Winter Affair by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

to the tiny kitchenette, which consisted of a series of ancient, mismatched appliances strung together along one wall. “Be my guest.”
    Leda went to work, and while she was removing items from the refrigerator she noticed that he picked up a sweatshirt folded on a shelf and pulled it over his head. Clothing made him look slim and rangy, disguising his strong, muscular build. In the jeans and pullover, he resembled a college kid ready for an afternoon of touch football.
    “These will be ready in just a minute,” she called over her shoulder, wondering what he was doing. When she turned to look she saw that he was clearing a space on the scarred maple drop leaf table, shifting piles of books and pamphlets from its surface to the sofa.
    “What is all that stuff?” she asked as he came to her side and removed a couple of plates from the cupboard above her head, handing them to her.
    “I’ve been reading up on the procedure for getting my license back,” he replied. “You know the government, a million forms and a sea of red tape.” He led her to the table and they sat together. He jumped up suddenly and returned with silverware and two napkins.
    “Sorry,” he said, depositing the things on the table. “I’m not exactly equipped to entertain. I eat by myself, and it’s more like the Boy Scout Jamboree around here than the epitome of gracious dining.”
    “What do you eat when you’re alone?” she asked, taking a bite.
    He shrugged. “Yogurt, cottage cheese, ice cream, anything you can devour straight from the container.” He cut into his omelet and forked a large piece into his mouth. He chewed it industriously, then swallowed. His eyes widened.
    “Hey, this is real good,” he said, digging in with gusto. His omelet was twice as large as Leda’s and he made short work of it.
    “Thank you. One of the benefits of a boarding school education. You become an expert at making anything that can be prepared on a hotplate,” Leda replied dryly.
    He grinned, and her heart turned over. What a smile. She could easily fall into the trap of trying to elicit it.
    Leda finished, and when she got up to clear the dishes he waved her away.
    “This I can do,” he said, scraping the dishes and putting them in the sink. “And I can make coffee. I make it every day.” He proceeded to do so, filling the pot at the sink and plugging the percolator into the wall. When he was done he dragged both of his chairs in front of the fireplace and gestured for her to sit in one of them.
    “The package I brought is cookies,” Leda said. “Maybe you’d like some for dessert.”
    “Great,” he said, looking around the room. “I’ll get them.” He paused. “What did I do with them?”
    “I think you put the plate on the table by the door.” Leda responded, amused and touched by his efforts to entertain her. He was eager, almost boyish, in his enthusiasm, and it was a side of him she had never seen. He returned with the plate and gave it to her.
    “Do you have any family?” she asked as he got out the cups for the coffee.
    “None left around here,” he answered. “My parents are both dead and I was an only child. I have some aunts and cousins on my mother’s side out in Ohio, but I...” He trailed off, and then resumed. “I haven’t heard from them since I went to jail.”
    “Oh,” she said, unsure how to respond. “That’s too bad.”
    He shrugged. “I’ve become the relative nobody wants to recognize. Before all this happened to me, I never really understood what it means to be the black sheep of the family.” He joined Leda in front of the fire, pouring out the coffee. “I hope this stuff is all right,” he said, gesturing to the steaming drink. “I’m the only one who ever drinks it and I’m used to it.”
    “It’s fine,” Leda answered, taking a sip and returning the mug to the tray. Reardon disdained the chair across from her and sat at her feet on the small hearth rug, opening up the package