The Saint Read Online Free PDF Page B

quite meet his eyes.
    When she was finished, she washed her hands carefully; dried them on a blue towel, which she refolded neatly on its bar; and then turned to him.
    â€œSo. You said you were hungry. I’m a terrible cook, but I have a few frozen dinners. Would you like me to heat one up for you?”
    â€œThat would be very nice,” he said. He wasn’t sure what had made her decide to let him stay. Maybe she was too tired to go on arguing with him.Maybe she’d decided it was easier to feed him and then send him on his way.
    Whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to give her an opportunity to change her mind. “How about if I set the table?”
    She turned and smiled a little. “The table’s a terrible mess. Sometimes I eat in the living room. But there’s only one chair. I’m not exactly set up for entertaining.”
    It almost took the years away, that smile. He felt something relax inside. Perhaps the real Claire was still alive inside that uptight iron maiden. He hoped so. He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much, but it did.
    â€œNo problem,” he said. “Just tell me where everything is, and I’ll improvise.”
    She pointed out the cabinets and drawers that held all the flatware and dishes. Then she rummaged a minute in the freezer and emerged holding two red-and-white cartons.
    â€œI’ve got vegetable lasagna and vegetable lasagna,” she said. She raised one eyebrow. “Your choice.”
    He smiled. “Vegetable lasagna sounds good.”
    They didn’t talk while she put the microwave through its paces. His instincts told him not to rush things. They were doing fine, especially considering how long it had been since they’d seen each other, and how hostile their parting had been. But the truce felt fragile, and he didn’t want to test it.
    When both boxes were warmed up, she moved to the breakfast table and began stacking papers, preparing to move them to the kitchen counter.
    â€œThat’s okay,” he said, touching the pile of papers. He avoided connecting with her hand. “I’ve got us set up in here.”
    She looked up with a quizzical expression. “Where?”
    â€œCome see,” he said. He led the way to the living room. He’d put the plates and utensils on the coffee table, but he’d solved the seating problem a little more creatively. While she’d been putting away the few groceries that survived, he had taken the throw and spread it across the carpet like a picnic blanket.
    He thought it looked kind of nice. The only light in the room came from three brass sconces at intervals along the cream-colored walls, so it wasn’t terribly well illuminated. But it had a pleasant, picnic-under-the-stars feeling, and he hoped she’d go for it.
    She hesitated, holding a little plastic tray of vegetable lasagna in each hand. He could feel her internal debate—was this too cozy? Was he trying to get too close?
    Finally she held the food out to him. “If I’m going to sit on the floor, I’d better put on something more comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
    And she meant it. When she returned, just a couple of minutes later, she was wearing a yellow cotton sundress, and she had brushed some of the stiffness out of her hair. Now that it was swinging more naturally, and shining in the light from the sconces, he realized that her haircut was actually quite sexy.
    In fact, she looked beautiful.
    She paused at the stereo. She turned it on—maybe feeling that awkward silences would be more easily covered up if they had some background music. A classical station was playing Chopin, and she made a small face, probably judging it to be too much like“mood” music. She punched a couple of preset buttons and found an oldies station that was playing some nice, low-key rock and roll.
    â€œThat okay?”
    He nodded. “Sure.”
    He was already cross-legged