dreamy smile dominating her expression. “Not this time anyway."
Marsha forced herself to ignore the qualification, certain she was being baited. “Does he love you?"
The question had a sobering effect on Annette. “I'm not sure.” She sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling. “It's so difficult to be objective. Sometimes I can't even think straight when he's near me,” she admitted. “But if he doesn't love me now, he will—soon."
Marsha wasn't as positive about it, but she decided it was better if she kept her doubts to herself. Annette had a way of making things work out the way she wanted them to, even when Marsha thought it was impossible. For her sister's sake, she hoped it would be the case this time, too.
When Annette began telling her about Josh, Marsha moved to her bed and sat cross-legged at the bottom of it. She listened while Annette confided her excitement and fears and happiness. She wasn't sure how many yawns she smothered before Annette's exuberance abated. It was well into the wee hours of the morning before either of them crawled under the covers to sleep.
It seemed that Annette had barely laid her head on the pillow when the telephone began ringing shrilly. She tried burying her head under the pillow, but it couldn't shut out the incessant ring. Marsha groaned in the next bed.
Dragging an arm from beneath the covers, Annette groped for the phone on the bed table. Her fingers plucked the receiver off the hook in mid-ring and carried it under the pillow to her ear.
“Hello,” she mumbled grumpily.
“Up and at ’em, sleepyhead,” Josh's disembodied voice chided her.
Her eyes opened as she fought off the drugging tiredness. “Josh?"
“How many other men call you in the morning?” he mocked.
She sat up, knocking the pillow to the floor. “This is the first time you've called,” Annette reminded him.
“So it is,” he admitted. “Are you jogging with me this morning?"
“I ... what time is it?” Between sleep and confusion, nothing was clear.
“Six-thirty."
Part of her wanted to collapse onto the mattress, but not the half in control. “I have to get dressed yet."
“Pity,” he replied. “I'll give you fifteen minutes, then I'm leaving without you."
“I'll be ready.” She was already throwing back the covers and swinging out of the bed. “Bye."
“Aren't you going to ask where to meet me?” Josh chided.
“Where shall I meet you?” she asked, obliging him.
“I'll wait for you at the beach."
“In fifteen minutes,” she repeated.
“Now you can hang up,” he mocked.
Smiling at the receiver, she did. As she started for the bathroom, Marsha groggily raised her head, giving her a blurry-eyed look.
“Where are you going? Who was that?” she muttered thickly.
“It was Josh. He wants me to go jogging with him,” Annette explained hurriedly, and took off toward the bathroom.
“What time is it?” Marsha frowned.
Annette paused at the door long enough to answer, “Six-thirty."
With a groan, Marsha flopped her head onto the pillow. “You must be crazy,” she mumbled, but water was running in the sink so Annette didn't hear when Marsha added, “or in love."
She was asleep when Annette left the room twelve minutes later to meet Josh.
THE NEXT FEW DAYS they seemed intent on making up for lost time. They jogged together in the mornings before Josh went to his office, then met again in the evenings. Annette stubbornly ignored her father's disapproving looks and thinly veiled remarks of displeasure at her choice of escorts. Sometimes they went out and sometimes they stayed around the hotel—at the beach or on his boat.
This night, Josh had taken her into Wilmington on the mainland. As they strolled along, Josh held her hand loosely within the clasp of his. It was a somnolent evening, the lengthening shadows of a retiring sun spreading over the city.
“Getting hungry?” he asked.
Her answer was a nod, followed by, “You mentioned something about
Marsha forced herself to ignore the qualification, certain she was being baited. “Does he love you?"
The question had a sobering effect on Annette. “I'm not sure.” She sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling. “It's so difficult to be objective. Sometimes I can't even think straight when he's near me,” she admitted. “But if he doesn't love me now, he will—soon."
Marsha wasn't as positive about it, but she decided it was better if she kept her doubts to herself. Annette had a way of making things work out the way she wanted them to, even when Marsha thought it was impossible. For her sister's sake, she hoped it would be the case this time, too.
When Annette began telling her about Josh, Marsha moved to her bed and sat cross-legged at the bottom of it. She listened while Annette confided her excitement and fears and happiness. She wasn't sure how many yawns she smothered before Annette's exuberance abated. It was well into the wee hours of the morning before either of them crawled under the covers to sleep.
It seemed that Annette had barely laid her head on the pillow when the telephone began ringing shrilly. She tried burying her head under the pillow, but it couldn't shut out the incessant ring. Marsha groaned in the next bed.
Dragging an arm from beneath the covers, Annette groped for the phone on the bed table. Her fingers plucked the receiver off the hook in mid-ring and carried it under the pillow to her ear.
“Hello,” she mumbled grumpily.
“Up and at ’em, sleepyhead,” Josh's disembodied voice chided her.
Her eyes opened as she fought off the drugging tiredness. “Josh?"
“How many other men call you in the morning?” he mocked.
She sat up, knocking the pillow to the floor. “This is the first time you've called,” Annette reminded him.
“So it is,” he admitted. “Are you jogging with me this morning?"
“I ... what time is it?” Between sleep and confusion, nothing was clear.
“Six-thirty."
Part of her wanted to collapse onto the mattress, but not the half in control. “I have to get dressed yet."
“Pity,” he replied. “I'll give you fifteen minutes, then I'm leaving without you."
“I'll be ready.” She was already throwing back the covers and swinging out of the bed. “Bye."
“Aren't you going to ask where to meet me?” Josh chided.
“Where shall I meet you?” she asked, obliging him.
“I'll wait for you at the beach."
“In fifteen minutes,” she repeated.
“Now you can hang up,” he mocked.
Smiling at the receiver, she did. As she started for the bathroom, Marsha groggily raised her head, giving her a blurry-eyed look.
“Where are you going? Who was that?” she muttered thickly.
“It was Josh. He wants me to go jogging with him,” Annette explained hurriedly, and took off toward the bathroom.
“What time is it?” Marsha frowned.
Annette paused at the door long enough to answer, “Six-thirty."
With a groan, Marsha flopped her head onto the pillow. “You must be crazy,” she mumbled, but water was running in the sink so Annette didn't hear when Marsha added, “or in love."
She was asleep when Annette left the room twelve minutes later to meet Josh.
THE NEXT FEW DAYS they seemed intent on making up for lost time. They jogged together in the mornings before Josh went to his office, then met again in the evenings. Annette stubbornly ignored her father's disapproving looks and thinly veiled remarks of displeasure at her choice of escorts. Sometimes they went out and sometimes they stayed around the hotel—at the beach or on his boat.
This night, Josh had taken her into Wilmington on the mainland. As they strolled along, Josh held her hand loosely within the clasp of his. It was a somnolent evening, the lengthening shadows of a retiring sun spreading over the city.
“Getting hungry?” he asked.
Her answer was a nod, followed by, “You mentioned something about
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