The Honeymoon House. Patty Salier
eyes lit up at the sight of her. He looked handsome in his snug jeans and white shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing his tanned chest.
She grew warm inside, totally forgetting her resolve. “Paul, you’re a few minutes early.”
“I couldn’t wait to see y—I mean, eat your Italian dinner.” He took in a whiff of air as she let him inside. “Ummm,” he hummed. “Your sauce smells delicious.”
His deep, gravelly voice sent a tingle across her skin as his gaze remained on her. Why did she feel he was talking about her?
She swallowed. “Make yourself at home, Paul.”
From behind him, Paul pulled out a bottle of Chianti and a vibrant bouquet of yellow roses surrounded by baby’s breath.
Her heart swelled. “For me?”
He shrugged, looking shy and slightly embarrassed. “I happened to pass a liquor store and flower shop.”
She was thrilled. “The roses are beautiful.”
She set the Chianti on the kitchen counter and slipped the sweet-scented flowers into a crystal vase.
“Paul, sit down,” she invited. “I’ll pull Lisa off the phone so you can meet her.”
As Paul sat on a kitchen chair, his eyes never left Danielle. He watched the silk of her dress cling to her bouncing breasts and shapely hips as she left the kitchen. He swallowed and nervously tapped his fingers on the edge of the already set table.
Remember the word platonic, he reminded himself. Don’t ever let it leave your brain.
Just then, Paul heard a loud sizzle. He turned to the stove. White foam was overflowing from the pot with the macaroni. He jumped up and quickly turned down the flame. He picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the macaroni in the boiling water, hoping Danielle wouldn’t mind.
He noticed the flowery wallpaper in her kitchen and the stack of food-stained recipe books piled on the side of the counter. Pot holders hung from a nail on the wall. A magnetized picture of an attractive elderly couple hugging was on the refrigerator door. He wondered if the people were Danielle’s parents.
Like home, that’s what her apartment felt to Paul. His muscles relaxed. He felt he could kick off his shoes, unbutton his shirt and let all his anxieties go.
He tasted the macaroni to see if it was ready. Not yet. He’d let it cook a few more minutes longer. His eyes caught the magnetized photo again. He pulled out a magnet from his pocket. It was in the shape of a hammer, with Richards General Contracting printed on it. He stuck his magnet on her refrigerator door.
In the living room, Danielle nudged Lisa to get off the telephone. “Paul’s here!”
She glanced anxiously toward the kitchen door. She could see Paul’s yellow roses beaming from the vase on the table. Her heart leaped: he was in the kitchen waiting for her!
“Manny, I love you!” Lisa moaned into the phone. “I love you!”
The moment Lisa hung up, Danielle whispered in her ear, “Don’t say a word about Mr. Harrington or the honeymoon house.”
Danielle knew that her sister had a tendency to open her mouth when she shouldn’t, and Danielle wanted to make sure that Lisa didn’t with Paul.
Before Lisa could respond. Paul stuck his head into the living room. “Dinner’s ready.”
“The macaroni!” Danielle rushed into the kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” Paul said. “Everything’s taken care of.”
Danielle’s mouth dropped open. Paul had set the steamy macaroni in a large, flowered bowl he’d found in the cabinet. He’d put out the lasagna and garlic bread on the table, too.
Her cheeks flamed. “Paul, you’re our guest. You shouldn’t have—”
“Did I do it the way you want?” he asked, a bit worried.
“Perfect,” she replied.
The pleased smile on his face and twinkle in his eyes made her melt inside. Why did it feel so natural having him in her apartment, when she had practically just met him?
Lisa entered the kitchen. “Paul Richards?”
Her voice had a mischievous tone that immediately bothered Danielle.
“Mr. Harrington has told me so much about you.”
“Really?” Paul said, glancing at Danielle. “Exactly what did he say about me?”
“Well—” Lisa began.
“Lee, get the salad, will you?” Danielle immediately cut in, shooting her sister a warning look that she’d better not say a word about Paul’s watchdog role in her honeymoon house plans.
Paul took it all in. “From Danielle’s reaction, sounds to me like Mr. Harrington didn’t give me any gold stars.”
Danielle quickly took the salad bowl from her sister’s hands and set it on the table. “I’m starved,” she said, determined to change the subject.
Lisa gave her a secret smile and then sat at the table. “I’ve been waiting for this treat all day.”
Danielle went to the utensil drawer to get serving spoons. She didn’t want to think about Paul’s relationship with Mr. Harrington. She just wanted to enjoy being with Paul for a little while, even though she knew the feeling would end the moment they started working together.
At the kitchen counter, Danielle suddenly sensed Paul behind her.
“Danielle, did I do or say something to upset you?” he asked.
She could feel his warm breath on her hair. “No, not at all,” she nervously replied.
His eyes caught hers. “Are you sure?”
For a split second, she knew he would never hurt her, that he really cared how she felt. She wished she could forget that he would be spying on her work.
“I’m positive,” she told him as they sat down at the table. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Lisa passed Paul the lasagna, studying him. “Paul, how well do you know Mr. Harrington?”
Danielle kicked her sister under the table to shut her up.
“A few years ago, I built a house for a friend of his,” Paul explained. “Mr. Harrington liked my work and hired me on a couple of his housing projects.”
“Has he ever fired an architect you’ve worked with?” Lisa inquired.
Danielle stopped eating. Paul looked at her worriedly. She knew he knew why Lisa was asking that question.
“Just once,” Paul replied a bit uneasily. “In the middle of construction, Mr. Harrington was dissatisfied with the architect’s work and hired another architect to take over the job.”
Danielle suddenly felt ill. Was that going to happen to her when she worked with Paul?
Just then, Paul’s beeper went off. “I’m sorry,” he said as he set a slice of garlic bread on his plate. “I should’ve left my beeper in the van.” He glanced at the number on his beeper. “Can I use your phone?”
Danielle pointed to the telephone in the living room rather than the wall phone in the kitchen. “You’ll have more privacy,” she said.
“Please forgive me,” he said again.
In the living room, Paul dialed Butch’s phone number, impatiently tapping his foot on the carpeted floor. He glanced toward the kitchen door. He’d upset Danielle by telling her about Mr. Harrington’s having fired another architect. Somehow, her sister had found