Rainy Day Kisses. Debbie Macomber

by yawning loudly. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she slumped down on the chair across from him and flipped her hair away from her face.

      His gaze followed the action. “You should wear your hair down more often.”

      She glared at him. “I always wear my hair up.”

      “I noticed. And frankly, it’s much more flattering down.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she cried, “are you going to tell me how to dress next?”

      “I might.”

      He said it with such a charming smile that any sting there might have been in his statement was diluted.

      “You don’t have to stick with business suits every day, do you? Try jeans sometime. With a T-shirt.”

      She opened her mouth to argue with him, then decided not to bother. The arrogance he displayed seemed to be characteristic of handsome men in general, she’d noted. Because a man happened to possess lean good looks and could smile beguilingly, he figured he had the right to say anything he pleased to a woman—to comment on how she styled her hair, how she chose to dress or anything else. These were things he wouldn’t dream of discussing if he were talking to another man.

      “You aren’t going to argue?”

      “No,” she said, and for emphasis shook her head.

      That stopped him short. He paused and blinked, then sent her another of his captivating smiles. “I find that refreshing.”

      “I’m gratified to hear there’s something about me you approve of.” There were probably plenty of other things that didn’t please him. Given any encouragement, he’d probably be glad to list them for her.

      Sweet little traitor that she was, Michelle had curled up in Nate’s arms, utterly content just to sit there and study his handsome face, which no doubt had fascinated numerous other females before her. The least Michelle could do was show some signs of going back to sleep so Susannah could return her to the crib and usher Nate out the door.

      “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your hair and clothes.”

      “Hey,” she returned flippantly, “you don’t need to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m strong. I’ve got a lot of emotional fortitude.”

      “Strong,” he repeated. “You make yourself sound like an all-weather tire.”

      “I’ve had to be tougher than that.”

      His face relaxed into a look of sympathy. “Why?”

      “I work with men just like you every day.”

      “Men just like me?”

      “It’s true. For the past seven years, I’ve found myself up against the old double standard, but I’ve learned to keep my cool.”

      He frowned as if he didn’t understand what she was talking about. Susannah felt it was her obligation to tell him. Apparently Nate had never been involved in office politics. “Let me give you a few examples. If a male coworker has a cluttered desk, then everyone assumes he’s a hard worker. If my desk is a mess, it’s a sign of disorganization.”

      Nate looked as if he wanted to argue with her, but Susannah was just warming to her subject and she forged ahead before he had a chance to speak. “If a man in an office marries, it’s good for the company because he’ll settle down and become a more productive employee. If a woman marries, it’s almost the kiss of death because management figures she’ll get pregnant and quit. If a man leaves because he’s been offered a better job, everyone’s pleased for him because he’s taking advantage of an excellent career opportunity. But if the same position is offered to a woman and she takes it, then upper management shrugs and claims women aren’t dependable.”

      When she’d finished there was a short pause. “You have very definite feelings on the subject,” he said at last.

      “If you were a woman, you would, too.”

      His nod of agreement was a long time coming. “You’re right, I probably would.”

      Michelle seemed to find the toes of her sleeper fascinating and was examining them closely. Personally, Susannah didn’t know how anyone could be so wide-awake at this ungodly hour.

      “If you turn down the lights, she might get the hint,” Nate said, doing a poor job of smothering a yawn.

      “You’re beat,” said Susannah. “There’s no need for you to stay. I’ll take her.” She held out her arms to Michelle, who whimpered and clung all the more tightly to Nate. Susannah’s feelings of inadequacy were reinforced.

      “Don’t worry about me. I’m comfortable like this,” Nate told her.

      “But…” She could feel the warmth invading her cheeks. She lowered her eyes, regretting her outburst of a few minutes ago. She’d been standing on her soapbox again. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said. What goes on at the office has nothing to do with our being neighbors.”

      “Then we’re even.”

      “Even?”

      “I shouldn’t have commented on your hair and clothes.” He hesitated long enough to envelop her in his smile. “Friends?”

      Despite the intolerable hour, Susannah found herself smiling back. “Friends.”

      Michelle seemed to concur because she cooed loudly, kicking her feet.

      Susannah stood and turned the lamp down to its lowest setting, then reached for Michelle’s blanket, covering the baby. Feeling slightly chilled herself, she fetched the brightly colored afghan at the foot of the sofa, which Emily had crocheted for her last Christmas.

      The muted light created an intimate atmosphere, and suddenly self-conscious, Susannah suggested, “Maybe I’ll sing to her. That should help her go to sleep.”

      “If anyone sings, it’ll be me,” he said much too quickly.

      Susannah’s pride was a little dented, but remembering her limited repertoire of songs, she gestured toward him and said, “All right, Frank Sinatra, have a go.”

      To Susannah’s surprise, Nate’s singing voice was soothing and melodious. Even more surprisingly, he knew exactly the right kind of songs. Not lullabies, but easy-listening songs, the kind she’d heard for years on the radio. She felt her own eyes drifting closed and battled to stay awake. His voice dropped to a mere whisper that felt like a warm caress. Much too warm. And cozy, as if the three of them belonged together, which was ridiculous since she’d only just met Nate. He was her neighbor and nothing more. There hadn’t been time for them to get to know each other, and Michelle was her niece, not her daughter.

      But the domestic fantasy continued, no matter how hard she tried to dispel it. She couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to share her life with a husband and children—and she could barely manage to keep her eyes open for more than a second or two. Perhaps if she rested them for a moment…

      * * *

      The next thing Susannah knew, her neck ached. She reached up to secure her pillow, then realized she didn’t have one. Instead of being in bed, she was curled up in the chair, her head resting uncomfortably against the arm. Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes and discovered Nate across from her, head tilted back, sleeping soundly. Michelle was resting peacefully in his arms.

      It took Susannah a minute or so to orient herself. When she saw the sun breaking across the sky and spilling through her large windows, she closed her eyes again. It was morning. Morning! Nate had spent the night at her place.

      Flustered, Susannah twisted her body into an upright position and rubbed the sleep from her face, wondering what she should do. Waking Nate was probably not the best idea. He was bound to be as unnerved as she was to discover he’d fallen asleep in her living room. To complicate matters, the afghan she’d covered