Fast Courting

by Barbara Delinsky

  Chris met the same fate shortly after when he stopped by on a similar mission. “Come on, Nia. It would do you good. We’ll show the world and Jimmy Mahoney that we’re not easily scared.”

  Her smile was one of gratitude for his support. “Thanks, Chris, but I think I’ll work a while longer. I haven’t even touched the things you brought in for me.” Indeed, she hadn’t. She felt a strange reluctance to dirty any of the Strahan information with wayward thoughts of libel.

  Chris nodded his understanding. “We’ll make it another day, how’s that? Oh, and you won’t forget your part of the bargain, will you?”

  “No, Chris,” she replied in a sweetly docile tone. “I won’t.”

  It was closer to one-thirty when the antidote to her mood finally arrived. Hand cramped from the repeated rewriting of a particularly troublesome piece, she wearily raised her eyes from the paper to feast on the unexpected sight of Daniel, standing straight and tall at her office door.

  Six

  “Daniel!” she exclaimed, a response that was becoming a habit whenever he appeared where she didn’t quite expect him. “What are you doing here?” Instantly, she felt better.

  He smiled devilishly. “Oh, practice was over and I had nothing to do. Thought I’d take a ride into Boston to see what was cookin’.”

  “Don’t ask.” She grimaced before she could quite help herself.

  All traces of humor left Daniel’s face as he sensed something wrong. “Trouble?”

  “Oh...nothing.” But she hesitated too long.

  “Listen.” Looking around, he saw signs of her co-workers returning from lunch. “I was hoping to get here earlier and take you to lunch, but you’ve probably already eaten. Is there somewhere you could get coffee while I eat?”

  Nia scowled in a playful attempt to put aside her worry. “You seem obsessed with hunger. If I’d imagined you thought of nothing but basketball, I stand corrected.” Reaching for her purse, she had made her decision. This was someone with whom she wanted to have lunch! “I know just the restaurant. It’s in the Marketplace. I’ve got to visit it anyway to review it for the June issue.”

  “My issue?” He cast her a sidelong glance which she returned in kind. No further word was said on that score. Rather, Daniel put his hand lightly at her back as they walked toward the elevator. “Why do I have the sudden feeling I’m being used?” he asked, but his voice was filled with fun.

  “You are!” she returned his gentle teasing. “It’s either that or nothing, right now!”

  “I’ll take it!” he quipped instantly, capturing her hand in his larger one and swinging her before him into the elevator.

  They said little to one another during the descent, even less as they walked through the City Hall plaza toward the Faneuil Hall Market. Nia derived quiet comfort from his presence, untold strength from the protective grip of his fingers. He had come at just the right time—how could he have known?

  At the entrance to the Marketplace, he came to a halt, oblivious to the few heads that turned their way in recognition. “OK, babe,” he surveyed the long brick-paved mall with its double cordon of shops and eateries. “Which one will it be?”

  Nia pointed to a second level of windows overlooking the mall. “Rosemary’s Thyme. We go in over here.” Leading the way, she entered an open foyer off which several shops branched, then tackled the very clearly marked flight of open-planked stairs. At the top of its gentle spiral, Daniel stepped forward to secure a table, speaking softly to the hostess and gesturing toward the far end of the restaurant.

  “I have just the table, Mr. Strahan.” The hostess beamed with admiration. “It’s being cleared right now. Would you care to wait in the bar?”

  “Thank you, but we’ll wait here.” He smiled cordially, bringing Nia beside him to the shaded alcove just beyond the hostess’ station. Belatedly, he thought of her thirst. “I’m sorry, Nia. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, no. This is fine. I’ll have something when we sit down.” She narrowed her gaze in the direction of the hostess. “I’m curious to see how long they keep us waiting. Speed of service is a definite consideration in any rating.”

  “Wait a minute,” he growled. “You’re not going to take out your little black notebook and start making notes with the air of a super-sleuth, are you?”

  Nia’s laughter was light and she was far more relaxed than she’d felt all morning. The image he’d created was too much! Daniel, in turn, clearly enjoyed her laugh. “Do you do this often?”

  “I usually wear my Sherlock Holmes hat.”

  “I’m serious. Do you rate restaurants on a regular basis?”

  “Not really. It’s kind of a rotating thing that we each do once in a while. With everyone on the staff taking his turn, no one stands that great a risk of recognition.”

  “I was wondering about that. Isn’t there a danger you will be recognized and given preferential treatment?”

  She crinkled her nose. “I have a nondescript face…and I keep a pretty low profile. They don’t seem to recognize me.” Pausing to grin, she turned the tables on him. “Actually, you’re the one in danger of being recognized. Weren’t you worried when you gave your name to the hostess?”

  “I didn’t have to give her my name,” he whispered in a half-groan.

  “Uh-oh. No wonder we’re in hiding back here.”

  “It has its advantages.”

  “Oh?” She didn’t resist the arm that snaked about her waist and pressed her close. Nor did she balk when he kissed her lightly. The feel of him was divine. “And what was that for?”

  “For coming to lunch with me.”

  “I was hungry.”

  “You?”

  Interference came in the form of a faintly awe-filled “Excuse me? Mr. Strahan? Your table is ready.”

  Daniel gave Nia a final squeeze as she stepped in front of him to follow the hostess. Walking before him, she was unaware that Daniel had fallen behind, far behind, until she reached their corner table and looked around. Her escort was across the room and shaking hands with a rotund gentleman who had risen from his seat to pat Daniel on the back. More than one curious gaze followed the showy gesture.

  “I’m sorry,” the hostess apologized to Nia on behalf of her overeager patron. “That must be very annoying to you.”

  “It’s all right.” Nia smiled with a touch of sadness at the realization that this was all part of Daniel’s life. She took the seat that faced the body of the restaurant, which would leave Daniel’s back as a shield against further interruption.

  The table stood beside a full-length window, affording them a bird’s-eye view of the Marketplace. It was here that Nia’s eye held, absently following the passage of browsing visitors to the mall until, after being stopped a second time en route, Daniel finally joined her.

  His own apology was firmly etched upon his face. He seemed truly disturbed and just a bit angry, if the working muscle of his jaw was any indication.

  “You can pan the clientele here for lack of personal consideration.” His eyes were hard in censure. “They see that I’m with a woman, they know that I must be here to eat my own lunch, yet they feel totally justified in stopping me.”

  “Do you know either of them?”

  “Hell, no!” He kept his voice low in caution.

  “You were gracious.”

  “I have to be. That’s what’s sometimes so frustrating. They’re obviously Breakers fans. I can be diplomatic about excusing myself as quickly as possible, but I can’t ignore them completely. It’s all part of the game.”

  The sudden appearance at their table of a young boy brought both heads quickly his way. He looked to be ten or eleven, wore a tie and jacket, was dark-haired and pale, and seemed to be utterly uncomfortable. “Dan…” he began hesitantly, “…could I please have your autograph?” Like a child first learning to walk and barreling on until the nearest wall stopped him, this boy talked slowly at first but with gaining momentum until one word raced
after the other. “My Mom and Dad and me are here from Bangor for the weekend. I’ve got to go to the doctor this afternoon, but we’ve got tickets for tonight’s game. Will you sign this?” Running out of breath, he stopped. In his hand was a cocktail napkin.

  Something about the child struck Nia as heart-rending. Was it his pallor? His timidity? The fact that he had come down from Maine in search of medical care? Alarmed, her eyes flew to Daniel’s.

  He must have seen it too, for he smiled his warmest, most genuine smile for the child. “Sure, son. I tell you what.” He put an arm around the boy’s shoulder to turn him back toward the hostess. “You go and ask that woman for a postcard of the restaurant. Then bring it back to me and I’ll sign it for you.” The boy left instantly.

  “What if they don’t have a postcard?” Nia asked, suddenly terrified that the child might be disappointed.

  “They will. They always do. They may not put them on open display for everyone to pick up, but she’ll find one somewhere.”

  Sure enough, the boy returned to proudly present precisely what Daniel had sent him for. Daniel took a pen from the inner pocket of his blazer, asked the boy his name, and proceeded to write a personal message on the back of the card.

  The child’s eyes were rewardingly bright when Daniel handed it back to him. “Thanks, Dan. Boy, wait ’til my friends see this!” he whispered hoarsely, then turned and retreated to where his parents sat anxiously. His mother mouthed a very grateful “thank you” to Dan, reinforcing Nia’s fear.

  “Do you think he’s ill?” she asked softly.

  Daniel shrugged. “Could be. Could be something minor. I’m always affected more by kids, anyway.” He spoke as though to himself. “They’re so innocent in their requests. And you know that, whether it’s me or John Doe from the local ‘Y’ team, the boy will treasure that card.”

  “You like children?”

  “They’re often more sincere and more loyal.”

  “What about that twelve-year-old who swears down at you from just above the tunnel… ?” Teasingly, she reminded him of his past complaint.

  Dan’s lips quirked in renewing good-humor. “That’s no kid. That’s a twelve-year-old monster.” Taking a pause, he looked across the table, deeply into her eyes. “What about you, Nia?”

  “What about me? I’m no monster—”

  “Something’s bothering you. It was there in your eyes when I showed up at your office. I can still see it hiding behind a host of distractions.”

  “You’re too perceptive, do you know that?” she asked, disconcerted.

  “So I’ve been told. It’s part of my personality. I’m afraid I can’t do anything to change it.”

  “Is that why you’re studying psychology?”

  “You’re skirting the issue again, Nia,” he chided, having just done as much himself. “Have you got a problem?”

  “Oh, it’s really nothing.” Frowning, she looked down at the crisp white linen and the sparkling bone china atop it. “One of my articles has caused a stir. That’s all.”

  “Isn’t that good? A stir is better than…nothing….”

  She chuckled. “Well put. And usually correct. But not in this case.”

  “And what makes this case so special?”

  She eyed him levelly: “Two things. Jimmy Mahoney. And libel.”

  “Jimmy Mahoney…as in mayor …and libel…as in suit?”

  “Correct on both counts.”

  “That bad?”

  Sending him a sharp glance that confirmed the worst, Nia turned to examine the menu. “We’ve got to order different things,” she softly instructed him in the fine art of the restaurant critic. “You choose what you want, then I’ll pick something from another column.”

  “Can we share the end results?” he asked, finally ordering chilled sweet-and-sour salmon to Nia’s crabmeat quiche.

  Smiling at the intimacy, she recalled the solid feel of him in the alcove earlier; now she had the comforting knowledge of his emotional support. “As long as we don’t drop it all on the table in the process. Some foods are pretty tricky that way—you know, spaghetti, peas…”

  “I get the picture,” he drawled. “We haven’t ordered any of those. Beside that, I’m very neat. I even waited table at college.”

  “And I’ve seen those lovely dining hall presentations. The kitchen makes plenty of extra to compensate for what falls on the floor.”

  Daniel’s laugh warmed her, as had the unexpected glimpse at his past. “It wasn’t that bad. I was better than most—I toss things pretty well.”

  “Like lettuce?” She recalled the green head that had come to within inches of her kitchen ceiling one night.

  He smiled. “That, too.”

  “Now tell me you cut your teeth backhanding oranges into the fruit bowl….”

  “It was more like eggs into the frying pan. My mother wasn’t terribly thrilled. Backhanding—” He redirected the talk with a straightforward grin. “Where did you pick up that phrase? Is it a holdover…or did you actually watch the game last night?”

  She felt a fleeting pain at the reference to David. But she was grateful for it. In Daniel’s presence she needed firm reminders of what he was, and David was as good a one as any. “I read the paper this morning,” she confessed evenly. “And I did catch your pregame interview.”

  “What did you think?”

  As she struggled to find an appropriately innocuous word, she thought she recognized the dance of amusement in Daniel’s deep brown gaze. “It was …well handled.”

  His humor was more blatant now and held a challenge. “Anything else?”

  “Why do I sense that you’re laughing at me?”

  He did laugh, aloud. “You’re adorable—trying so hard to find the right word to describe something that was, to be blunt, insipid.”

  “Did I call it that?” she chided lightly.

  “You’re too polite. I supplied the word. Is it a poor choice?”

  She hesitated. “Well, you didn’t say very much, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Which was exactly what you had intended to do.”

  “Right.”

  “So I repeat—it was well handled.”

  Daniel dipped his head. “Thank you.”

  Even before the entrées arrived, Nia felt revived. On this day, at least, Daniel Strahan was the best thing that had come along. It was almost worth talking basketball…to avoid that other, more disturbing issue.

  “I think I can understand how you’d get into trouble doing anything but what you did,” she reasoned. “How is the salmon?”

  “Not bad.” He concentrated on his mouthful, moving it across his taste buds in careful analysis before swallowing. “Just firm enough. Very good. Not too sweet. Well balanced. Could be just a little warmer.” He frowned. “Take that question on Jones.” Nia followed the conversational flip-flop easily. “I couldn’t very well tell the television audience that Gunner has been fined more than once for monopolizing the ball. That’s between him and me. Certain things have to be kept private…for the overall morale of the team, if nothing else. It’s almost like a family.” His gaze grew more ardent. “You don’t bad-mouth your own kin.”

  “Tell me about yours,” she asked more gently. She felt so close to him. It mattered very much to her to learn about his past.

  “My family?” His voice was quiet, his ardor controlled. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Anything’s better than nothing.”

  “You’re sure you’re not taking notes?” he shot grimly, suddenly untrusting, as though he too remembered their inherent conflicts.

  “Only on the salad. My dressing is a little heavy. What do you think?”

  Willing to accept her lightness as innocence, he paused to sample his tomato and endive. “Mmmm. A little.”

  As he fell silent, Nia wondered whether something about his past made him uncomfortable. She really knew nothing but the bare sketch she’d pieced together. Was there
some skeleton in his closet? Was there a reason for his fierce instinct for privacy? Or was he simply wary of her still?

  “You grew up in Oregon?” she ventured cautiously.

  His gaze shot up. “So you have been at work.”

  “Well, you won’t tell me anything. I guess I’m just a natural snoop.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I want to know about you.”

  When he asked “Why?” there was a distant chill in his voice.

  Time seemed to circle back on itself. It was almost as if she had been returned to his office, to that very first day they’d met. Had they come no further?

  She answered his question with one of her own, one much softer and brimming with a sadness she could never have expressed had it not come from her heart.

  “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  His eyes held hers in a smoothly glittering challenge. “Should I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a foolish question….” In the back of her mind was the memory of a similar exchange. Then he had said he trusted her, yet he questioned her now. Why? The extent of her hurt startled her.

  “I’m asking it anyway.” He held firm.

  Nia let her fork fall to the plate, a victim of disinterest. Without Daniel’s warmth and approval she felt infinitely lonely. “You should trust me…because …I care. And besides,” she couldn’t resist a tentative grin on the outside chance that it might cajole him into better humor, “you have to understand that my motives are pure. It’s the force of sheer feminine curiosity that drives me. By keeping everything about you in such deep, dark secrecy, you’ve made me all the more intrigued. Or,” she felt a sudden suspicion, “was that the point all along?”

  “It wasn’t,” he had thawed suddenly, “but now that I think of it, it’s a pretty good tactic for holding a woman’s interest. Here I thought I was such a superior strategist…”

  “Daniel…” she hummed a playful warning as her own tactic worked, to her delight, in the form of a devastatingly masculine smile.