Hard to Hold (True Romance) (10 page)

As usual, Anne would suck it up and endure—though shaking off Pamela’s nastiness would be a whole lot easier to do once she’d typed a reply to Michael.

From: Anne Miller

Subject: See Them Run: Mouse Hunters Fight the
Good Fight in Schenectady

To: “Michael Davoli”

Date: Tuesday, February 21, 2006, 1:41 PM

See Them Run: Mouse hunters clean up a courthouse

By Anne Miller

Staff writer

SCHENECTADY - With military precision, jack-booted authorities descended upon the county courthouse this morning to rid the halls of justice of the four-legged scourge plaguing local jurisprudence like an act of God. The raid, conducted by the New York Coalition Against Mice, or NYCAM, was staged after newspaper reports brought to light a mouse invasion in the aging building.

“It’s become a health hazard,” said spokesman Michael Davoli. “We’re here to serve, protect and clean.”

The sweep also included sweeping up after the mice. County court officers were seen clambering on top of desks to get out of the rodents’ way. Jail inmates brought over for court appearances delighted in the mayhem. They stomped their feet, rattling ankle chains to scare up more mice. They called it their way of helping fix a problem long overdue for cleanup.

“Honestly, I’d rather be in jail some days, it’s cleaner there,’’ said an inmate who preferred not to be named. By 3 p.m., after a day when nothing got done save mouse hunting, Schenectady County Judge K.D. literally threw up her hands, tossed off her robe, and officially closed court for the day.

Court is expected to resume in the morning, after the heroic NYCAM members take their fight to downtown Albany.

No word on how NYCAM plans to dispose of the mice.

“Really, you don’t want to know,” Davoli said.

“Mice in the courthouse?”

Anne nearly jumped out of her skin. God, she hated working in the office. She much preferred the coffee shop. At least there, if someone was reading over your shoulder, they at least pretended they were doing something else. At the paper, eavesdropping was an art form.

This time, Anne didn’t hide her humorous handiwork. At least, she thought it was funny. She was pretty sure Michael would, too. But everyone else? Not so much. She kind of liked sharing an inside joke with a guy who was also an incredibly good kisser, not to mention rodent-warrior extraordinaire.

“While I’m sure the Schenectady Courthouse has its fair share of vermin, this is just a joke piece I’m sending to a friend,” Anne explained to Billy, the intern who used her desk when she was out in the field and who, the rest of the time, followed her around in a diligent attempt to learn something.

“What are you up to?” Anne asked, hoping to deflect any other questions about her personal correspondence.

“I finished looking over the copy of Deni’s piece on the zoning commission, and I was sort of hoping you’d have something more interesting for me to proofread.”

Anne chuckled. “My grocery list, if I ever took the time to make one, would be more interesting to read than a report on the zoning board. I’m waiting for one last quote on this piece on the fraud trial, but if you’d like to look it over now, I wouldn’t mind. I have a phone call to make anyway. I’ll go down to the courtyard and you can read here, okay?”

The kid nodded enthusiastically, but she sent him to grab a Coke while she read through her e-mail to Mike, fixed a spelling error because what would he think about a writer who couldn’t spell, and then clicked send. This was fun. She could only imagine what he’d send back in response. All because she’d found a dead mouse in her dishwasher.

Billy returned, so Anne pulled up the article she was nearly done with, grabbed her note pad, coat, and cell phone, and went downstairs to the courtyard that had usually been appropriated by the newspaper’s smokers. The day was cold, but the sun beat down into the cement circle so she could walk around and chat with the prosecutor on the case without her teeth chattering. She had the necessary quote in less than two minutes, so she took the extra time to call Shane, who’d sent a text message instructing her to do so at her first available moment.

“So, how’d it go last night?” Shane asked.

Funny how caller ID had destroyed the niceties such as saying, “Hello.”

“Up until the dead mouse, it was a very nice evening.”

“Dead mouse? Tell me this is a metaphor.”

“Nope,” Anne insisted. “I’m being completely literal. That is what I get for emptying my dishwasher. A steamed rodent body sitting amid my utensils.”

“Ew!”

Anne’s stomach roiled just thinking about it again. She’d always had an aversion to rodents of all species, but mice in particular gave her the creeps. Even the stark white, lab-bred mouse that had never existed outside his tiny cage made her skin crawl, with his wormy tail and pink mouth. She shivered just thinking about it.

“The point is,” she said, raising her voice in a bid to shout the picture out of her head, “he heard me scream and came running. He not only took the disgusting thing away, he reloaded the dishwasher and ran another cycle, hand-washed the dishes that wouldn’t fit, and invited me to dinner at his place tonight so I don’t have to go anywhere near my kitchen.”

Shane was quiet, which surprised Anne. She expected a squeal of excitement—or at the very least, a hearty “I told you so.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, suspicious.

“Nothing,” Shane said. “Things seem fairly perfect. I think I’m jealous. Wow, there’s an emotion I haven’t felt in a really long time.”

Anne laughed. She couldn’t deny that things between her and Michael had progressed a little quickly, from that first hug on the sidewalk to the incredible kisses they’d shared on her couch, in her doorway, and later on the bench at the park. Ordinarily, any new man she kissed required a certain amount of fumbling before they got to the good stuff. Nose bumps, groping hands, and sloppy tongues that moved either too fast or too slow so that the acrobatics of the kiss took center stage from the emotional expression were par for the course.

But Michael had skipped that stage. He kissed her as if they’d been doing it for years. He’d tilted his head at precisely the right angle and more than once, he’d brushed his fingers over her cheek in a way that drove her mad.

If she didn’t watch herself, she might find herself in love way too fast than was wise. She wanted a real shot with Michael— though the idea of turning down his invitation to dinner to slow the process of connection was wholly out of the question. Especially after his e-mail.

“What have you got to be jealous of? You’ve got Jamie.” Anne said the last part with hestitation. With Shane’s track record, chances were high that he was already history. When she’d knitted with Shane the week before last, the bloom was already fading off the rose.

“Eh,” Shane replied. “I do and I don’t. He’s a great guy, I guess, but it’s all so . . . physical. I don’t know if he’d sit still for an hour watching a complicated television show with me, help clear the dishes, take me for a romantic stroll through a park, and then dispose of a drowned, baked, and steamed pest for me, too.”

Anne willed the bile suddenly burning up her throat to return to her stomach.

“Can we please not talk about that anymore?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Shane said with a snort. “It’s more fun to talk about Michael anyway. Or should I start calling him Mr. Perfect?”

“It’s easy to make a guy sound perfect when I hardly know him.” Anne said. “Did you know he has Tourette’s?”

She almost hadn’t asked Shane about it, but she was the only mutual friend Anne shared with Michael and she didn’t have a sense that he kept his condition particularly secret. He’d certainly disclosed it to her fast enough, as if he was giving her the chance to walk away as early in the romantic process as possible—something she could not imagine doing.

“Yeah, I think I remember something about it,” Shane said. “He had a hard time with it when he was a kid, but I think he manages it pretty well now. Why, did you notice something?”

“Actually, no. He told me. But it’s hard to notice anything about him but his glorious blue eyes and generous soul.”

“Oh, dear,” Shane said. “You sound a little smitten.”

Anne smiled. “I do, don’t I?”

“Why’d you ask about the Tourette’s?”

“It was important to him that he tell me. But to be honest, I didn’t think it was any big deal. I guess I’m afraid I might insult him by trivializing his condition, but if he has it under control, I don’t see why I should be concerned.”

“There’s never a problem when a guy is being honest. At least, I don’t think there is. It’s such a rare occurrence, I don’t think there are any set rules. What about Egypt? Did you tell him about your trip?”

Anne frowned. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She and her yoga partner, Adele, had planned their vacation long before Michael had come into her life. “I will. When the time is right. First, I want to make sure this thing has legs, you know?”

Anne and Shane chatted for a few more minutes and made plans to meet up for knitting and wine the next night. Anne called a few other knitters to make the group a foursome, then headed back up to her office.

Billy had finished looking over her article. He’d made a couple of good changes and one that she decided to ignore for stylistic reasons rather than technical ones. Once she keyed in the quote she’d obtained from the prosecuting attorney, she e-mailed the finished article to Pamela—five hours ahead of her deadline— then checked her inbox for any leads on her next article.

Oh, who was she kidding? She was looking for an answer from Michael.

She wasn’t disappointed. He hadn’t crafted another press release, but he’d sent her a note thanking her for the laugh. And at the bottom, he’d attached a document she had to double click in order to read.

Printed over a fancy background, she read:

Invitation:

Café Davoli

Dinner starting at 8 pm (unless later is needed)

Menu

Appetizer:
Tomato, fresh basil and fresh mozzarella salad
with vinaigrette dressing
Fresh Italian bread with rosemary and
extra virgin olive oil for dipping
Angel hair pasta in marinara

Main Course:
Eggplant Parmigiana in a tomato basil sauce

Dessert
Anne’s surprise
Plus an assortment of red wines.

After dinner activity TBD.

As she read, her hunger intensified, her mouth watering over the menu selections—only to have her lips instantly dry the minute she read the very last line.

After dinner activity TBD. To be determined.

Determined by whom? She could only hope that Mike would take responsibility for this call. Judging by the way her insides liquefied in anticipation of having Michael cook for her and serve her not just one of her preferred red wines, but an assortment, she figured that by the end of the night, her ability to make a good decision about what they did once dinner was done might be in serious jeopardy.

Nine

M
IKE LEANED OVER THE MARINARA
gurgling on the stove and took a big whiff before dipping in a hunk of crusty Italian bread. His mouth watered while he blew on the steaming sauce, readying his mouth for the explosion of flavors. The garlic was a little strong, but that’s how he liked it. The salt balanced nicely against the sweetness of the tomatoes. He added an extra dash of red pepper flakes, stirred the pot, then set to his next task.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cooked such an elaborate meal. Sure, he’d pitched in at Christmas in the family kitchen, but creating an entire meal for the sole purpose of seducing Anne’s senses with good food, great wine, and clever company tested even his culinary abilities.

And yet, he couldn’t wait for her to arrive.

All day, he’d been struck by the fact that last night had been much like living a romantic comedy. From the casual meal on the couch while the girl revealed her wacky obsession with a television show so antithetical—and yet, so revealing—of her personality to the witty conversation that ended up revealing more than either intended.

And then there was the mouse.

And better—the kiss.

God, the kiss.

All day, Mike had fought the memory of his lips on hers, resulting in distraction and uncharacteristically low productivity at work. Instead of finishing the press releases he knew had to be done by the end of the week, he’d worked up a fake announcement regarding imaginary mouse infestations in the building where Anne worked most often. Instead of completing his report on the new legislation making its way through the state senate regarding funding for prekindergarten programs, he’d planned tonight’s menu, made a shopping list, and researched a selection of red wines to match each of the meal’s three courses.

If any of his friends had witnessed his behavior, they’d call him whipped. Except Nikki. She’d helped with the wine choices. Then again, she’d been encouraging him to get whipped over someone— anyone—practically since they’d met.

Nikki was a self-avowed lover of love. She believed that the powers of infatuation and lust were limitless. He’d disagreed with her up until the moment he met Anne. If this was what whipped felt like, well, it was very, very nice.