Happy New Year--Baby!. Marie Ferrarella

she thought.

      “No, I meant that you should eat it in your kitchen.” She really didn’t feel like having company. Talking about Craig had brought memories back to her. Memories that hurt.

      He raised the bag. The blend of aromas was doing its own selling, but it didn’t hurt to push just a little. Obviously his attempt at conversation wasn’t enough to gain entry to her home or her confidence. And now he’d need to hire a cleaning lady. “It’s a lot of food for just one person and leftovers have a habit of turning a strange shade of green in my refrigerator before I get back to them.” One look into her eyes told him he had her. “Besides, I’d feel better about putting you out this morning.”

      She could almost taste the egg rolls. “Well…”

      He went in for the kill. “And I was raised to believe that neighbors should be neighborly. This will be my chance to do something neighborly.”

      It was becoming obvious that if she didn’t agree to have dinner with him, he would stand here, talking all night. She supposed that there was no harm in sharing a meal with him.

      Nicole stepped back, allowing him access to her apartment. Being on her own terrain would make her feel a lot better than being on his. He sounded like someone with small-town values, but you never knew.

      Neighborly. Now there was a word she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Exactly where were you raised?” The door thudded shut behind her and she deliberately left the top lock opened. It never hurt to be careful.

      If she’d employed that prudence earlier, maybe she wouldn’t be in this predicament now.

      No, her pregnancy wasn’t a predicament, she corrected fiercely. Just the beginning had been.

      Dennis placed the bag on the kitchen table just in time. The rest of it ripped away. The carton of fried rice in the bottom of the bag made unceremonious contact with the tabletop. His hand greasy, Dennis automatically reached for a paper towel from the roll above the sink.

      “I’m from Houston,” he answered as he wiped his hands. It was only one of many cities he and his family had passed through, but it was as good as any to tell her. He looked around for someplace to discard the paper towel.

      Nicole opened the cupboard beneath the sink and indicated the small pail there. “That would explain the twang.”

      He grinned as he tossed the crumpled towel away. “What twang?” he asked innocently, purposely thickening it for her benefit.

      “Yours.”

      “I 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