by Sarah Morgan
It was a duplex apartment, and in many ways it felt more like a house. Certainly more like a house than her apartment did.
If she stopped and listened she could hear faint sounds of street noise coming from far below, but the place was remarkably quiet for Manhattan.
Even as she had the thought, Madi barked and Harriet put her case down and shook her head.
“No.” She spoke firmly. “Quiet.” She knew that patience and consistency were the secret to training a dog.
Madi looked at her and wagged her tail but didn’t bark, so Harriet picked up her case again and hauled it upstairs.
There was a master bedroom suite that was obviously Ethan’s, and she glimpsed a walk-in closet that had been cleverly converted to a mini gym. There was a rack of free weights, a bench and other pieces of exercise equipment.
So even though his nutrition left something to be desired, he did work out.
Tearing her gaze away from the big bed, she left the room and found the spare room.
It was spacious and comfortable, decorated in dark forest greens, with a rug on the oak floor. There were cushions and the bed was draped with a warm, velvety throw that invited the occupant to snuggle.
This room was much smaller than his, but large enough to house a desk by the window and have its own small bathroom. It also had another wall of bookshelves.
It was another point in his favor that Ethan was a book lover.
She put her case inside, removed her laptop from her backpack and placed it on the desk by the window.
By the time she’d settled herself down, she’d decided that she was in love with Ethan’s apartment. It wasn’t as big and showy as the one her brother Daniel owned on Fifth Avenue, but it was elegant and comfortable, full of sunlight and character. And books. There were books everywhere. Some of them were stacked in piles on the floor because there wasn’t room on the shelves.
Who couldn’t be happy living here?
Madi watched her from the doorway and she smiled at the dog.
“You picked a nice property for your time away from home. And you’re a good girl. How about a walk? We could drop into a couple of stores and buy something for dinner.”
The prospect of cooking in that wonderfully equipped kitchen excited her as much as the idea of having someone to cook for. She’d been cooking meals for one for the past five months.
Maybe dog sitting wasn’t so bad after all.
ETHAN TOOK THE elevator to his apartment with a sense of trepidation. His head ached. He wanted to take a shower, pour himself a glass of wine and relax with a book.
If he didn’t have houseguests—did the dog count as a guest?—that was exactly what he’d be doing.
It was what he wanted to do.
He was used to coming home and thinking only of himself.
Selfish and single-minded, his ex-wife had called it. Fortunately she’d been wired the same way, which was why their parting had been fairly amicable. They’d both been married to their jobs, which made it virtually impossible to make the other sort of marriage work.
As he opened his front door, he wondered what he would find this time. Disconsolate neighbors? A wrecked sofa? An empty food cupboard?
Braced for all of those possibilities and worse, he opened the door and paused.
The mellow sound of jazz floated through the apartment along with the most delicious smells.
He heard laughter and the sound of Harriet’s voice as she chatted. For a moment he thought she’d invited people round and felt a flash of irritation because the last thing he felt like being was sociable. But then he strolled through to the kitchen and saw that Harriet was talking to the dog, chatting confidently and without a hint of a stammer as she stirred something that simmered on the stove.
“So I need to do the accounts, but it’s something I always put off.” She added a spoonful of something to the pot on the stove, and then a pinch of something else. “It’s one of my biggest failings. Putting off doing the things I hate. Do you ever do that?”
Ethan was about to respond, but then he remembered she wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to the dog.
And she was obviously more comfortable talking to the dog than she ever was with him.
Gone was the wariness that was present whenever she talked to Ethan.
“Fliss usually does it, which is exactly why I’ve said I’ll do it.” She gave the pot another stir. “When someone always does things for you, it stops you doing them for yourself.”
He barely recognized his kitchen. Overnight it had transformed from a stark, sterile barely used space into a fusion of color and scent. A freshly baked loaf of bread lay cooling on the countertop.
It was an alien scene.
Medical school had been a nonstop ingestion of fast food eaten at an even faster pace, and his short-lived marriage had consisted mostly of takeout food or meals eaten in restaurants. Early in their marriage Alison had cooked a couple of meals that had ended up in the trash when he was late home. After that, she’d given up. His sister, outspoken, had once told him their relationship had been a recipe for disaster.
Ethan had joked that neither of them knew what a recipe was.
They certainly didn’t have homemaking anywhere on their priority list.
Something niggled in his brain.
He thought back to the conversation when Harriet had told him that she was single and dating.
Was that what this was? Was she playing house? And if so, what exactly was his role in this?
He felt a twinge of unease. What if she’d misunderstood his reasons for asking her to move in with him? What if she wasn’t here because of Madi, but because of him?
He thought back to something Susan had said.
You’re young, single and an excellent doctor, Black. That makes you a catch.
Ethan knew differently. Despite, or perhaps because of, those qualities that made him an excellent doctor, he knew he was a bad deal for any woman.
But what if Harriet didn’t?
What if she thought he was just the person she’d been looking for?
She lowered the heat under the pan and turned and smiled at him. “How was your day?”
How was your day, dear?
He and Alison had never talked about their days. Partly because they’d rarely occupied the same space for long enough to indulge in any kind of conversation, and partly because in the short time they weren’t working neither of them had wanted to talk about it.
He wished he’d thought this through more carefully before asking Harriet to move in.
“My day was busy.” He threw his coat over the back of the nearest chair, trying to work out the best way to handle this. “I see you’re all settled in.”
Madi uncurled herself and trotted across to greet him, tail wagging.
He’d returned home to a woman cooking in his kitchen, and a dog.
He hadn’t seen so much domesticity in one place since the last time he’d been home to visit his parents. And that had been a while.
“She’s been good today, but she’s been glued to my side for most of it.” Harriet lifted the lid off the blue pot and stirred.
Ethan lost his train of thought. Whatever she was stirring smelled fantastic.
His mouth watered and his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.
“I wasn’t expecting you to cook. You didn’t have to do that.”
She glanced at him, puzzled. “Excuse me?”
He decided to be honest. “Look, I appreciate the whole ‘homemaking’ thing, but that wasn’t part of the agreement we had. Your job is to look after the dog, that’s all. Not me. I’m not part of the deal here.”
“The deal?”
“You only need to feed the dog. I could have been late and then the wonderful meal you’ve spent hours creating would have been ruined.”
Comprehension dawned. Understanding was swiftly followed by annoyance.
There was a little flare of a
nger in her eyes. The same anger he’d seen the day he’d shouted at Madi. “You think I did this for you?”
“Didn’t you?”
There was a pause, and he had the feeling she was choosing her words carefully.
“I’m cooking because, believe it or not, I have to eat. I have a physical job and I work long hours, often outdoors in the cold. I need fuel. And I mean real fuel, not the nutrition-free takeout food you live on that is loaded with salt, sugar and not much else.” She turned away and put the spoon down on the saucer, slowly and carefully, as if she was having to fight hard not to throw it at him. “And when we made our ‘agreement,’ it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be allowed to use your kitchen. I’m new to the rules of dog sitting, but I was assuming I could treat your home as my own for the duration of the job.”
Realizing he’d made a huge mistake Ethan made what was intended to be a placatory gesture, but she wasn’t looking. “Of course you’re allowed to use my kitchen. That’s not—”
“That’s not, what?” She turned swiftly. “That’s not what you meant? Then what did you mean? What’s the problem?”
The problem was that he should have kept his big mouth shut. Again. “I may have misread the situation.”
“May have? Just to clarify, you thought I was turning this into some sort of romantic evening with you in the starring role, is that right?”
Definitely should have kept his mouth shut. “You mentioned that you were doing online dating, that’s all, and I thought—” Aware that he was making it worse, he stopped talking and she lifted an eyebrow.
“You thought? You thought I was desperate, is that right? You think you tick all the boxes if a woman is looking for a guy.”
If he’d thought he was in trouble before, he was in even bigger trouble now.
He was starting to understand why she was so good at dog training. That raised eyebrow alone made him want to take refuge in the crate.
“Harriet—”
“You’ve had your say, now it’s my turn.” She turned the heat off under the pot and lifted a deep bowl from the cabinet. “If you think me cooking myself something to eat in your apartment is a sign that I’m making a move on you, then you’ve definitely misread the situation.”
That was becoming abundantly clear. “Perhaps I should—”
“Firstly, I signed up for online dating not because I am desperate to meet a man but as part of Challenge Harriet. Between now and Christmas, I’m trying to challenge myself to do things I find difficult. Dating is something I find difficult. It’s about me, not you. Nothing to do with you.” She spooned the thick, fragrant casserole into the deep bowl and then carved herself a hunk of bread, the movements of the knife so vigorous that if he hadn’t already realized he’d upset her, he would have then. It made him relieved he had chosen to speak from a safe distance.
“If we could maybe—”
“Secondly, why would you assume this meal is for you? Women do cook for themselves you know. You think when we’re on our own we sob into a lonely bowl of cereal? This may come as a surprise, but cooking isn’t something we only do when there is a man around.” She took a plate and a spoon from one of his cupboards, added both to her tray with a clatter.
It was the most inviting, perfect-smelling, stomach teasing, tray of food he’d ever seen in his life.
Ethan had to stop himself ripping it from her hand.
“Thirdly,” she said, as she added a glass of water to the tray, “even if that part of Challenge Harriet hadn’t ended and I was still thinking of dating someone, you would be right at the bottom of my list.”
“Why?” He asked the question before he could stop himself.
“Why what?”
“Why would I be at the bottom of your list? Plenty of women would consider a doctor to be a catch.” It was clear from the look she gave him that she wasn’t one of them.
“If I’m sick, I need a doctor. If I’m dating, I need a man who interests me. That’s not you.”
Ouch.
“Just because I’m a doctor, doesn’t mean I can’t be interesting. That still doesn’t tell me why I’d be at the bottom of your list.”
“You’re the guy who yelled and made me stammer for the first time in years. I had it under control, so what you did was quite an achievement. And yes, I do realize I’m responsible for my own feelings and reactions, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law is a psychologist so I’m an expert on all that, but feelings and reactions need triggers and you were one hell of a trigger, Dr. Black. A date with you would be my idea of torture.”
“You don’t seem to be having much trouble with fluency right now.”
“That’s because I’m the one who is mad. I don’t stammer when I’m mad, only when someone else is mad.”
“So you’re allowed to be mad, but I’m not? How is that fair?”
“Life isn’t fair, Dr. Black. And I can’t believe this is the first time anyone has pointed that out to you.”
Without waiting for a reply, she headed for the stairs.
As she passed him, the most glorious aroma of herbs and red wine teased his senses. Right now he would have paid a month’s salary for the food on that tray. He had to stop himself grabbing it.
“Wait—where are you going?”
“Given that you seem to have a problem with me being in your apartment, I’m taking my food to my room.”
“You don’t have to do that. There’s a perfectly good table here, and the dog likes you being around.”
“Right now I’d prefer my own company. And if you call Madi ‘the dog’ one more time I’m taking her back to my apartment.” She walked away without looking back, leaving him with hunger pangs and the option of groveling or calling for takeout.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HARRIET PUT THE tray down on the desk in the bedroom, but didn’t touch it.
She was too upset and angry to eat.
Upset with Ethan, and angry with herself because he’d been scarily close to the truth.
When she’d planned and cooked the meal, she had assumed he’d be joining her. Not because she had designs on him romantically, but because it seemed like the civilized thing to do. She’d pictured herself serving the meal, and imagined his enjoyment at finally tasting real food instead of endless takeout meals and fast food. She’d tried to make it special. She’d even had a quick look in the kitchen cabinets to see if she could find candles for the table.
Candles?
With a groan, Harriet leaned her head against the window.
How could she have been so incredibly stupid?
This was what happened when you moved outside your comfort zone, outside the circle of people who knew you well.
Creating a home wherever she went was something she did automatically. No matter where she was, she always wanted the atmosphere to be as comforting and soothing as possible. Her siblings teased her for it. They removed cushions before they sat on the sofa, ignored napkins she placed on the table.
Before Molly had arrived on the scene, when she and Fliss had still been sharing the apartment, Daniel had often dropped in for breakfast. Sundays had become her favorite day. She’d made homemade granola and stacks of fresh pancakes, and both her brother and sister had eaten so much they could barely drag themselves to the sofa.
She particularly wanted mealtimes to be relaxing, probably because growing up they had been anything but. Every meal had been fraught with tension, and for years after she’d left home Harriet had worked hard to even want to sit at a table to eat. The solution she’d found had been to make it as different from her childhood experience as possible. She enjoyed cooking, but there was so much more to her enjoyment than simply a fascination with recipes and food.
For her, cooking and eating was symbolic of something bigger. Cooking was her way of expressing love. A way of creating a warm, comforting space, and you didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that the origins of her need for that were to be found in her childhood.
There had been nothing warm or comforting about her home growing up. Nothing warm or comforting about mealtimes. Sitting round the table together had been something to be endured. The atmosphere had been strained, the food nothing more than punctuation in an hour of rising stress levels.
Harriet had eaten little. As a child her weight had been on the low side of normal, not because she had food issues, but simply because she couldn’t seem to push it past the lump of tension wedged in her throat and chest. She’d willed mealtimes to be over as fast as possible so she could escape back to her room. Sometimes she’d ended up under the table, hiding while the battle raged above her head.
Now, she wanted fine dining and good conversation. Instead of shouting, she wanted to hear the clink of glass and the hum of laughter. She wanted everyone relaxed and focused on the food, instead of glancing at the time and wondering how quickly they could escape.
In her later teenage years she’d used candles as a method of calming herself, and it had been easy enough to add those to a meal table.
Her brother Daniel had teased her for creating a romantic atmosphere, and she’d admitted that it had nothing at all to do with romance and everything to do with her own rituals for keeping calm in a situation she’d always found stressful.
What if she’d found candles and matches? In all probability she would have used them, and Ethan would have come home to fine dining and candlelight. She would have had a big problem explaining her way out of that one.
She could have told him it was the way she liked to live her life now. When she’d moved into an apartment with her sister, she’d immediately set about creating a space that felt safe and cozy. Plants, cushions, rugs—she was the one who had turned their place into a home, and although Fliss teased her and wouldn’t have watered a plant if her life depended on it, Harriet knew she’d enjoyed living there too.
Up until a few months ago, she’d shared almost every aspect of her life with her twin.
And she was missing that. Because a home was so much more than four walls, some pretty throw cushions and a few healthy plants, wasn’t it? A home was about the people. Atmosphere.
And right now her home was depressingly silent. She missed the feeling of coming home to someone.
