Wedding Vows: Just Married. Nancy Warren
With a start, she realized she was dressed in last night’s clothes and the warm weight resting against her wasn’t Dexter.
It was Ron.
Sound asleep and looking rather forlorn, he had an arm thrown around her while her head rested on his shoulder.
“Ow,” she said, raising her head and trying to rub the stiffness from her neck.
Either her speaking or moving woke Ron, who blinked owlishly a few times and glanced around.
“Oh,” he said, when his puzzled gaze encountered hers. “I guess we fell asleep.”
“I guess so.”
She didn’t know which of them was more embarrassed, as they moved to opposite sides of the couch. She rose, pulling her skirt into place as she did so. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Oh, uh.” He cleared his throat, put on the glasses that had fallen onto the floor, glanced at his watch. “No, thank you. I’ve got to get back to my place and get ready for the day. I’d better be going.”
“All right. Well.” She had no idea what to say. “Thanks for last night.”
He stood up and seeing him so rumpled made her realize what a meticulous dresser he usually was. He looked exactly like a man who’d slept in his clothes. His hair was up on one side and his sweater askew. “I had a nice time, too. I’m sorry that I fell asleep.”
This was the most ridiculous situation. In spite of herself she laughed. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
He smiled perfunctorily, slipping his feet into his loafers. “No. I won’t be telling anyone.” He rubbed at his stubbled face. “Sometimes, it gets lonely. Living alone.”
“I know. Look, I’m putting on coffee anyway. You should at least have coffee.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps I could use the bathroom before I leave?”
“Of course.”
She started coffee and then he appeared in the kitchen. He’d obviously washed his face since the hair above his forehead was damp. A droplet of water clung to one eyelash. He looked oddly adorable and she felt more like his mother than a date as she led him to the front door once he’d refused once more to stay for coffee.
“Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow? I could show you around and then show you my books which are, I admit, a bit of a mess.”
“Certainly. I could do that.”
“I’ll even buy you lunch. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Chelsea Hammond’s lasagna.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
She opened the door as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“Good morning,” a cheerful male voice boomed out from the other side of the open doorway.
Ron’s lips hadn’t even reached her cheek before darting off again.
Oh, horror of horrors. If there was one person in all the world she wouldn’t have wanted to know about her little escapade, it would have to be the man currently striding up her front walk with a box in his arms. She said the first thing she thought of. “What are you doing here?”
“Delivering a bridesmaid gown.” He nodded to the man standing awkwardly by her side. “Not for me, you understand.”
“Of course.”
She and Ron stood rooted foolishly in her front doorway. The day was overcast and cold. A light frost covered the ground. Dexter removed one of his driving gloves and held out his hand to Ron. “Dexter Crane, delivery boy.”
Automatically, the men shook hands. “Ron Turgison, CPA,” the befuddled man beside her replied.
“Ah, a good man to have around.”
Another beat passed. Finally, she reached for the box Dex was holding and at the same time Ron said, “Well, goodbye. I’ll call you.”
He left and Dexter walked into her house without an invitation. “Now that’s nice. A man should always call after he spends the night at a woman’s place. Good manners.”
“Would you drop the Cary Grant act?” She put her head in the hand that wasn’t holding the box. “This is so not what it looks like.”
“No?” Dexter said mildly. “It looked pretty clear to me.”
The sheer enormity of trying to explain what had just happened was too much for an uncaffeinated woman to handle. “I need coffee. Before I speak, I need coffee.”
He followed her.
When she reached the living room she discovered the television was still on. She’d somehow slept through an entire night of late-night, even later-night, after-late, late shows and infomercials and early, early, early shows without ever waking. She put the dress box down and picked up the remote to snap off the TV.
She stomped into the kitchen and then snapped, “Why are you delivering things to my house at seven-thirty in the morning?”
“The slick answer is that Andrew surprised Sophie with a first-class plane ticket to Italy. She sends her apologies, she won’t be able to make your meeting. However, she picked up a sample of the bridesmaid dress in New York for you to match flowers and things. Since I had to come back to Philly, she asked me to deliver the dress.” He stuck both gloves in the pocket of his overcoat, slipped it off and laid it over the back of one of her kitchen chairs. It was too long and the gray wool bunched on the tile floor. “The honest answer of course is that I wanted to see you.”
And she supposed he’d come early enough that they could indulge in a pre-work quickie. Except that he’d found another man leaving her house as he was arriving. What a mess.
She shouldn’t be embarrassed. She was a single woman. Why shouldn’t she have men coming and going at all hours? But she did feel foolish. “I never should have slept with you again,” she snapped.
“Pour the coffee. You’re never at your best before the first cup.”
“Stop reminding me that you know me so well.”
“But I do,” he said softly. He didn’t sound irate or angry, but she could tell he was waiting for the explanation she’d promised him.
As she turned to pour coffee, she wished she were at least wearing her heels and didn’t look as disheveled as she was certain a mirror would confirm. She poured two mugs of coffee, adding milk only to hers, milk and sugar to Dex’s as she knew he liked it.
She pushed the mug at him and drank her own gratefully. Then she caught his gaze. If anything he was looking slightly amused.
“Let’s sit down. I can’t stand you towering above me.”
They sat at her kitchen table since she didn’t even want to think about what had happened when they’d sat side by side on the stools at her counter.
She said, “Ron’s a guy I met online.” She glanced up and then down at her coffee. “He’s nice.”
Still Dexter didn’t say a word.
“We went out for dinner last night and then we came back here to watch the late show. I know it sounds unbelievable, but we both fell asleep watching TV. We’d just woken up when you got here.” She traced her finger over the handle of her green pottery coffee mug. “I didn’t sleep with him.”
“Thank you for telling me,” he said and sipped from his matching green mug. “You still make the best coffee of anyone I know. Maybe it’s the beans. I should find out from you where you get them.”
Coffee beans? He wanted to talk about coffee beans? What kind of emotional game playing was this?
“Dexter, I’m telling you