A Slow Boil (16 page)

“Here.  Do you like it?”

He turned it over in his hands.  “I do.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  I looked around my room.  It was good
to be back.

“You cut your hair.”

“Just a little,” I said with a smile, reaching up to run my
fingers through the new layers.

“And what’s this?”  He took one of my hands in his, turned it
palm down, and ran his thumb over my fingernails.

“That’s something we call nail polish.”

“My goodness.  What the kids are doing these days. 
Should I be worried about any piercings or tattoos?”

“Mr. Hunter, what sort of girl do you take me for?”

“A very nice one.  One that I’m very happy to see
again.”  He gave my hand a small squeeze and then turned to go. 
“I’ll be in the living room watching TV if you care to join me after you’ve
unpacked.”

“Sure, that sounds good.  Oh, would you mind putting
something in the fridge on your way down?  It’s for tomorrow night’s
dinner.”  I dug out the package of seafood, which I was happy to see
hadn’t leaked on any of my new clothes.

“Ah, scallops from
LaPorte
.”  He
scanned the label.  “What a nice treat. I should warn you, though, I
barely made a dent in all the food you made for me.”

“That’s okay.  I can freeze whatever’s left and you can have
it next weekend."

“Next weekend,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

“Did you decide anything about me cooking on weekends?”

“Not yet, actually, but I will.  Soon.  See you
downstairs.”

“Okay.”

I was surprised he was still thinking about the weekend cooking as
he seemed to make decisions more quickly than that.  I wondered why he was
hesitating as I put my new things away.  I left the earrings out on my
dresser, planning to wear them tomorrow.  I checked to make sure I had a
clean uniform in my closet and then went downstairs to join Mr. Hunter in the
living room.

He was on the couch and I sat down next to him, again keeping a
respectful distance between us.  PBS was on.  I could feel a Sunday
evening routine developing here, but I didn’t mind.  This was a nice way
to end the week.

I rested my head back again the couch, kicked off my shoes and
brought my legs up underneath me.

“Can I get you anything?  A glass of wine?  I was
thinking of having one myself.”

“That sounds great.  Thank you.”

He came back a few minutes later carrying two glasses, handed one
to me and put his down on the coffee table, pulling it closer a few inches so
that I could reach it too.

“You look a little tired.”

“I am.”  I took a sip of wine and felt myself relaxing even
more into the couch.  “Britt and I were out dancing until three this
morning.”

“Did you have fun?”

“I did.  Britt and I always have fun together, but she has
way more energy than me when it comes to dancing and shopping.”

“Are you glad to be home?”  He asked me after a while. 
I was almost done with my wine and my eyes were starting to feel heavy.

“I am.  Very.”

“I missed you this weekend.”

“You did?”

He nodded, his eyes still on the TV.  “I know you’ve only
been here for a week, but the house just felt empty to me for some
reason.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.”

He’d missed me.  I felt a sudden surge of affection for him
and looked up at his profile.  He looked back down at me and took in how
tired I was getting.  “Come here,” he said, lifting up his arm, and I
scooted closer, resting my head on the side of his chest while he curled his
arm across my shoulders.  So warm.  “I’ll wake you up when this
program ends.”  I closed my eyes and nodded.

“I missed you, too, Mr. Hunter.”

His arm tightened around me and I felt him kiss the top of my
head.  He whispered something that sounded like ‘my girl’ but I was too
tired to ask him to repeat himself.

Monday morning I slept in until ten.  I lay in bed for a
while enjoying the warmth of the sun coming in through the windows and
wondering what to do with myself today.  I didn’t want to go out, but felt
like I should do more than while away another morning reading in the
library.  Eventually I got up, used the bathroom, returned to my room, and
turned on my computer.  My dad had answered my email with a brief note in
all caps, which made me snort.  I wrote him back, told him to quit yelling
at me, and filled him in on my weekend with Britt.

Soon I felt the kitchen, or rather, the coffee pot, beckoning
me.  I realizing half way there that I was still in my pajamas.  Was
that okay?  I was in cotton pants and a tank top.  Modest enough, I
decided.  But Mr. Hunter wasn't in the kitchen so I quickly poured myself
a cup and took it back up to my room, passing quietly by his closed office
door.

I spent the rest of the morning online, checking to see if grades
were posted yet, searching the summer class schedule for anything that looked
interesting enough to audit, and researching what the requirements were for me
to apply as a regular student in the fall.  It didn’t look like Noble was
going to make it too difficult, but since I wasn’t a citizen, my tuition was
going to go up significantly.  I did a quick calculation of how much I
would earn over the summer and realized that even if I lived as frugally as
possible, I would still need to apply for financial aid.  I wasn’t too
worried about that, though, as I’d managed thus far to find a way to pay for
college, and was confident that I could continue to do so.

Before I knew it, it was eleven-thirty and I was getting
hungry.  I took a quick shower, dried my hair, changed into my uniform and
went downstairs.

Still no Mr. Hunter.  I opened the fridge to look for
something to make for lunch.  I’d clearly made too much food on Friday as
most of the chili and pot pie were still untouched.  I transferred both of
them to the freezer, where I spotted a package of frozen spinach. 
Mmm
, that sounded good.  I grabbed a couple eggs out
of the bin in the fridge and checked the drawer that held meats and
cheese.  Yes, I thought triumphantly, I knew I’d seen some feta.  One
Greek omelet coming up.  I searched the pantry for
kalamata
olives and scored again.  At the last minute, I cracked three additional
eggs into the bowl, figuring if Mr. Hunter showed up, he could have half the
omelet, and if not, I could save it for tomorrow.

“Ah, Miss Lane, here you are.  Did you sleep well last
night?”

“I did, thank you kindly, sir.”  I smiled as I poured the
eggs into the pan. It was good to see him.  “I slept until ten.  It
felt decadent.”

He laughed.  “You look rested.  I guess decadence
becomes you.”

“Maybe it does.”  My smile grew larger.  “Would you like
to share my omelet?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.  I’ll find something for myself.” 
He went over to the fridge.

“It’s okay.  I made it big enough for two.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Miss Lane.  In that case,
I’d love some.  Can I do anything to help?”

“You could start some toast.”  The eggs had set up and I
scattered in the ingredients.  He watched me work as he pulled out the
bread.

“You found some olives, I see.  I’m glad you’re making
yourself at home here.”

“I told you I’d be making a mess.  I haven’t even gotten
warmed up yet.” I gave him another smile as I gently flipped over one side of
the eggs.  Perfect.  I hated when the underside of omelets turned
brown.

Soon we were at our usual seats at the island, eating in
silence.  I was hungrier than I’d thought and was focused on my lunch.

“I didn’t hear you in the house this morning.  Would it be
imprudent of me to ask what you were doing?”

His manners were beginning to amuse me to no end.  I also
thought it was funny that he’d gone from demanding that he never see or hear me
to being curious about my activities when he didn’t.  I smiled a little
and said, “Of course not, Mr. Hunter.  I spent the morning in my room
online.  I’m still waiting to get my grades and I’ve got some stuff I have
to get organized for my application in the fall.”

Did I imagine it or did his face fall a little?  “I’d
forgotten about that. When does the fall term start again?”

“September.”

I saw his mind working and added, “In three months.”

“Hmm.”  He took another bite of his omelet.  “This is
very good.”

“Thanks.”

He was still thinking about something.  I was about to ask
him jokingly if that gave him enough time to replace me when he changed the
subject.

“So.  Dusting today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can come in and do my office.  I’ve decided it’s
unnecessary for you to do my office on Wednesdays.  From now on, just come
in each day and do whatever’s on your list.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I had that rule about not disturbing me mostly
for Mrs. Sheridan’s sake.  She was a good housekeeper but she bothered
me.  I found myself inventing ways to avoid her.”

"What did she do that bothered you so much?  She told me
she never even saw you.”

“It wasn’t anything in particular.  I guess I just didn’t
like her.  You know how I am about certain things.”  He ran a hand
through his hair.  I was beginning to recognize that as a gesture he made
when he was uncomfortable or nervous.  I nodded, assuming he was referring
to the way he liked to be served dinner.

“She didn’t like it, she never did,
I
knew that.  But after long, I started pushing her.  Not physically,
mind you, I just found myself getting more demanding with her.  I was
quite childish about it toward the end.  That’s probably why she
quit.”  He looked over at me, a little abashed.

“Maybe subconsciously you were trying to get her to quit.”

“Maybe.”  We’d finished eating and he gathered our
plates.  “I am glad she did.”

“You are?”

“Yes, because that brought you to me.  You, my dear Miss
Lane, don’t bother me at all.  Hence the end of the Wednesday office
cleanings.”

He took our dishes to the sink.

“So what will I do on Wednesdays from now on?”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me give you the day off?”  He had
turned and was leaning back against the sink.

“Absolutely not.  No way.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say,” he laughed.  “I’ll
think of something, then.  Thank you for lunch, Miss Lane.  I’ll see
you later.”  He started to leave.

“Mr. Hunter, do you have a favorite scallop dish you’d like
tonight?" I asked before he’d reached the door.

He turned back and came and stood in front of me, shaking his head
a little to himself.

“Miss Lane, what am I going to do with you?”  He reached up
and tapped my nose.  “One minute you’re talking of leaving me and the next
you’re treating me like a king.”

“Well, you are the king of the castle, aren't you, Mr. Hunter?”

“If I’m the king, what does that make you?”  One of those
smirks he always got when teasing me started to appear on his face.

“The king’s housekeeper, of course.”

“No, that won’t do.  You can be my princess.”

“Princess? Me?”  I scoffed.  “Never.”

“Never?”

“No.  I’ve never felt like a princess.”

“I may have to do something about that.”  He gave me one more
smile and left, never having answered my question about the scallops.

The office door was open when I’d worked my way down to the second
floor.  I entered with my dusting gear and he smiled up at me from his
computer, then hit a few keys on the keyboard, stood up and moved over to the
windows to let me work.  There wasn’t that much to dust in Mr. Hunter’s office,
just some bookcases, his desk and credenza.  I did his bookcases first,
then the credenza.  I turned to his desk and saw the print I’d bought him
in
LaPorte
sitting in a frame.  I couldn’t help
but smile to myself as I picked it up and wiped it free of invisible dust, then
cleaned the rest of the desk and his computer screen.  I ran my cloth
lightly over his keyboard, trying not to press any keys.  He still hadn’t
spoken to me, and with my back to him, I had no idea if he was looking out the
window or watching me work.

When I was finished, I gathered my things and turned to let him
know I was leaving.  He had been watching me, leaning against the wall,
his hands in his pockets.

“Miss Lane, are you doing the library next?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you mind if I came with you and played the piano while you
work?”

“Would I mind?  Are you serious?  You'd do that?”

“I realized the other day that I need to brush up, so if you don't
mind a few missed notes, I’d be happy to practice while you work.”

“That would be wonderful, Mr. Hunter.”

He gestured for me lead the way to the library and proceeded to
practice some of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard in my life.  I
think I was dusting but didn’t have a clue if I was doing a good job or not as
the music swirled around me.  I finished the books and didn’t want to
interrupt him by starting the piano, so I started toward my chair.  Then I
got an idea and on impulse knelt on the floor near his bench.  His
eyebrows went up but he didn’t stop playing, and we smiled at each other. 
I closed my eyes and leaned against the piano leg, letting the music wash over
me.  About ten minutes later he brought the piece to a thundering
conclusion.  I opened my eyes and looked up at him.

“What
was
that?”

“Chopin.”

“My god.  I had no idea music like that even existed.”

“You give me oysters, I give you Chopin.”

“Oysters live in the ocean, but you can play Chopin.”  Oh
good, I was now fully fluent in gibberish. I’d have to put that on my resume.

I heard him chuckle, but he didn’t say anything else as he reached
down a hand to help me to my feet.

“Mr. Hunter?”

“Yes, Miss Lane?”

“Thank you for playing for me,” I said as I started to wipe down
the piano.

“You’re welcome, my dear.”

At five-thirty I was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches
on Mr. Hunter’s first course and side dishes.  The scallops were getting
sautéed at the last minute so I pulled out a pan and poured in some oil. 
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was forgetting something.  I looked
over all the ingredients for dinner, but everything seemed to be in
order.  What was it?  I drummed my fingers on the counter. 
There was something I’d meant to do before dinner, but it wasn’t
food-related.  What else was there?  I tightened my apron and
straightened my hair.  Oh, the earrings!  I ran upstairs and put them
in, then rushed into the bathroom and put on some mascara, giving my appearance
a final check.  Not bad, Sylvia, I thought.  The earrings were
perfect.

I trotted back downstairs and quickly finished dinner.  At
six sharp, I entered the dining-room and placed Mr. Hunter’s bowl before him.

“Good evening, Miss Lane,” he said, raising his eyebrows
approvingly at his stew.  “What have we here?”

“Lentil stew, sir, with Spanish flavors.  Would you like a
martini to go with it?”

“Hmm. No, I’ll have wine
tonigt
.” 
He looked up at me.  “Did I hear you running on the stairs a few minutes
ago?”

“I’m sorry, sir.  I forgot something in my room at the last
minute.  It won’t happen again.”  I’d completely forgotten to tiptoe
past his office in my haste.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Lane.  I never thought I’d see
the day that I enjoyed hearing another person moving around in my house, but
apparently that day has come.  Now,” he said, returning to his stew,
“Spanish, you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the rest of meal?”

“Spanish as well.”

“I’m in the mood for something red.  See if you can find a
Tempranillo.”

“Tempranillo,” I pronounced back to him to make sure I had it
right.

“Tempranillo,” he confirmed. “And don’t run, my dear.”

I was back shortly.  After pouring Mr. Hunter a glass of
wine, I took my seat.

He took a taste of his stew and smiled as he swallowed. 
“Another success, Miss Lane.”

I smiled brightly at his praise, which meant more to me
tonight.  Not having biked to town today, I’d had to pull dinner together
with things I found in the pantry.

He brought his spoon up to my mouth to offer me a taste and his
eyes rested on my ears. He reached his left hand up to finger one of my
earrings.

“Very nice, Miss Lane.  Are they new?”

“Yes, sir.  I bought them in
LaPorte
to go with my uniform.”

He put his spoon down beside his bowl and continued looking at me,
his left hand still on my ear.