citizens of Cleveland that there might be rat droppings in their sandwiches or roaches in their salads.
Reaching for the remote control, Ronnie flipped through channels until she found something with decent background music, then started tapping away. Since everything she’d heard about the restaurant in question was merely rumor and speculation, she didn’t mention it by name, but she gave enough hints that she thought anyone who was familiar with the businesses downtown would put two and two together and choose to dine elsewhere in the future.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she hit her stride and was typing out words almost faster than she could read them. She no longer heard the noise of the television, wouldn’t have known if she was in the middle of her living room or Grand Central Station. It was The Zone, one of her favorite places to be.
But while The Zone was great, almost like being inside a bubble that kept minor irritations at bay, it didn’t render her entirely deaf and dumb. Over the clicking of the keys and the humming of the laptop’s fan came an insistent, bothersome knocking.
Ronnie’s fingers slowed, her mouth pulling down in a frown as she was yanked out of her nice focused cocoon and forced to identify the annoying noise. It tookher a second, but she finally realized that someone was at the door.
Muttering a creative curse, she saved her work, muted the television, and climbed to her feet, crossing the carpeted floor to peer through the peephole.
Oh, God in Heaven, it was
him
.
Glancing into the kitchen, she checked the time on the stove’s digital clock.
What the heck was The Jackass doing outside her door at ten o’clock at night?
She rested her head against the flat wooden panel and tried to slow her erratic breathing. Maybe he would go away, maybe . . .
He pounded again, louder and longer this time.
He wasn’t going away.
All right, Veronica, you can handle this. Take a deep breath, open the door, and show this man you aren’t intimidated by having him show up at your apartment unexpectedly.
Following her own advice, she steeled her nerves, twisting the dead bolt and slipping the chain loose. Dylan stood in the hallway, a dopey half smile on his face, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Ronnie kept her own expression stoically blank.
“What are you doing here, Stone?”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, careless and nonchalant. “I expected you to show up at The Box after your knitting group. Where were you?”
“I had things to do,” she answered shortly. “Why do you care?”
From behind his back, he produced his needles, yarn, and the portion of knitting he’d gotten done the week before with her guiding him every step of theway. “Our lesson, remember? You said we’d start after tonight’s meeting.”
For several long seconds, she stared. Yes, she’d told him she would tutor him in the art of knitting. Yes, she’d told him they’d start after this week’s knitting group. But when he hadn’t shown up, she’d decided he’d had a change of heart and put him completely out of her mind.
“You want to start the lessons
now
?”
He shrugged, continuing to grin at her with those crystal blue, spine-melting eyes. “Why not?”
Because it was ten o’clock at night.
Because she hadn’t agreed to work with him at her apartment.
Because she wanted to finish her article and go to bed without being plagued by his exasperating presence.
But what came out of her mouth was a deep sigh and then, “Fine.” She stepped back and let him in, shutting the door behind him with a click.
“I like your jammies,” he said when she turned back around.
Yet another reason she would never have invited him anywhere near her home. She didn’t want him seeing her in her pink basset hound lounge pants and matching top. She didn’t want him invading her space, seeing how she lived, knowing things about her that she let very few others become privy
Reaching for the remote control, Ronnie flipped through channels until she found something with decent background music, then started tapping away. Since everything she’d heard about the restaurant in question was merely rumor and speculation, she didn’t mention it by name, but she gave enough hints that she thought anyone who was familiar with the businesses downtown would put two and two together and choose to dine elsewhere in the future.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she hit her stride and was typing out words almost faster than she could read them. She no longer heard the noise of the television, wouldn’t have known if she was in the middle of her living room or Grand Central Station. It was The Zone, one of her favorite places to be.
But while The Zone was great, almost like being inside a bubble that kept minor irritations at bay, it didn’t render her entirely deaf and dumb. Over the clicking of the keys and the humming of the laptop’s fan came an insistent, bothersome knocking.
Ronnie’s fingers slowed, her mouth pulling down in a frown as she was yanked out of her nice focused cocoon and forced to identify the annoying noise. It tookher a second, but she finally realized that someone was at the door.
Muttering a creative curse, she saved her work, muted the television, and climbed to her feet, crossing the carpeted floor to peer through the peephole.
Oh, God in Heaven, it was
him
.
Glancing into the kitchen, she checked the time on the stove’s digital clock.
What the heck was The Jackass doing outside her door at ten o’clock at night?
She rested her head against the flat wooden panel and tried to slow her erratic breathing. Maybe he would go away, maybe . . .
He pounded again, louder and longer this time.
He wasn’t going away.
All right, Veronica, you can handle this. Take a deep breath, open the door, and show this man you aren’t intimidated by having him show up at your apartment unexpectedly.
Following her own advice, she steeled her nerves, twisting the dead bolt and slipping the chain loose. Dylan stood in the hallway, a dopey half smile on his face, blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Ronnie kept her own expression stoically blank.
“What are you doing here, Stone?”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, careless and nonchalant. “I expected you to show up at The Box after your knitting group. Where were you?”
“I had things to do,” she answered shortly. “Why do you care?”
From behind his back, he produced his needles, yarn, and the portion of knitting he’d gotten done the week before with her guiding him every step of theway. “Our lesson, remember? You said we’d start after tonight’s meeting.”
For several long seconds, she stared. Yes, she’d told him she would tutor him in the art of knitting. Yes, she’d told him they’d start after this week’s knitting group. But when he hadn’t shown up, she’d decided he’d had a change of heart and put him completely out of her mind.
“You want to start the lessons
now
?”
He shrugged, continuing to grin at her with those crystal blue, spine-melting eyes. “Why not?”
Because it was ten o’clock at night.
Because she hadn’t agreed to work with him at her apartment.
Because she wanted to finish her article and go to bed without being plagued by his exasperating presence.
But what came out of her mouth was a deep sigh and then, “Fine.” She stepped back and let him in, shutting the door behind him with a click.
“I like your jammies,” he said when she turned back around.
Yet another reason she would never have invited him anywhere near her home. She didn’t want him seeing her in her pink basset hound lounge pants and matching top. She didn’t want him invading her space, seeing how she lived, knowing things about her that she let very few others become privy
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