“LIFE WOULD BE so much easier if I was better with people.” Harriet slowed her pace so that Glenys could keep up. The drop in temperature didn’t seem to have kept people inside. The streets were busier than ever and there was a buzz of expectation in the air that increased as they drew closer to Christmas.
Across Manhattan, the stores unveiled their holiday displays and people traveled especially to admire the store windows.
Harriet liked to wait until after dark and then wander along Madison Avenue, Lexington and Fifth Avenue.
When they were growing up, her mother had taken her and Fliss to see the store windows and Harriet remembered the special buzz that had come from being just the three of them. Without her father there, she hadn’t been so afraid to speak.
Glenys patted her arm. “What are you talking about? You’re wonderful with people.”
“Not really, although I’m better one-on-one than I am in a crowd. But I want to be the sort of person who can bound into a room and be the life and soul of a party. It must be great to feel that comfortable and confident.” She watched as Harvey picked his way over the snow. “I’m a coward.”
Glenys stopped walking. “Oh no, honey. You’re nothing of the sort. You are brave.”
Harriet thought about the number of times she’d almost called Ethan Black and canceled. “I’m really not.”
“Think about it—” Glenys waggled her gloved finger. “Is it hard for Fliss to bounce into a room and talk to everyone?”
“No. She does it naturally.” And it was a skill she’d always envied. There were so many days when she wished she were more like her sister.
“So what’s brave about that? She does it without a second thought. Brave is walking into that room when it’s the last thing you want to do. Brave is putting yourself out there when you’d rather hide away in the safety of your apartment. Brave is what you’re doing. Moving in with a guy you hardly know to protect that innocent little dog.”
“You’re freaking me out, Glenys. You’re making it sound like the biggest risk.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Glenys said, her voice devoid of conviction. “You’re brave as a lion, honey.”
Harriet didn’t feel particularly lionlike as she hauled her suitcase across town to Ethan’s apartment in the West Village.
Unlike the rest of Manhattan, where the streets were laid out in an ordered, logical grid, here they meandered and curved. It was easy to get lost, particularly as Harriet didn’t know this area as well as the rest of Manhattan. She walked past an organic bakery, a craft store and an artsy boutique all decked out for the holidays with garlands of holly leaves and twinkling lights. Now, with the cobbled streets hidden under layers of snow, it felt as if she’d stepped straight into the pages of a Dickens novel.
She reached Ethan’s apartment block and took the elevator to the top floor.
He’d already left for work and there was no sign of Madi.
Concerned, Harriet dumped her suitcase in the living room and sprinted upstairs.
Madi was sprawled in the middle of his bed, her eyes closed.
Harriet shook her head in disapproval. “You are a bad girl.”
Madi opened her eyes, then sprang off the bed and gave Harriet an ecstatic welcome.
“You are not allowed to sleep on his bed. Are you listening to me?”
Madi wagged her tail.
“You have to behave. I’m not taking any nonsense from you.”
It was the first time she’d had the chance to take a proper look at his apartment. The first time she’d come here it had been dark, and yesterday she’d been too busy focusing on the fact he wanted her to dog sit to pay any attention to her surroundings.
But now she looked.
The sun-filled living room had high ceilings and exposed brick walls. There was a large wood-burning fireplace, and three oversize windows faced west and offered a view of the Hudson River.
Harriet walked across to the window. From her own apartment she saw other buildings. Brick walls, trimmed with iron fire escapes. If she stood on a chair and craned her neck she could just about see the tops of a few trees in Central Park. Her view was nothing like this.
She gazed for a moment and then turned back to the room.
A large leather sofa faced a fireplace that was flanked with bookcases. They ran the whole length of the wall and reached up to the ceiling.
For Harriet, a bookcase was too much of a draw to simply walk past without giving it attention.
Curious, she stepped forward to read some of the spines.
Dickens and Dostoyevsky nestled alongside modern authors such as Stephen King. There were medical textbooks, books on music and art history. If she’d had to compile a character study of the owner of the apartment based on the contents of his bookshelves, she would have struggled.
What it told her was that Ethan Black read what he wanted to read. The books on the shelves hadn’t been chosen to impress, but were a haphazard catalog of the owner’s varied tastes and interests.
Two large armchairs sat invitingly on either side of the fireplace and on the coffee table in between them there were more books and a few medical journals. A photographic book on Prague, a biography of a leading politician and a book on motivation written by a gold-medal-winning skier called Tyler O’Neil.
On the shelf in front of the bookcase were several photographs. She stepped forward and took a closer look. She recognized Debra in one, with a younger girl who was presumably Ethan’s niece. Next to that was a photograph of four men standing on a snowy slope in ski gear. She recognized Ethan Black. Who were the other three men? His brothers? There was another photo with about twelve people grouped together, laughing.
Whoever they were, Ethan seemed to have a big family and lots of friends.
She felt a stab of envy. No doubt his Christmas would be full of laughter and eggnog. Not that she particularly liked eggnog, but she would have liked to have a busy, noisy Christmas.
Harriet resisted the temptation to sink into the comfortable armchair and lose herself in one of those books. Books had always been a comfort to her. More than comfort. There were times when reading came close to an addiction.
When things had been tough at home, Harriet’s solution had been to remove herself from life and disappear. She’d chosen to be invisible. Sometimes physically, by hiding under the table, but sometimes psychologically by diving into a literary world unlike her own.
As a child she’d liked to sink into the pages and lose herself for hours at a time. When she was reading, she didn’t just leave her own life behind, she stepped into someone else’s. There were times when she’d read for hours without noticing the passage of time or the onset of darkness. When it grew too dark to read, she simply switched on her flashlight and read under the covers so that she didn’t disturb her sister, who was sleeping in the next bed. At school, she carried her book around. When things were difficult, the weight of her bag would comfort her. It helped just to know the book was there, waiting for her. At various points in the day she’d feel the edges bump against her thigh, reminding her of its existence. It was like having a friend close by, telling her I’m still here and we can spend time together later.
Even now, more than a decade on from that difficult time of her life, she found herself instinctively reaching for a book when she was stressed. Comfort was different things to different people. To some it was a bar of chocolate or a glass of wine, a run in the park or coffee with a friend.
To Harriet, it was a book. Now, when she was feeling uncomfortable and unsettled in a stranger’s home, was one of those times.
There, on the shelf in front of her, was an elaborate edition of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. It was one of her favorite stories, particularly at this time of year. She loved reading about Scrooge’s transformation. It gave her hope.
She reached to pull it from the shelf and then paused.
If she started reading, she’d find it difficult to stop and she had work to do. Later, she could read.
Regretfully, she stepped back from the bookshelves, gazing at them the way another woman might salivate over chocolate.
Fliss had never been able to understand how the mere thought of reading could lift her spirits and make her feel excited.
Tearing her gaze away from temptation, she picked up her case and carried it upstairs.
It was a duplex apartment, and in many ways it felt more like a house. Certainly more like a house than her apartment did.
If she stopped and listened she could hear faint sounds of street noise coming from far below, but the place was remarkably quiet for Manhattan.
Even as she had the thought, Madi barked and Harriet put her case down and shook her head.
“No.” She spoke firmly. “Quiet.” She knew that patience and consistency were the secret to training a dog.
Madi looked at her and wagged her tail but didn’t bark, so Harriet picked up her case again and hauled it upstairs.
There was a master bedroom suite that was obviously Ethan’s, and she glimpsed a walk-in closet that had been cleverly converted to a mini gym. There was a rack of free weights, a bench and other pieces of exercise equipment.
So even though his nutrition left something to be desired, he did work out.
Tearing her gaze away from the big bed, she left the room and found the spare room.
It was spacious and comfortable, decorated in dark forest greens, with a rug on the oak floor. There were cushions and the bed was draped with a warm, velvety throw that invited the occupant to snuggle.
This room was much smaller than his, but large enough to house a desk by the window and have its own small bathroom. It also had another wall of bookshelves.
It was another point in his favor that Ethan was a book lover.
She put her case inside, removed her laptop from her backpack and placed it on the desk by the window.
By the time she’d settled herself down, she’d decided that she was in love with Ethan’s apartment. It wasn’t as big and showy as the one her brother Daniel owned on Fifth Avenue, but it was elegant and comfortable, full of sunlight and character. And books. There were books everywhere. Some of them were stacked in piles on the floor because there wasn’t room on the shelves.
Who couldn’t be happy living here?
Madi watched her from the doorway and she smiled at the dog.
“You picked a nice property for your time away from home. And you’re a good girl. How about a walk? We could drop into a couple of stores and buy something for dinner.”
The prospect of cooking in that wonderfully equipped kitchen excited her as much as the idea of having someone to cook for. She’d been cooking meals for one for the past five months.
Maybe dog sitting wasn’t so bad after all.
ETHAN TOOK THE elevator to his apartment with a sense of trepidation. His head ached. He wanted to take a shower, pour himself a glass of wine and relax with a book.
If he didn’t have houseguests—did the dog count as a guest?—that was exactly what he’d be doing.
It was what he wanted to do.
He was used to coming home and thinking only of himself.
Selfish and single-minded, his ex-wife had called it. Fortunately she’d been wired the same way, which was why their parting had been fairly amicable. They’d both been married to their jobs, which made it virtually impossible to make the other sort of marriage work.
As he opened his front door, he wondered what he would find this time. Disconsolate neighbors? A wrecked sofa? An empty food cupboard?
Braced for all of those possibilities and worse, he opened the door and paused.
The mellow sound of jazz floated through the apartment along with the most delicious smells.
He heard laughter and the sound of Harriet’s voice as she chatted. For a moment he thought she’d invited people round and felt a flash of irritation because the last thing he felt like being was sociable. But then he strolled through to the kitchen and saw that Harriet was talking to the dog, chatting confidently and without a hint of a stammer as she stirred something that simmered on the stove.
“So I need to do the accounts, but it’s something I always put off.” She added a spoonful of something to the pot on the stove, and then a pinch of something else. “It’s one of my biggest failings. Putting off doing the things I hate. Do you ever do that?”
Ethan was about to respond, but then he remembered she wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to the dog.
And she was obviously more comfortable talking to the dog than she ever was with him.
Gone was the wariness that was present whenever she talked to Ethan.
“Fliss usually does it, which is exactly why I’ve said I’ll do it.” She gave the pot another stir. “When someone always does things for you, it stops you doing them for yourself.”
He barely recognized his kitchen. Overnight it had transformed from a stark, sterile barely used space into a fusion of color and scent. A freshly baked loaf of bread lay cooling on the countertop.
It was an alien scene.
Medical school had been a nonstop ingestion of fast food eaten at an even faster pace, and his short-lived marriage had consisted mostly of takeout food or meals eaten in restaurants. Early in their marriage Alison had cooked a couple of meals that had ended up in the trash when he was late home. After that, she’d given up. His sister, outspoken, had once told him their relationship had been a recipe for disaster.
Ethan had joked that neither of them knew what a recipe was.
They certainly didn’t have homemaking anywhere on their priority list.
Something niggled in his brain.
He thought back to the conversation when Harriet had told him that she was single and dating.
Was that what this was? Was she playing house? And if so, what exactly was his role in this?
He felt a twinge of unease. What if she’d misunderstood his reasons for asking her to move in with him? What if she wasn’t here because of Madi, but because of him?
He thought back to something Susan had said.
You’re young, single and an excellent doctor, Black. That makes you a catch.
Ethan knew differently. Despite, or perhaps because of, those qualities that made him an excellent doctor, he knew he was a bad deal for any woman.
But what if Harriet didn’t?
What if she thought he was just the person she’d been looking for?
She lowered the heat under the pan and turned and smiled at him. “How was your day?”
How was your day, dear?
He and Alison had never talked about their days. Partly because they’d rarely occupied the same space for long enough to indulge in any kind of conversation, and partly because in the short time they weren’t working neither of them had wanted to talk about it.
He wished he’d thought this through more carefully before asking Harriet to move in.
“My day was busy.” He threw his coat over the back of the nearest chair, trying to work out the best way to handle this. “I see you’re all settled in.”
Madi uncurled herself and trotted across to greet him, tail wagging.
He’d returned home to a woman cooking in his kitchen, and a dog.
He hadn’t seen so much domesticity in one place since the last time he’d been home to visit his parents. And that had been a while.
“She’s been good today, but she’s been glued to my side for most of it.” Harriet lifted the lid off the blue pot and stirred.
Ethan lost his train of thought. Whatever she was stirring smelled fantastic.
His mouth watered and his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime.
“I wasn’t expecting you to cook. You didn’t have to do that.”
She glanced at him, puzzled. “Excuse me?”
He decided to be honest. “Look, I appreciate the whole ‘homemaking’ thing, but that wasn’t part of the agreement we had. Your job is to look after the dog, that’s all. Not me. I’m not part of the deal here.”
“The deal?”
“You only need to feed the dog. I could have been late and then the wonderful meal you’ve spent hours creating would have been ruined.”
Comprehension dawned. Understanding was swiftly followed by annoyance.
There was a little flare of anger in her eyes. The same anger he’d seen the day he’d shouted at Madi. “You think I did this for you?”
“Didn’t you?”
There was a pause, and he had the feeling she was choosing her words carefully.
“I’m cooking because, believe it or not, I have to eat. I have a physical job and I work long hours, often outdoors in the cold. I need fuel. And I mean real fuel, not the nutrition-free takeout food you live on that is loaded with salt, sugar and not much else.” She turned away and put the spoon down on the saucer, slowly and carefully, as if she was having to fight hard not to throw it at him. “And when we made our ‘agreement,’ it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be allowed to use your kitchen. I’m new to the rules of dog sitting, but I was assuming I could treat your home as my own for the duration of the job.”
Realizing he’d made a huge mistake Ethan made what was intended to be a placatory gesture, but she wasn’t looking. “Of course you’re allowed to use my kitchen. That’s not—”
“That’s not, what?” She turned swiftly. “That’s not what you meant? Then what did you mean? What’s the problem?”
The problem was that he should have kept his big mouth shut. Again. “I may have misread the situation.”
“May have? Just to clarify, you thought I was turning this into some sort of romantic evening with you in the starring role, is that right?”
Definitely should have kept his mouth shut. “You mentioned that you were doing online dating, that’s all, and I thought—” Aware that he was making it worse, he stopped talking and she lifted an eyebrow.
“You thought? You thought I was desperate, is that right? You think you tick all the boxes if a woman is looking for a guy.”
If he’d thought he was in trouble before, he was in even bigger trouble now.
He was starting to understand why she was so good at dog training. That raised eyebrow alone made him want to take refuge in the crate.
“Harriet—”
“You’ve had your say, now it’s my turn.” She turned the heat off under the pot and lifted a deep bowl from the cabinet. “If you think me cooking myself something to eat in your apartment is a sign that I’m making a move on you, then you’ve definitely misread the situation.”
That was becoming abundantly clear. “Perhaps I should—”
“Firstly, I signed up for online dating not because I am desperate to meet a man but as part of Challenge Harriet. Between now and Christmas, I’m trying to challenge myself to do things I find difficult. Dating is something I find difficult. It’s about me, not you. Nothing to do with you.” She spooned the thick, fragrant casserole into the deep bowl and then carved herself a hunk of bread, the movements of the knife so vigorous that if he hadn’t already realized he’d upset her, he would have then. It made him relieved he had chosen to speak from a safe distance.
“If we could maybe—”
“Secondly, why would you assume this meal is for you? Women do cook for themselves you know. You think when we’re on our own we sob into a lonely bowl of cereal? This may come as a surprise, but cooking isn’t something we only do when there is a man around.” She took a plate and a spoon from one of his cupboards, added both to her tray with a clatter.
It was the most inviting, perfect-smelling, stomach teasing, tray of food he’d ever seen in his life.
Ethan had to stop himself ripping it from her hand.
“Thirdly,” she said, as she added a glass of water to the tray, “even if that part of Challenge Harriet hadn’t ended and I was still thinking of dating someone, you would be right at the bottom of my list.”
“Why?” He asked the question before he could stop himself.
“Why what?”
“Why would I be at the bottom of your list? Plenty of women would consider a doctor to be a catch.” It was clear from the look she gave him that she wasn’t one of them.
“If I’m sick, I need a doctor. If I’m dating, I need a man who interests me. That’s not you.”
Ouch.
“Just because I’m a doctor, doesn’t mean I can’t be interesting. That still doesn’t tell me why I’d be at the bottom of your list.”
“You’re the guy who yelled and made me stammer for the first time in years. I had it under control, so what you did was quite an achievement. And yes, I do realize I’m responsible for my own feelings and reactions, my soon-to-be-sister-in-law is a psychologist so I’m an expert on all that, but feelings and reactions need triggers and you were one hell of a trigger, Dr. Black. A date with you would be my idea of torture.”
“You don’t seem to be having much trouble with fluency right now.”
“That’s because I’m the one who is mad. I don’t stammer when I’m mad, only when someone else is mad.”
“So you’re allowed to be mad, but I’m not? How is that fair?”
“Life isn’t fair, Dr. Black. And I can’t believe this is the first time anyone has pointed that out to you.”
Without waiting for a reply, she headed for the stairs.
As she passed him, the most glorious aroma of herbs and red wine teased his senses. Right now he would have paid a month’s salary for the food on that tray. He had to stop himself grabbing it.
“Wait—where are you going?”
“Given that you seem to have a problem with me being in your apartment, I’m taking my food to my room.”
“You don’t have to do that. There’s a perfectly good table here, and the dog likes you being around.”
“Right now I’d prefer my own company. And if you call Madi ‘the dog’ one more time I’m taking her back to my apartment.” She walked away without looking back, leaving him with hunger pangs and the option of groveling or calling for takeout.