A Slow Boil

by Karen Winters

  “Sylvia! Good to see you! I missed you yesterday.” Pete's enthusiasm was infectious and I gave him a big smile.

  “It’s finals week, Pete. Mr. Hunter gave me a night off cooking.”

  “Good for him. Are you finished then?”

  “Finished this morning. Now I feel like celebrating. What’s the best thing you've got today?” My eyes swept over the case, looking for something special.

  “Hmm. Let me see … have you ever cooked a live lobster before? We've got several in a tank in back.”

  “No,” I shuddered. “I don't think I'm up to killing anything today. I want something that's already dead.”

  He laughed. “Don't blame you. That's why there are butchers.” He looked over the meats carefully. “Ah, here we go, these lamb chops were just flown in yesterday from Washington State. The best you can get.”

  “Washington State? That’s where I'm from.”

  “Really? Seattle?”

  “Not quite, but close. But this is kismet or something. I’ll take two of the chops.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I added some rosemary and mint to my basket, some fingerling potatoes, and a head of broccoli. At the last minute I grabbed a carton of eggs.

  My phone rang just as I was leaving the store. I didn’t recognize the number but in my exuberantly good mood, I was happy to talk to anyone and answered with a cheerful hello.

  “Miss Lane, this is Mr. Hunter.”

  “Mr. Hunter! How are you?”

  “I'm fine. And judging by your tone of voice, I’m guessing you finished your paper.”

  “I surely did. I handed it in an hour ago. I'm just leaving Southbay’s now and should get to your house in thirty minutes.”

  “Well, that answers my questions. I was calling to see if you needed the afternoon off, and if not, if you’d like me to come get you.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, sir, but no and no. I’ll be there soon.”

  “All right, then. I have quite a bit of work to do this afternoon so I probably won’t see you until dinner.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodbye, Miss Lane.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Hunter.”

  Thursday was sweeping and mopping day. Last week the work had gone fairly quickly but it wasn’t long before my fatigue became evident. By the time I’d finished the top floor and moved down to the library, the mop had begun to feel unnaturally heavy and my movements felt clumsy and inefficient. Luckily there were large rugs in almost all of the rooms so I only had to work around the perimeters, but still, it was slow going and I wasn’t finished until nearly four.

  Putting the equipment away and folding the laundry, I realized that after two weeks, I had the routine down and could do this job on auto-pilot. It was an oddly reassuring feeling.

  I climbed the stairs back to the kitchen and took a moment to sit at the island with a cookbook. I’d been thinking while mopping that I owed Mr. Hunter a huge thanks for helping me out this week. Not only had he cut me some slack on my duties, he’d driven me to and from work, fed me pizza, let me sleep here last night, and even helped me sort out my paper. I probably wouldn’t have finished it by now if it weren’t for him. I wanted to surprise him with a dessert tonight and flipped through the cake recipes.

  Surely a cake wouldn’t be too difficult to make, I thought, if I could find one that didn’t require frosting or layers or anything too complicated. Ah, here we go. A lemon pound cake sounded perfect. I scanned the ingredient list and was pretty sure I’d seen everything I needed either in the fridge or the pantry. I slipped on my apron and pulled the Cuisinart stand mixer out of the cupboard by the sink. Get ready for my first cake, world, I thought as I began unwrapping a stick of butter.

  At six I brought Mr. Hunter his dinner. The lamb had turned out lovely, the potatoes were perfectly steamed and the broccoli added a nice touch of green on the plate. Mr. Hunter smiled appreciatively as I placed it in front of him.

  “Lamb. What a treat. I think a glass of Shiraz would go perfectly with this. Do you think you can find a bottle in the cellar?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

  The shirazes weren’t far from the pinot noirs and I returned with a bottle and the opener within minutes. I got a wineglass from the liquor cabinet and returned to the table to open the bottle. The corkscrew seemed to have gone in straight, but I couldn’t pull the cork out no matter how hard I tugged.

  “Can I help you with that?”

  “Yes, sir, I can’t budge it.”

  He pulled the cork out with no problem and gave me a questioning look. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, sir, just tired.”

  “You left very early this morning.”

  “Yes, and I was up until two last night.”

  He handed me the bottle and I poured him his glass. “Go rest in the kitchen until I call you, Miss Lane.”

  “Yes, sir.” I was too tired to protest and went back to the kitchen, slumping across the island in a heap and closing my eyes. I was even beginning to drift off a bit when I heard Mr. Hunter call my name.

  “More wine, sir?”

  “Please.”

  I refilled his glass, my hand shaking, and he looked up at me.

  “Miss Lane, you look like you're about to keel over.”

  “No, Mr. Hunter, I’m fine.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble on this meal.”

  “The lamb was no trouble at all, but you should see the cake I murdered this afternoon. The lobster wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  “Cake? Lobster?” He looked entirely confused.

  “I tried to make you a lemon pound cake as a thank you for everything you did for me this week. But something went wrong. Horribly wrong.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

  “I wanted to, though.” My voice had gotten small and quiet. He set his fork down and looked up at me with that odd expression he sometimes got, like he was debating something inwardly. He seemed to reach a decision after a moment and gestured for me to come around to his left.

  “Miss Lane, kneel down here by my side.”

  This was the oddest thing he’d ever asked of me but my brain was half comatose by this point and the prospect of getting off my feet was hugely appealing. I sank down on the carpet next to his chair, sitting rather than kneeling, with my ankles tucked underneath me.

  “Yes, just like that. Close your eyes. Rest.”

  He picked up his fork and resumed eating.

  “The lamb is perfect, Miss Lane.”

  “Thank you.” My voice was no louder than a whisper.

  I felt his left hand come to rest lightly on top of my head. After a few strokes, he reached down and pulled out my pony tail holder, dropping it to the floor behind me. Then he ran his hand up from the nape of my neck to my crown, gently pulling his fingers through the strands and loosening them around my face. His ministrations felt so good, so relaxing, I felt myself leaning toward him and soon my cheek was resting against his thigh. I could hear him continue to eat his dinner and take sips of his wine as he played with my hair. Within minutes I was again succumbing to sleep.

  The next thing I knew I was moving. No, wait, I was being moved. Where was I going? Up. Up, up, up. I could hear footsteps and I struggled to open my eyes. All I could see was the side of Mr. Hunter’s face, his strong jaw mostly, and a bit of his ear. Mr. Hunter turned his eyes down to mine. He was so close. Why was he so close? Was this a dream? Would the Mr. Hunter in my dream mind if I touched the scruff on his jaw? I decided to find out and raised one of my hands, running a finger lightly across his chin. Raspy. Good to know.

  “You fell asleep in the dining room. I’m putting you to bed,” was all he offered in explanation.

  I realized then that I was still at his house and he was carrying me upstairs. Embarrassment swept through me, and I began to struggle to be let down. His grip was too firm, however, and before I could try
again, we were in the guest room. He laid me on the bed, pulled the covers down on one side, moved me over and then bent over my legs. I felt him take off my shoes and socks, and then he pulled the covers back over me and tucked them up around my shoulders.

  “You're too exhausted to go home tonight. You can sleep here again. Don’t leave in the morning. I’ll drive you home when you're ready to go.”

  I nodded, the comfortable bed pulling me quickly back into a restful state of semi consciousness.

  “One last thing, Miss Lane.”

  I half-opened my eyes to see him fingering a strand of hair that had fallen across my cheek.

  “No more pony tails.”

  Chapter 7

  Mr. Hunter was sitting at the kitchen island sipping a cup of coffee and reading his laptop when I came down in my jeans and t-shirt the next morning around eight.

  “Sleep well, Miss Lane?”

  “Like a log. I feel so much better.”

  “Very good. Help yourself to coffee if you’d like. Otherwise, I have tea or juice.”

  “Coffee would be great.” I pulled another mug out of the cupboard, poured myself a cup, and sat down at the island across from Mr. Hunter.

  “Can I make you something for breakfast?”

  “I feel like I should be asking you that.”

  He looked up at me briefly. “I noticed that you restocked my eggs for me, and I'd be happy to fry you up a couple in return for your thoughtfulness.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll just have some toast. I don’t usually eat much for breakfast and I need to get going anyway.”

  “Do you know where the bread and toaster are?”

  “Yep. Mrs. Sheridan showed me.” I had already pulled the bread out of the basket on the counter top and plugged in the toaster. “Would you like some toast, Mr. Hunter?”

  “Sure, as long as you’re making some for yourself.”

  I served him two pieces of buttered toast on a plate and sat back down with my identical breakfast. We ate in silence and I collected our plates when we were done. The dishwasher was still full of last night's clean dishes. He must have come back down and cleaned the kitchen after putting me to bed. I wondered what he thought of the inedible cake I’d left in massacred pieces on the counter. “Would you like me to put these away?”

  “No, no work for you this morning, Miss Lane. I’ll take care of them later. You can just put our plates in the sink for now.”

  He stood up and brought his coffee cup over to put in the sink, too. Standing next to him I was again struck by his height. I was five foot five inches, and he seemed to be at least a foot taller than me, but that would make him six and a half feet tall, and that couldn’t be right. He caught me frowning up at him and asked me what I was thinking. Even a full night’s sleep was no use against his 'honesty only' gaze so I told him I was trying to guess his height.

  “Six foot two,” he smiled. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, of course not.” I could feel a blush starting to rise and quickly changed the subject. “Thank you for last night. I mean, for carrying me to bed and letting me sleep here again.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, you fell asleep on the dining room floor. I would have to be a monster to send you home in that state.”

  I suddenly remembered the details of last night’s dinner. Me kneeling on the floor next to him, his hand in my hair, my cheek on his thigh. There was no controlling the blush this time. Luckily he had turned away from me and was gathering some things off the island.

  “When would you like me to drive you home?”

  “The sooner the better, I guess. I have an appointment to see an apartment at ten.”

  “That’s not for another hour and half. Are you sure you don’t want some eggs?”

  “I’m sure. And the apartment is in the south end, so it will take me a while to get there.”

  He paused for a moment and turned back to me.

  “Miss Lane, would it be terribly imposing of me to ask to come with you?”

  “Come with me? Why would you want to do that?”

  “For one thing, if I drive you there you won’t have to walk. Some of the neighborhoods get a little rough down there. And I’d also like to see what kind of apartment you’re considering taking. I don’t want you living somewhere unsafe.”

  He noticed my hesitation. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked. You and Britt will be fine.”

  “Britt isn't coming. She has her last final exam this morning.”

  “So you’re heading off into the south end on your own?”

  I nodded. “That was the idea.”

  “Then I think I really must insist on accompanying you, Miss Lane. If nothing else, at least let me drive you. I’ll wait in the car while you check out the apartment, if that makes you more comfortable.”

  I had to admit it would be nice to get a ride there and back. “All right, if you insist.”

  “Good. Shall we leave in about hour?”

  “Sure.”

  I folded my hands together and looked around the room. What was I going to do for an hour in Mr. Hunter's house if I wasn’t working?

  He solved my dilemma for me. “Why don’t you browse around in the library until then. I have a few things to do in my office.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said excitedly as I followed him upstairs to the second floor.

  I was happily ensconced in a big easy chair with a stack of novels next to me when he stuck his head in the door an hour later and said it was time to leave. Already? Darn it. I kind of wanted to stay here all morning. Scratch that, all day. All summer. The rest of my life. But I pulled myself up and followed him down to the car, grabbing my purse on the way.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind if I borrow some books this summer?” I asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.

  “Of course not. What good is a book sitting on a shelf? It needs to be opened and read to be of any use.”

  “In that case, I promise to put as many of them to use as I can.”

  “Nothing would make me happier.” He turned and gave me a smile. “Now, where exactly are we going?”

  I pulled the directions out of my purse and helped guide him through traffic until we pulled up in front of a four story complex that matched the address I was given over the phone. The street was quiet, and the building itself looked in good shape, so I was getting my hopes up that this place might work. Mr. Hunter got out and opened my door for me. I was getting used to his manners and knew to wait for him to extend his hand to help me out. He continued to hold my hand after I was on the sidewalk, giving it a small squeeze as he surveyed the facade of the building.

  “Oh, just come in with me,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I can tell you’re dying to.”

  “Thank you.” He released my hand and gestured for me to lead the way. We found the manager’s office on the main floor. I introduced myself to the man behind the counter and explained that I had an appointment at ten to look at Apartment G2.

  “Ah yes, G2. Here we go,” he said, grabbing a key out of a drawer. “Follow me.” He led us toward an open staircase, one flight going up and one going down. “It’s down here, Miss Lane.” He started downstairs at a quick pace. “G for ground. There are 4 units down here, one in each corner. This is G2.” He stopped in front a solid metal door and fiddled with the key. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered on and off and on again. Finally the door gave way and he ushered us both in, seeming to notice my companion for the first time. “I thought you said you were taking this place on your own. There’s an extra monthly rate for roommates.”

  “Oh no, this is my -” It was too weird to admit that my boss had accompanied me. “- friend. He drove me down.”

  “I see. Okay, well, as you can see it’s small but clean. There’s a kitchenette in that corner and the bathroom is through there. This is a studio, of course, so at night you pull the couch out into a bed. What do you think?”

  I turned
slowly around. The space was about twenty feet by twenty feet, I’d have guessed. The kitchenette area was tiny but looked functional. There were two small windows high on the wall above the couch, letting in a little natural light but not much. The bathroom was clean, but it was the smallest I think I’d ever seen. I was actually amazed they’d managed to fit a toilet into it.

  “What’s the rent?” Mr. Hunter asked, his voice neutral.

  “Well, there aren’t many things on the market right now, as you’ve probably figured out. Given the low vacancy rate in town and the fact that Miss Lane mentioned on the phone that she needs to find a place this weekend, I think a thousand a month is fair.”

  “Are you serious?” Mr. Hunter's jaw was tightly clenched and I could tell he was attempting to control his temper. “That's extortion and there’s no way -” I placed a hand on his arm to quiet him.

  “Let me think about it for a night,” I said to the manager. “I'll give you a call in the morning.”

  “All right,” he shrugged. “But I can't hold it for you without a deposit, and someone else might come along later today and snap it up.”

  “We'll take our chances.” Mr. Hunter steered me back out the door and up the stairs. “That place was completely unacceptable, Miss Lane,” he said as he unlocked his car and opened my door. I waited until he was seated next to me before pointing out that I’d seen worse with Britt. His face darkened even further.

  He shifted into drive and we headed back toward the north end. He remained silent but I could tell the wheels in his mind were turning. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something several times but stopped himself. Finally he asked me if I wanted to come back to his house or get dropped off at my dorm. I replied that I needed a shower and could do a little packing, so my dorm was fine. It wasn’t long before we pulled up at the curb. As usual, he opened my door and helped me get out.

  “Thank you for driving me this morning, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Hmm?” He still seemed distracted by something and ran one hand through his hair. “Oh yes, of course, Miss Lane. Any time.”

  I headed to the door of the dormitory while Mr. Hunter waited by his car. I was almost there when I heard him call out to me.