Free Eternally Yours by Jennifer Malin Page B

cup of coffee?”
    “Are you sure I’m not intruding? If you’re in the middle of something, I’ll go.”
    He shook his head, tossing the package onto a small bistro table that fit snugly into the wide front hall. Across from the table an archway opened, the edge of a refrigerator showing around the corner. He stepped into the kitchen, out of her view. “I owe you a cup of coffee.”
    Not exactly an entreaty for me to stay , she thought, inching farther into the hall. He obviously hadn’t gotten over that Karen person. Why am I even here? A guy hooked up with that bitch couldn’t be the saint Di described.
    On the other hand, maybe he’d have to be.
    While he fixed the coffee, she scanned the towering walls in the front hall. Beside her hung a group of black-and-white photos, apparently shot in Paris in the nineteen-twenties or so. She moved forward to look at a larger print above the table and recognized Van Gogh’s “Cafe Terrace/Night.” Peeking into the kitchen, she admired the retro decor. Evidently Mark had varied tastes. She’d thought his place might look something like a Victorian museum.
    “I’m surprised you came over. You could have just called.” Standing at a small counter between the sink and stove, he scooped ground coffee into a filter. A prolonged view of his backside led her to decide he looked best in jeans.
    “I knew I would be in the neighborhood.” She sat down in one of the two chairs at the bistro table. Her statement, she told herself, was basically true. She lived in the neighborhood.
    “Yeah?” He switched on the coffee maker and turned toward her. “What errands are you running today?”
    “Besides bringing you your manuscript? Well, I’ve got to pick up a few things at the supermarket. I’m not good at keeping the fridge stocked. I end up having to hit the grocery store every other day.”
    He walked over to the table and took a seat across from her. “Did you get everything on your agenda done yesterday?”
    It was a strange question for him to ask, but her mind wandered before she pointed that out. She stared at a pair of unlit tapered candles between them, pushed off-center by his manuscript. A napkin holder and two coasters added to the cluttered surface. Wondering if he’d often made dinner for Karen here, she said, “Yes, I had to get a prescription for my mother and...do a couple other things. Believe it or not, I even have the kitchen floor completely uncovered now. All I need to do is move the dinette set back.”
    As soon as she’d spoken, she worried that he might think she was fishing for help from him--which she by no means wanted. She’d find a way to take care of the table on her own. She added, “My friend Diane has promised to help me do it.”
    “Karen mentioned she saw you in Town Hall,” he said, practically on top of her words. A hard edge had crept into his voice.
    Had Karen told him about the building permit? She really was a bitch.
    On the slim chance that he didn’t know, she decided not to volunteer the information. Luckily she’d had more than one errand at the office. “Yeah, I stopped to pay my property taxes.”
    The coffee maker let out a discordant sputtering, as if protesting her half-truth. Breaking their shared gaze, Mark got up and went into the kitchen. His silence gnawed at her, and she raked her brain for another topic to talk about.
    She cleared her throat. “I hope you don’t mind, but I read some of your manuscript this morning.”
    For a long moment she heard only the tinkling of a spoon stirring in a china cup. At last he said, “Why should I mind? That’s the reason I brought it over there.”
    Though his voice remained tense, she reached for the envelope and pulled the manuscript out onto the table. Flipping through the pages, she looked for a phrase she had particularly liked.
    He returned carrying two large cups and saucers in a style made especially for cappuccino. Jaw clenched, he handed her one of the sets.