They reached the building; Mark felt bad about rousing her, but she must not have been asleep. Her eyes opened as soon as the engine died down. “Let me get your door for you.” He got out and walked around the car, holding onto the fender to keep from falling in the slippery snow. She was already half way out by the time he got there.
At the apartment, he fumbled with the keys. “I’ll have it open in a minute. I always fight with this lock.”
Jennifer bit her lip and gripped her purse protectively in a white-knuckled grasp. Her nervous expression changed completely the moment he turned on the lights.
Chapter Two
Nothing from this night could have prepared her. Jennifer’s mind spun as an overwhelming mixture of misty rose, salmon, coral, Barbie dream car, Pepto Bismol—and every shade of pink she couldn’t quite fathom—filled her vision. And more frills than seemed possible in one tiny space. Tchotchkes on every available surface...little cheap trinkets and bobbles lined the walls, covered the bookshelves and more kitten figurines than seemed humanly possible filled the room.
Jennifer’s eyes widened as she looked around, drinking in the effects of this garish room. She swallowed once. Twice. Blinked a couple of times, but could not will her feet to move forward. Worse still, she couldn’t control the unmistakably impish smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Or the subsequent giggle. Feeling mortified, she stole a glance at Mark. He seemed to have been watching her as she looked around the room, his expression unreadable.
“Your place is lovely,” she said trying to force her smile back down. She wanted to be polite but the room had overwhelmed her. Hell, it would have even overwhelmed her friend’s six-year-old niece, whose idea of Christmas decorating had been cutting snowflakes out of only the pink construction paper—because snowflakes should be pink.
When she’d seen Mark for the first time earlier, she imagined him to be a man’s man. She’d imagined that his apartment would have a man’s man air about it. Maybe dark leather couches, an overused recliner, bookshelves lined with books and an Ansel Adams picture on the wall. She could never have imagined that Mark might live in an apartment like this. After all the manliness he exuded. She’d never seen so much pink in her life. And doilies, and all those little kitten figurines.
Mark looked around the room before his gaze landed back on her. “I always loved the color pink,” he said, straight-faced.
Her eyes widened a bit and then sank back into their respectively normal positions.
“I’m teasing,” he quickly assured. “This is my grandmother’s place. She asked me to stay here and take care of things while she’s out of town.”
“Oh! That’s so wonderful!” Her voice sounded a little too excited. “I mean, that you would take care of your grandmother in such a way. Not that this isn’t your place, I mean, just that you...I’m babbling. I’m sorry, I do that when I’m tired.” Relief filled her at finding out this apartment with all its femininity wasn’t his. Mark was a handsome man, and she wasn’t ready to let go of her image of him in a masculine, strong apartment.
Nor the image of him holding her in his arms on that dark couch. Or kissing her. Not that she’d spent the entire ride back imagining just that... Really. Heat rose to her cheeks at the memory. But just as quickly she pushed those thoughts from her mind and continued their conversation.
“Where’d your grandmother go?”
“She’s on a seniors’ trip to Vegas. I don’t know what it is about her getting older, but it’s gotten harder and harder to keep her in town. I swear I’ve been staying at her place more than my own lately.”
Jennifer smiled at that as she walked farther into the room. A glance out the window showed the snow-covered cars below. She had no way of telling anymore which one was his. “What other trips has she taken?”
“Ruth, her name is Ruth.”
“Ruth.” Jennifer tasted the name as it rolled off her tongue. “I’ve always liked that name.” She turned around to look at him but stayed by the window.
Mark smiled. “She’s always been Ruth, even to me, and you can’t call her Ms. Parkland...she’ll insist that you call her Ruth.
“Last spring she took a trip to San Francisco. In the fall she gathered leaves in Vermont, and now she’s show-hopping in Vegas. Next month she’s planning on going to Mardi Gras, but I’m not sure I trust her.”
She cocked her head.
He grinned. “I just don’t know what kind of things she’ll be willing to do to earn her beads, is all.”