Happy New Year--Baby!

“Well, goodbye. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner.”

“You’re not, exactly.” He looked down at the bag. “This was my way of saying thank you for this afternoon. I bought dinner for two. You and your…” His voice trailed off, purposely lost in an implied apology. Dennis offered the bag to her. “Chinese food. Since you’re alone, maybe I could join you if I manage to have the feet in my mouth surgically removed.”

The aroma was tempting. It had resurrected her dormant appetite and his manner was disarming in a soft, puppy dog sort of way. Still, she hardly knew him. Nicole shook her head. “I don’t—”

He wasn’t going to give her the chance to say no. “I don’t have anything nearly this good waiting for me in my refrigerator.”

“Then maybe you’d better take it.” She pressed the bag toward him, but he didn’t accept it.

“Old custom, never take back a bag of Chinese food. It’s bad luck.” Then, before she could protest further, he opened the bag in her hands and looked in as if he didn’t already know what it contained. “Wonton soup.”

She loved wonton soup. Nicole struggled to remain strong. She pushed the bag back into his hands. “No, I—”

“With sweet and sour pork, lobster Cantonese and Moo Goo Gai Pan.” He raised his eyes to hers. She was weakening, he thought. Dennis felt pleased, but there was a faint trace of guilt as well. “I’ve also got fried rice and appetizers.”

Nicole could feel her mouth watering. What would it hurt? He looked harmless enough.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he continued. “Other than the fact that everyone likes Chinese food.”

She felt her mouth curving in a small smile. “You took a survey?”

His grin grew larger. “No, but I never met anyone who didn’t.”

There were probably people somewhere who didn’t like Chinese food, but she certainly wasn’t among their number. Nicole glanced at the greasy bag. “It looks as if your Moo Goo is trying to make a break for it.”

The bag was threatening to tear. Dennis spread his hand protectively over the bottom. An edge of the carton was already beginning to protrude. “I need someplace to put this down.”

She nodded toward his door. “Your kitchen comes to mind.”

Dennis glanced over his shoulder. “Sure, if you’d rather eat there. My cleaning lady was just in yesterday, so—”

That would account for the neat state of the apartment, 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.