Read Online Nights in Rodanthe by Nicholas Sparks - Free Book Online Page B

mattered. But either way, he was sure of it.

Seven

    A few minutes later, Paul put his empty cup on the tray, then carried the tray to the kitchen.
    Adrienne was still on the phone when he got there, her back toward him. She was leaning against the counter, one leg crossed
     over the other, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. From her tone, he could tell she was finishing up, and he set
     the tray on the counter.
    “Yes, I got your note… uh-huh… yes, he’s already checked in….”
    There was a long pause as she listened, and when she spoke again, Paul heard her voice drop. “It’s been on the news all day….
     From what I hear, it’s supposed to be big…. Oh, okay… under the house?… Yeah, I suppose I can do that… I mean, how hard can
     it be, right?… You’re welcome…. Enjoy the wedding…. Good-bye.”
    Paul was putting his cup in the sink when she turned around.
    “You didn’t have to bring that in,” she said.
    “I know, but I was coming this way anyway. I wanted to find out what we were having for dinner.”
    “Are you getting hungry?”
    Paul turned on the faucet. “A little. But we can wait if you’d rather.”
    “No, I’m getting hungry, too.” Then, seeing what he was about to do, she added: “Here, let me do that. You’re the guest.”
    Paul moved aside for her as Adrienne joined him near the sink. She rinsed the cups and pot as she spoke.
    “Your choices tonight are chicken, steak, or pasta with a cream sauce. I can make whichever one you want, but just realize
     that what you don’t eat today, you’ll probably eat tomorrow. I can’t guarantee we’ll find a store open this weekend.”
    “Anything’s fine. You pick.”
    “Chicken? It’s already thawed.”
    “Sure.”
    “And I was thinking of having potatoes and green beans on the side.”
    “Sounds great.”
    She dried her hands with a paper towel, then reached for the apron that was slung over the handle of the oven. Slipping it
     over her sweater, she went on.
    “Are you interested in salad, too?”
    “If you’re having one. But if not, that’s okay, too.”
    She smiled. “Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t picky.”
    “My motto is that as long as I don’t have to cook it, I’ll eat just about anything.”
    “You don’t like to cook?”
    “Never really had to. Martha—my ex—was always trying out new recipes. And since she left, I’ve pretty much been eating out
     every night.”
    “Well, try not to hold me to restaurant standards. I can cook, but I’m not a chef. As a general rule, my sons are more interested
     in quantity, not originality.”
    “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’d be glad to give you a hand, though.”
    She glanced at him, surprised by the offer. “Only if you want to. If you’d rather relax upstairs or read, I can let you know
     when it’s ready.”
    He shook his head. “I didn’t bring anything to read, and if I lie down now, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
    She hesitated, considering his offer before finally motioning toward the door on the far side of the kitchen. “Well… thanks.
     You can start by peeling the potatoes. They’re in the pantry right over there, second shelf, next to the rice.”
    Paul headed for the pantry. As she opened the refrigerator to get the chicken out, she watched him from the corner of her
     eye, thinking it was both nice—and a little disconcerting—to know that he’d be helping her in the kitchen. There was an implied
     familiarity to it that left her slightly off balance.
    “Is there anything to drink?” Paul called out from behind her. “In the refrigerator, I mean?”
    Adrienne pushed aside a few items before looking on the bottom shelf. There were three bottles lying on their sides, held
     in place by a jar of pickles.
    “Do you like wine?”
    “What kind is it?”
    She set the chicken on the counter, then pulled one of the bottles out.
    “It’s a pinot grigio. Is that okay?”
    “I’ve never