Page 42 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
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 knewbeyond 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.
After a long hot shower, she put on her flannel pyjamas and unfolded her bed, climbing quickly beneath the covers. She’d turned the television on for company and prepared herself a mug of soup. As she took her first sip, she heard someone knock at her door.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“Nolan.”
“I’m in bed,” she shouted.
“You’ve seen me in my robe. It’s only fair I see you in yours,” he yelled back.
Maryanne tossed aside her covers and sat up. “Go away.”
A sharp pounding noise came from the floor, followed by an equally loud roar that proclaimed it time for “Jeopardy.” Apparently Maryanne’s shouting match with Nolan was disrupting Mrs. McBride’s favorite television show.
“Sorry.” Maryanne cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled at the hardwood floor.
“Are you going to let me in, or do I have to get the passkey?” Nolan demanded.
Groaning, Maryanne shuffled across the floor in her giant fuzzy slippers and turned the lock. “Yes?” she asked with exaggerated patience.
For the longest moment, Nolan said nothing. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his beige raincoat. “How are you?”
Maryanne glared at him with all the indignation she could muster, which at the moment was considerable. “Do you mean to say you practically pounded down my door to ask me that?”
He didn’t bother to answer, but walked into her apartment as though he had every right to do so. “Barbara phoned me.”
“Oh, brother! And what exactly did she say?” She continued to hold open the door, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.
“That you caught my bug.” His voice was rough with ill-disguised worry.
“Wrong. I felt a bit under the weather earlier, but I’m fine now.” The last thing she wanted Nolan motivated by was guilt. He’d succeeded in keeping his distance up to now; if he decided to see her, she wanted to be sure his visit wasn’t prompted by an overactive sense of responsibility.
“You look...”
“Yes?” she prompted.
His gaze skimmed her, from slightly damp hair to large fuzzy feet. “Fine,” he answered softly.
“As you can see I’m really not sick, so you needn’t concern yourself.”
Her words were followed by a lengthy silence. Nolan turned as though to leave. Maryanne should have felt relieved to see him go; instead, she experienced the strangest sensation of loss. She longed to reach out a hand, ask him to stay, but she didn’t have the courage.
She brushed the hair from her face and smiled, even though it was difficult to put on a carefree facade.
“I’ll stop by in the morning and see how you’re doing,” Nolan said, hovering by the threshold.
“That won’t be necessary.”
He frowned. “When did you get so prickly?”
“When did you get so caring?” The words nearly caught in her throat and escaped on a whisper.
“Idocare about you,” he said.
