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away.
He'd left her there on the table, speechless, as she watched him pick up the mess on the floor. That done, he had gone to the refrigerator, taken out a variety of vegetables and a package of chicken.
And then in the most polite tone he had informed her, "in exchange for your hospitality, I'll assume a variety of tasks. Actually, I'm a fairly decent cook—a matter of survival, since I never took a wife." When she simply stared at him, he came to her and pulled her robe together. "No need for you to linger, I can find my way about without assistance. Once dinner is prepared, I'll call you to join me," he said with a gracious smile.
She left, still searching for words that wouldn't come.
By the time he rang a bell—a leftover from Christmas she'd never gotten around to storing with her mishmash of ornaments—her tongue still refused to function. His own, however, appeared to be in fine shape. Over a candlelight dinner, her best china set out on the tablecloth she used for special occasions, he had glibly related several stories about the misadventures of his youth, interrupted only by his questions of concern.
"You don't care for the salad? Ah, I see, the salad is fine but you prefer 'Diet Ranch' over vinegar and oil... Is there something wrong with the dinner? Too many onions, too little gravy... Neither, is it? Then why don't you eat what I prepared? Not hungry, you say? We'll see about that. Voila! I saved the best for last. Behold, dessert."
She had stared at the bowl he set before her, two big scoops of vanilla ice cream with swirls of chocolate running down the sides, crushed nuts sprinkled over the top. She watched while he dug into his dessert, barely touching her own.
While he busied himself cleaning the kitchen she had stalked to her bedroom. And now here it was, over six hours later, and she was still stewing, wanting more than anything to ravage Noble's mouth with a vengeance. The thought of waking him up was mighty appealing. After all, if she couldn't sleep, why should he—
Suddenly Lori heard a familiar sound. Distant, but unmistakably there. Fighting a grin, she managed a scowl and marched to the living room.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled.
Continuing to slide the vacuum with one hand while he cupped his ear with the other, Noble shouted back, "Pardon me? I can't hear what you're saying."
Lori jerked out the plug. "What I'm saying is that you woke me up."
"My apologies. I couldn't sleep, you see, and while busying myself about the house, I happened upon this sucking broom. I was so taken with it—"
"Why couldn't you sleep?" Misery liking company, she could only hope Noble's reasons were similar to her own.
He shrugged. "I fear once I do, I might slumber for another century before waking up."
"Not likely. After all, you're safe and sound in a house, not camping out on a glacier."
"What you say is true, very true. But still, the apprehension lingers."
Lori sympathized more than she wanted to. She told herself to send Noble to bed and go to her own— alone —once she did. But that's not what came out of her mouth as she tugged at his arm and said, "c'mon, let's go to sleep."
"I would if I could. But I can't. For several hours I tried. Now off to bed with you. I'll cease my noisy sweeping and leave you in peace. Oh, have you a feather duster about?"
Lori groaned. "A neat freak. If you're a neat freak, I can tell you right now that we're not going to get along," she informed him, her hands on her hips.
"A neat freak?" he repeated.
"Yeah, one of those people who can't get a life beyond their obsession with flicking the dust from a white glove that's glued to their hand."
Noble looked at his hands. "No white gloves here. And a bit of dust never bothered me. I was only seeking to distract myself from a troubling perplexity."
"And just what's troubling you?"
"You."
"Me?"
"But of course. I made dinner for you in the hope that I might gain your appreciation for
He'd left her there on the table, speechless, as she watched him pick up the mess on the floor. That done, he had gone to the refrigerator, taken out a variety of vegetables and a package of chicken.
And then in the most polite tone he had informed her, "in exchange for your hospitality, I'll assume a variety of tasks. Actually, I'm a fairly decent cook—a matter of survival, since I never took a wife." When she simply stared at him, he came to her and pulled her robe together. "No need for you to linger, I can find my way about without assistance. Once dinner is prepared, I'll call you to join me," he said with a gracious smile.
She left, still searching for words that wouldn't come.
By the time he rang a bell—a leftover from Christmas she'd never gotten around to storing with her mishmash of ornaments—her tongue still refused to function. His own, however, appeared to be in fine shape. Over a candlelight dinner, her best china set out on the tablecloth she used for special occasions, he had glibly related several stories about the misadventures of his youth, interrupted only by his questions of concern.
"You don't care for the salad? Ah, I see, the salad is fine but you prefer 'Diet Ranch' over vinegar and oil... Is there something wrong with the dinner? Too many onions, too little gravy... Neither, is it? Then why don't you eat what I prepared? Not hungry, you say? We'll see about that. Voila! I saved the best for last. Behold, dessert."
She had stared at the bowl he set before her, two big scoops of vanilla ice cream with swirls of chocolate running down the sides, crushed nuts sprinkled over the top. She watched while he dug into his dessert, barely touching her own.
While he busied himself cleaning the kitchen she had stalked to her bedroom. And now here it was, over six hours later, and she was still stewing, wanting more than anything to ravage Noble's mouth with a vengeance. The thought of waking him up was mighty appealing. After all, if she couldn't sleep, why should he—
Suddenly Lori heard a familiar sound. Distant, but unmistakably there. Fighting a grin, she managed a scowl and marched to the living room.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled.
Continuing to slide the vacuum with one hand while he cupped his ear with the other, Noble shouted back, "Pardon me? I can't hear what you're saying."
Lori jerked out the plug. "What I'm saying is that you woke me up."
"My apologies. I couldn't sleep, you see, and while busying myself about the house, I happened upon this sucking broom. I was so taken with it—"
"Why couldn't you sleep?" Misery liking company, she could only hope Noble's reasons were similar to her own.
He shrugged. "I fear once I do, I might slumber for another century before waking up."
"Not likely. After all, you're safe and sound in a house, not camping out on a glacier."
"What you say is true, very true. But still, the apprehension lingers."
Lori sympathized more than she wanted to. She told herself to send Noble to bed and go to her own— alone —once she did. But that's not what came out of her mouth as she tugged at his arm and said, "c'mon, let's go to sleep."
"I would if I could. But I can't. For several hours I tried. Now off to bed with you. I'll cease my noisy sweeping and leave you in peace. Oh, have you a feather duster about?"
Lori groaned. "A neat freak. If you're a neat freak, I can tell you right now that we're not going to get along," she informed him, her hands on her hips.
"A neat freak?" he repeated.
"Yeah, one of those people who can't get a life beyond their obsession with flicking the dust from a white glove that's glued to their hand."
Noble looked at his hands. "No white gloves here. And a bit of dust never bothered me. I was only seeking to distract myself from a troubling perplexity."
"And just what's troubling you?"
"You."
"Me?"
"But of course. I made dinner for you in the hope that I might gain your appreciation for
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