pot.
“Please,” Holly said.
“You're up bright and early, Cal,” the woman said while she poured the hot brew. “How're you feeling these days, hon?”
“Great,” he answered without much enthusiasm.
His expression seemed neutral enough, but Holly sensed it was just a mask, not so different from the one he wore professionally. The waitress, whose nametag read CORAL, appeared to accept his answer as gospel, however.
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “I'll be right back for your order. We've got some real nice-looking cherry Danish today.”
When she was gone, Holly took a sip of her coffee, then asked, “How
are
you feeling these days?” She dispensed with the “hon.”
“Great,” he said again, this time a bit more defensively.
Holly wasn't buying it, not in her capacity as a journalist nor as the woman who'd watched this man slumber so peacefully the night before only to have worry return once he opened his blue eyes. “You haven't been sleeping well, I gather.”
Those eyes fixed firmly on her face. “I did last night.”
“So I noticed.” She couldn't fight off a foolish grin or the slight flush she felt burning across her cheeks.
God, what a juvenile reaction for a thirty-one-year-old woman. She needed to start thinking like a producer instead of some silly, starry-eyed kid. She reached for her water glass and took several cooling gulps. And anyway the man had fallen asleep on her, hadn't he? How flattering was that?
“You should have kicked me out last night,” Cal said, “but I'm grateful that you didn't.”
Holly shrugged. “No big deal.” Well, it wasn't, after all. “I didn't have the heart to wake you. But I'm grateful you made such a dashing exit this morning.”
“I figured you would be.”
Holly got lost for a second in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes just before Coral re-appeared, plucking a pencil from her blond beehive. “Okay, what'll it be, folks?” she asked.
“I'll have a bagel and orange juice,” Holly said.
“Sorry, hon. No bagels. We used to have them on the menu, but nobody ever ordered them. How 'bout if I bring you one of those nice cherry Danishes before they're all gone?”
“That'll be fine,” Holly said, all of a sudden craving a golden-toasted, butter-dripping bagel more than anything in the world. Or one with lox and cream cheese like the ones Mel brought to work every once in a while. Her stomach twisted with hunger and homesickness.
Cal ordered the Danish, too, and after Coral sashayed back to the kitchen he grinned across the table and said, “You're not in New York anymore, Dorothy.”
She laughed. “Do I look that disappointed?”
“Well, your face fell an inch or two. It's still a really pretty face, though.”
Cal Griffin thought she was pretty! The unprofessional part of her began to melt like ice cream down the side of a cone, while the professional in her went all stiff and thin-lipped. What did pretty have to do with anything? The two attitudes clashed with a little cluck of her tongue as she reached into her handbag for her notebook and a pen.
“I had intended to do a few collateral interviews before officially interviewing you, but I guess it doesn't matter all that much,” she said, pushing aside her cup and saucer, then flipping open the notebook to a clean page.
Now who looked disappointed? Ha! Now whose face fell several inches but still managed to look really, really handsome?
“I didn't realize this was an interview,” he said.
“Well, why waste time?”
She sat up a little straighter, and with her pen poised above the blank page, Holly wracked her brain for a good opening question, one that wouldn't make Cal Griffin uncomfortable, one that would lead innocently and irrevocably to meatier questions and astonishing replies. A Barbara Walters kind of question. God help her, she couldn't think of anything at the moment except the way those soft whiskers darkened his strong jaw and the way that little
“Please,” Holly said.
“You're up bright and early, Cal,” the woman said while she poured the hot brew. “How're you feeling these days, hon?”
“Great,” he answered without much enthusiasm.
His expression seemed neutral enough, but Holly sensed it was just a mask, not so different from the one he wore professionally. The waitress, whose nametag read CORAL, appeared to accept his answer as gospel, however.
“Glad to hear it,” she said. “I'll be right back for your order. We've got some real nice-looking cherry Danish today.”
When she was gone, Holly took a sip of her coffee, then asked, “How
are
you feeling these days?” She dispensed with the “hon.”
“Great,” he said again, this time a bit more defensively.
Holly wasn't buying it, not in her capacity as a journalist nor as the woman who'd watched this man slumber so peacefully the night before only to have worry return once he opened his blue eyes. “You haven't been sleeping well, I gather.”
Those eyes fixed firmly on her face. “I did last night.”
“So I noticed.” She couldn't fight off a foolish grin or the slight flush she felt burning across her cheeks.
God, what a juvenile reaction for a thirty-one-year-old woman. She needed to start thinking like a producer instead of some silly, starry-eyed kid. She reached for her water glass and took several cooling gulps. And anyway the man had fallen asleep on her, hadn't he? How flattering was that?
“You should have kicked me out last night,” Cal said, “but I'm grateful that you didn't.”
Holly shrugged. “No big deal.” Well, it wasn't, after all. “I didn't have the heart to wake you. But I'm grateful you made such a dashing exit this morning.”
“I figured you would be.”
Holly got lost for a second in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes just before Coral re-appeared, plucking a pencil from her blond beehive. “Okay, what'll it be, folks?” she asked.
“I'll have a bagel and orange juice,” Holly said.
“Sorry, hon. No bagels. We used to have them on the menu, but nobody ever ordered them. How 'bout if I bring you one of those nice cherry Danishes before they're all gone?”
“That'll be fine,” Holly said, all of a sudden craving a golden-toasted, butter-dripping bagel more than anything in the world. Or one with lox and cream cheese like the ones Mel brought to work every once in a while. Her stomach twisted with hunger and homesickness.
Cal ordered the Danish, too, and after Coral sashayed back to the kitchen he grinned across the table and said, “You're not in New York anymore, Dorothy.”
She laughed. “Do I look that disappointed?”
“Well, your face fell an inch or two. It's still a really pretty face, though.”
Cal Griffin thought she was pretty! The unprofessional part of her began to melt like ice cream down the side of a cone, while the professional in her went all stiff and thin-lipped. What did pretty have to do with anything? The two attitudes clashed with a little cluck of her tongue as she reached into her handbag for her notebook and a pen.
“I had intended to do a few collateral interviews before officially interviewing you, but I guess it doesn't matter all that much,” she said, pushing aside her cup and saucer, then flipping open the notebook to a clean page.
Now who looked disappointed? Ha! Now whose face fell several inches but still managed to look really, really handsome?
“I didn't realize this was an interview,” he said.
“Well, why waste time?”
She sat up a little straighter, and with her pen poised above the blank page, Holly wracked her brain for a good opening question, one that wouldn't make Cal Griffin uncomfortable, one that would lead innocently and irrevocably to meatier questions and astonishing replies. A Barbara Walters kind of question. God help her, she couldn't think of anything at the moment except the way those soft whiskers darkened his strong jaw and the way that little
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