Glad Tidings: There's Something About ChristmasHere Comes Trouble

by Debbie Macomber

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I can’t afford the place! And I won’t be able to eat in restaurants everyday or take cabs or buy things whenever I want them.” She smiled proudly as she said it. Money had never been a problem in her life—it had sometimes been an issue, but never a problem. She felt invigorated just thinking about her new status.

  “Will you stop grinning at me like that?” Nolan burst out.

  “Sorry, it’s sort of a novelty to say I can’t afford something, that’s all,” she explained. “It actually feels kind of good.”

  “In a couple of weeks it’s going to feel like hell.” Nolan’s face spelled out apprehension and gloom.

  “Then I’ll learn that for myself.” She noticed he hadn’t touched his meal. “Go ahead and eat your chili before it gets cold.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.” He immediately contradicted himself by grabbing a small bottle of hot sauce and dousing the chili with several hard shakes.

  “Now did you or did you not find me a furnished studio apartment to look at this afternoon?” Maryanne pressed.

  “I found one. It’s nothing like you’re used to, so be prepared. I’ll take you there once we’re finished lunch.”

  “Tell me about it,” Maryanne said eagerly.

  “There’s one main room, small kitchen, smaller bathroom, tiny closet, no dishwasher.” He paused as if he expected her to jump to her feet and tell him the whole thing was off.

  “Go on,” she said, reaching for her soda.

  “The floors are pretty worn but they’re hardwood.”

  “That’ll be nice.” She didn’t know if she’d ever lived in a place that didn’t have carpeting, but she’d adjust.

  “The furniture’s solid enough. It’s old and weighs a ton, but I don’t know how comfortable it is.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll be working just about every day, so I can’t see that there’ll be a problem,” Maryanne returned absently. As soon as she’d spoken, she realized her mistake.

  Nolan stabbed his spoon into the chili. “You seem to have forgotten you’re resuming your job hunt. You won’t be working for Rent-A-Maid, and that’s final.”

  “You sound like a parent again. I’m old enough to know what I can and can’t do, and I’m going to take that job whether you like it or not, and that’s final.”

  His eyes narrowed. “We’ll see.”

  “Yes, we will,” she retorted. Nolan might be an astute journalist, but there were several things he had yet to learn about her, and one of them was her stubborn streak. The thought produced a small smile as she realized she was thinking of him in a way that suggested a long-term friendship. He was right when he said they stood on opposite sides of the fence on most issues. He was also right when he claimed they had no business being friends. Nevertheless, Nolan Adams was the most intriguing man she’d ever met.

  Once they’d finished their meal, Nolan reached for the bill, but Maryanne insisted on splitting it. He clearly wasn’t pleased about that but let it pass. Apparently he wasn’t going to argue with her, which suited Maryanne just fine. He escorted her to his car, parked outside the diner, and Maryanne slid inside, absurdly pleased that he’d cleaned up the front seat for her.

  Nolan hesitated when he joined her, his hands on the steering wheel. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Positive.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” His mouth twisted. “I can’t believe I’m aiding and abetting this nonsense.”

  “You’re my friend, and I’m grateful.”

  Without another word, he started the engine.

  “Where’s the apartment?” Maryanne asked as the car progressed up the steep Seattle hills. “I mean, what neighborhood?”

  “Capitol Hill.”

  “Oh, how nice. Isn’t that the same part of town you live in?” It wasn’t all that far from The Seattle, either, which meant she’d still have the same telephone exchange. Maybe she could even keep her current number.

  “Yes,” he muttered. He didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation and kept his attention on his driving, instead. He pulled into a parking lot behind an eight-storey post-World War II brick building. “The apartment’s on the fourth floor.”

  “That’ll be fine.” She climbed out of the car and stared at the old structure. The Dumpster was backed against the wall and full to overflowing. Maryanne had to step around it before entering by a side door. Apparently there was no elevator, and by the time they reached the fourth floor she was so winded she couldn’t have found the breath to complain, anyway.

  “The manager gave me the key,” Nolan explained as he paused in the hallway and unlocked the second door on the right. Nolan wasn’t even breathing hard, while Maryanne was leaning against the wall, dragging deep breaths into her oxygen-starved lungs.

  Nolan opened the door and waved her in. “As I said, it’s not much.”

  Maryanne walked inside and was struck by the sparseness of the furnishings. One overstuffed sofa and one end table with a lamp on a dull stained-wood floor. She blinked, squared her shoulders and forced a smile to her lips. “It’s perfect.”

  “You honestly think you can live here after The Seattle?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes, I do,” she said with a determination that would’ve made generations of Simpsons proud. “How far away is your place?”

  Nolan walked over to the window, his back to her. He exhaled sharply before he announced, “I live in the apartment next door.”

  Chapter Three

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Maryanne protested. She had some trouble maintaining the conviction in her voice. In truth, she was pleased to learn that Nolan’s apartment was next door, and her heart did a little jig all its own.

  Nolan turned away from the window. His mouth was set in a thin straight line, as if he was going against his better judgment in arranging this. “That night at the radio station,” he mumbled softly. “I knew it then.”

  “Knew what?”

  Slowly, he shook his head, apparently lost in his musings. “I took one look at you and deep down inside I heard a small voice cry out, ‘Here comes trouble.’”

  Despite his fierce expression, Maryanne laughed.

  “Like a fool I ignored it, although Lord only knows how I could have.”

  “You’re not blaming me for all this, are you?” Maryanne asked, placing her hands on her hips, prepared to do battle. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who invited yourself to dinner that night. Then you got me all mellow with wine—”

  “You were the one who brought out the bottle. You can’t blame me for that.” He was muttering again and buried his hands deep in the pockets of his raincoat.

  “I was only being a good hostess.”

  “All right, all right, I get the picture,” he said through clenched teeth, shaking his head again. “I was the one stupid enough to write that column afterward. I’d give a week’s pay to take it all back. No, make that a month’s pay. This is the last time,” he vowed, “that I’m ever going to set the record straight. Any record.” He jerked his hand from his pocket and stared at it.

  Maryanne crossed to the large overstuffed sofa covered with faded chintz fabric and ran her hand along the armrest. It was nearly threadbare in places and nothing like the supple white leather of her sofa at The Seattle. “I wish you’d stop worrying about me. I’m not as fragile as I look.”

  Nolan snickered softly. “A dust ball could bowl you over.”

  A ready argument sprang to her lips, but she quickly swallowed it. “I’ll take the apartment, but I want it understood, right now, that you have no responsibilities toward me. I’m a big girl and I’ll manage perfectly well on my own. I have in the past and I’ll continue to do so in the future.”

  Nolan didn’t respond. Instead he grumbled something she couldn’t hear. He seemed to be doing a lot of that since he’d met her. Maybe it was a long-establis
hed habit, but somehow she doubted it.

  Nolan drove her back to The Seattle, and the whole way there Maryanne could hardly contain a feeling of delight. For the first time, she was taking control of her own life. Nolan, however, was obviously experiencing no such enthusiasm.

  “Do I need to sign anything for the apartment? What about a deposit?”

  “You can do that later. You realize this studio apartment is the smallest one in the entire building? My own apartment is three times that size.”

  “Would you stop worrying?” Maryanne told him. A growing sense of purpose filled her, and a keen exhilaration unlike anything she’d ever felt.

  Nolan pulled into the circular driveway at her building. “Do you want to come up for a few minutes?” she asked.

  His dark eyes widened as if she’d casually suggested they play a round of Russian roulette. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She wasn’t.

  He held up both hands. “No way. Before long, you’ll be serving wine and we’ll be talking like old friends. Then I’ll go home thinking about you, and before I know how it happened—” He stopped abruptly. “No, thanks.”

  “Goodbye, then,” she said, disappointed. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Right. Later.” But the way he said it suggested that if he didn’t stumble upon her for a decade or two it would be fine with him.

  Maryanne climbed out of his car and was about to close the door when she hesitated. “Nolan?”

  “Now what?” he barked.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Predictably, he started mumbling and drove off the instant she closed the door. In spite of his sour mood, Maryanne found herself smiling.

  Once inside her apartment, she was immediately struck by the contrast between this apartment at The Seattle and the place Nolan had shown her. One was grey, cramped and dingy, the other polished and spacious and elegant. Her mind’s eye went over the dreary apartment on Capitol Hill, and she felt a growing sense of excitement as she thought of different inexpensive ways to bring it color and character. She’d certainly faced challenges before, but never one quite like this. Instinctively she knew there’d be real satisfaction in decorating that place with her newly limited resources.

  Turning her new apartment into a home was the least of her worries, however. She had yet to tell her parents that she’d quit her job. Their reaction would be as predictable as Nolan’s.

  The phone seemed to draw her. Slowly she walked across the room toward it, sighing deeply. Her fingers closed tightly around the receiver. Before she could change her mind, she closed her eyes, punched out the number and waited.

  Her mother answered almost immediately.

  “I was sitting at my desk,” Muriel Simpson explained. She seemed delighted to hear from Maryanne. “How’s Seattle? Are you still as fascinated with the Northwest?”

  “More than ever,” Maryanne answered without a pause; what she didn’t say was that part of her fascination was now because of Nolan.

  “I’m pleased you like it so well, but I don’t mind telling you, sweetie, I miss you terribly.”

  “I haven’t lived at home for years,” Maryanne reminded her mother.

  “I know, but you were so much closer to home in Manhattan than you are now. I can’t join you for lunch the way I did last year.”

  “Seattle’s lovely. I hope you’ll visit me soon.” But not too soon, she prayed.

  “Sometime this spring, I promise,” Muriel said. “I was afraid once you settled there all that rain would get you down.”

  “Mother, honestly, New York City has more annual rainfall than Seattle.”

  “I know, dear, but in New York the rain all comes in a few days. In Seattle it drizzles for weeks on end, or so I’ve heard.”

  “It’s not so bad.” Maryanne had been far too busy to pay much attention to the weather. Gathering her courage, she forged ahead. “The reason I called is that I’ve got a bit of exciting news for you.”

  “You’re madly in love and want to get married.”

  Muriel Simpson was looking forward to grandchildren and had been ever since Maryanne’s graduation from college. Both her brothers, Mark and Sean, were several years younger, so Maryanne knew the expectations were all focused on her. For the past couple of years they’d been introducing her to suitable young men.

  “It’s nothing that dramatic,” Maryanne said, then, losing her courage, she crossed her fingers behind her back and blurted out, “I’ve got a special assignment...for the—uh—paper.” The lie nearly stuck in her throat.

  “A special assignment?”

  All right, she was stretching the truth about as far as it would go, and she hated doing it. But she had no choice. Nolan’s reaction would look tame compared to her parents’ if they ever found out she was working as a janitor. Rent-A-Maid gave it a fancy name, but basically she’d been hired to clean. It wasn’t a glamorous job, nor was it profitable, but it was honest work and she needed something to tide her over until she made a name for herself in her chosen field.

  “What kind of special assignment?”

  “It’s a research project. I can’t really talk about it yet.” Maryanne decided it was best to let her family assume the “assignment” was with the newspaper. She wasn’t happy about this; in fact, she felt downright depressed to be misleading her mother this way, but she dared not hint at what she’d actually be doing. The only comfort she derived was from the prospect of showing them her published work in a few months.

  “It’s not anything dangerous, is it?”

  “Oh, heavens, no,” Maryanne said, forcing a light laugh. “But I’m going to be involved in it for several weeks, so I won’t be mailing you any of my columns, at least not for a while. I didn’t want you to wonder when you didn’t hear from me.”

  “Will you be travelling?”

  “A little.” Only a few city blocks, as a matter of fact, but she couldn’t very well say so. “Once everything’s completed, I’ll get in touch with you.”

  “You won’t even be able to phone?” Her mother’s voice carried a hint of concern.

  Not often, at least not on her budget, Maryanne realized regretfully.

  “Of course I’ll phone,” she hurried to assure her mother. She didn’t often partake in subterfuge, and being new to the game, she was making everything up as she went along. She hoped her mother would be trusting enough to take her at her word.

  “Speaking of your columns, dear, tell me what happened with that dreadful reporter who was harassing you earlier in the month.”

  “Dreadful reporter?” Maryanne repeated uncertainly. “Oh,” she said with a flash of insight. “You mean Nolan Adams.”

  “That’s his name?” Her mother’s voice rose indignantly. “I hope he’s stopped using that column of his to irritate you.”

  “It was all in good fun, Mother.” All right, he had irritated her, but Maryanne was willing to forget their earlier pettiness. “We’re friends now. As it happens, I like him quite a lot.”

  “Friends,” her mother echoed softly. Slowly. “Your newfound friend isn’t married, is he? You know your father and I started our own relationship at odds with each other, don’t you?”

  “Mother, honestly. Stop matchmaking.”

  “Just answer me one thing. Is he married or not?”

  “Not. He’s in his early thirties and he’s handsome.” A noticeable pause followed the description. “Mother?”

  “You’re attracted to him, aren’t you?”

  Maryanne wasn’t sure she should admit it, but on the other hand she’d already given herself away. “Yes,” she said stiffly, “I am...a little. There’s a lot to like about him, even though we don’t always agree. He’s very talented. I’ve never read a column of his that didn’t make me smile—and think. He’s got this—er—interesting sense of humor.”

  “So it seems. Has he asked you out?”

  “Not yet.” But he will, her heart told her.

&nbs
p; “Give him time.” Muriel Simpson’s voice had lowered a notch or two. “Now, sweetie, before we hang up, I want you to tell me some more about this special assignment of yours.”

  They talked for a few minutes longer, and Maryanne was astonished at her own ability to lie by omission—and avoid answering her mother’s questions. She hated this subterfuge, and she hated the guilt she felt afterward. She tried to reason it away by reminding herself that her motives were good. If her parents knew what she was planning, they’d be sick with worry. But she couldn’t remain their little girl forever. She had something to prove, and for the first time she was going to compete like a real contender—without her father standing on the sidelines, bribing the judges.

  * * *

  Maryanne didn’t hear from Nolan for the next three days, and she was getting anxious. At the end of the week, she’d be finished at the Review; the following Monday she’d be starting at Rent-A-Maid. To her delight, Carol Riverside was appointed as her replacement. The look the managing editor tossed Maryanne’s way suggested he’d given Carol the job not because of her recommendation, but despite it.

  “I’m still not convinced you’re doing the right thing,” Carol told her over lunch on Maryanne’s last day at the paper.

  “But I’m convinced, and that’s what’s important,” Maryanne returned. “Why is everyone so afraid I’m going to fall flat on my face?”

  “It’s not that, exactly.”

  “Then what is it?” she pressed. “I don’t think Nolan stopped grumbling from the moment I announced I was quitting the paper, finding a job and moving out on my own.”

  “And well he should grumble!” Carol declared righteously. “He’s the one who started this whole thing. You’re such a nice girl. I can’t see you getting mixed up with the likes of him.”

  Maryanne had a sneaking suspicion her friend wasn’t saying this out of loyalty to the newspaper. “Mixed up with the likes of him? Is there something I don’t know about Seattle’s favorite journalist?”

  “Nolan Adams may be the most popular newspaper writer in town, but he’s got a biting edge to him. Oh, he’s witty and talented, I’ll give him that, but he has this scornful attitude that makes me want to shake him till he rattles.”