “Alongstory.”
“You should get into bed first,” Nolan said, and both girls reluctantly climbed back into their beds, and pulled the covers all the way up to their chins.
“Do you want me to read to you?” Nolan asked.
“Not a book,” Courtney said. “Tell us arealstory.”
“About Grandpa and the newspaper business?” Maryanne knew how much her daughters loved to hear about their grandfather Simpson when he’d first started his business.
“No.” Courtney shook her head. “Tell us about how you and Daddy met.”
“You already know that story,” Nolan said.
“We want the unabridged version this time,” Bailey piped up.
Unabridged?Only the seven-year-old daughter of a writer would know the meaning of that word.
“What do you think, Annie?” Nolan asked.
Grinning, Maryanne lowered her head. When they’d first met, Nolan had been convinced she was nothing more than a spoiled debutante. From that point on, he’d taken to referring to her asDeb, Troubleand, with obvious affection, Annie.
“It was love at first sight,” Nolan told his children.
Maryanne smiled again. Despite his sometimes cynical manner, her husband could be a real romantic.
“Your mother was head over heels in love with me the minute we met,” he went on.
“I don’t remember it quite that way,” Maryanne protested.
“You don’t?” Nolan feigned surprise.
“No, because you infuriated me no end.” She remembered the notorious column he’d written about her—“My Evening with the Debutante.”
“Me?” His expression turned to one of exaggerated indignation.
“You thought I was a spoiled rich kid.”
“Youwerespoiled.”
“I most certainly was not.” Although Maryanne could see the gleam in his eye, she wasn’t going to let him get away with this. It was true her father owned the newspaper and had arranged for her position, but that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve the opportunity. She might not have worked her way up through the normal channels, but in time she’d proved herself to the staff at theSeattle Review. She’d also proved herself to Nolan—in a rather different way.
Courtney and Bailey exchanged glances.
“Are you fighting?” Bailey asked.
Nolan chuckled. “No, I was just setting your mother straight.”
Maryanne raised her eyebrows. “Apparently your father remembers things differently from the way I do.”
“Start at the beginning,” Bailey urged.
Excitedly clapping her hands, Courtney added, “Don’t forget to tell us about the time Daddy embarrassed you in front of the whole city.”
Nolan had worked for theSun, the rival paper in town. It wasn’t as if Maryanne would ever forget the column he’d written about his evening with her. Even now, after all these years, she bristled at the memory. He’d informed the entire city of Seattle that she was a naive idealist, and worst of all, he’d announced that she was away from home for the first time and lonely.
