“Haven’t you heard? The sun is bad for your skin.”
“Use sunscreen and moderation. It’ll put a little color in those cheeks. You could add a couple of pounds, too. You’ve probably been starving yourself.”
“I have not been starving myself, thank you very much, and my figure is no concern of yours.”
“I’m the one who has to look at it.”
“You don’t have to. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Remember our deal.”
“Our deal was that I’d stay in my own room at night. There were no restrictions on what I’d do during the day.”
“Which brings us to something very important. We need to set a schedule.”
“I don’t do schedules.” The response was deceptively soft and pleasant. She had a feeling it hid a mulish personality.
“If this is going to work, we have to have a schedule,” she said firmly. “You can’t just come barging into the kitchen when I’m…” She could not bring herself to complete the thought.
“Fixing breakfast?” he offered with a grin.
She scowled. “No, dammit. When I’m taking a bath.” She struggled for a businesslike demeanor. “Now, it seems reasonable that I have the use of the kitchen in the morning, since I have to go out on job interviews. You probably like to bathe at the end of the day anyway. So that should work out nicely.” He was shaking his head.
“What’s wrong?”
“I take two baths a day. Morning and night.”
“Why?”
“Habit.”
“Break it.”
“Two baths.”
It was hard to argue with cleanliness. “Okay, fine. Take your damn bath in the morning. Just make sure you leave me some hot water and be out of the kitchen by seven-thirty.”
“I eat breakfast at seven-thirty.”
“Where? In the tub?”
“At the counter, standing up. Toast, cereal, eggs and coffee.”
“That’s not healthy. You need to sit down and digest your food properly. You can eat your breakfast in the living room.”
“But I always…”
“If you want your morning bath, you will eat your breakfast in the living room.”
“That’s blackmail,” he retorted.
“That’s compromise,” she growled.
He grinned. “Okay.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “You’re agreeing?”
“I just said I’d do it, didn’t I? Who’s going to do the dishes?”
“We’re each going to do our own.”
“That means I’ll have to come back into the kitchen, while you’re…”
Oh, dear heaven! “Never mind,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them.”
“Then what do you want me to do to even things out?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ll fix lunches for both of us,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken.
“I won’t be home for lunch.”
“You can take it with you.”
“I prefer to eat in restaurants.”
He tilted his head knowingly. “Can you afford to do that right now?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
“Fine. Which do you prefer, peanut butter or tuna fish?”
“Yogurt.”
“On a sandwich?”
Patience, Gabrielle. Have patience! “No. In its own little container. I’ll pick some up when I go to the store.”
“Don’t you think we should go to the store together? For the next few weeks, I mean. If we combine groceries, we’ll both save. Right?”
She supposed it did sound practical. “Okay. We’ll make up a list when we go back upstairs.”
“Who needs a list? We’ll just go and get whatever appeals to us.”
“That’s inefficient and expensive. We’ll end up with things we don’t really need and we’ll forget some of the basics.”
He stared at her solemnly. “You need to loosen up. Do you put everything in your life on little lists?”
“Not everything,” she said stiffly. He was, however, remarkably close to the truth. She didn’t have much patience with wasted motion.
“That’s a good way to miss out on what’s important.”
“It works for me.”
He shrugged. “If you say so. Now there’s one thing we haven’t talked about.”
“Which is?”
“Guests. What do we do if we want to have someone over?”
“You mean like a date?” The mere thought of it raised all sorts of awful possibilities she hadn’t considered. She supposed a man like Paul would date a lot. She also imagined he wouldn’t leave those dates at their own front door with a chaste peck on the cheek. The thought stirred a little agony of uncertainty deep inside her. She met his amused gaze.
“Yes, a date,” he said softly.
“Can’t you wait until you move into your own apartment?” she grumbled.
“I’m willing to compromise here, but let’s not go nuts about it. Don’t you date?”
“Of course, I do, but it won’t kill me to meet my dates in a restaurant for the next few weeks.”
“And after?”
“After what?”
“After dinner?”
“We’ll each go to our respective homes.”
“Sounds sensible.” The way he said it, it sounded like a death sentence. He cast a meaningful look at her. “I’m not that sensible.”
“Fine. If you are unable to curb your male hormones for a few weeks, just let me know and I will arrange to be out for the evening.”
“For the night,” he corrected.
Of course, it would be for the night. She seethed. “I will not be kept out of my own bed for an entire night.”
“I don’t mind, if you don’t,” he said easily. “I guess that settles everything.”
“Yes. I guess it does.” Why had all this talk of dates left her feeling empty and alone all of a sudden? She enjoyed living alone. She was perfectly capable of entertaining herself. She had her collection of CDs and tapes, her videos of her favorite movie classics, and a stack of unread books. Let Paul Reed go out tonight. Every night, for that matter. She’d be just fine. It would be good to have the apartment to herself…until he came home with these dates of his.
She stood up suddenly and began snatching the dishes off the table.
“Something wrong?” Paul inquired innocently.
“Of course not. What could possibly be wrong?”
“You seem upset.”
She slammed the dishes right back on the table. “I am not upset. Nothing is wrong. I am going upstairs to unpack, if you don’t mind.”
She stalked away from the table, then turned back. “Thank you for the lunch,” she said politely.
He was grinning. In fact he looked rather pleased with himself. “You’re welcome,” he said softly.
To her unreasoning
