A Slow Boil (5 page)

“This shade of blue suits you perfectly.  I wonder, would you
be opposed to wearing a uniform while you’re here?”

“A uniform, sir?”

“Yes.  Something you could change into when you get
here.  I’d rather you looked more like a housekeeper and less like a
college student.”  He swept his eyes over my usual jeans and
university-logo t-shirt.

“Um, no, I guess I don’t mind.  As long as it’s not
uncomfortable or immodest.”

This brought a quick laugh from him.  “No, Miss Lane, I
wasn’t thinking along the lines of a French maid’s outfit … but now you've
given me an interesting visual.” 

He was still smiling as he dropped the curtain and turned
away.  "I have some things to unpack from the car and won’t need this
room for at least half an hour.  Does that give you enough time to
finish?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll see you at dinner then.”

At six o'clock I carried his plate into the dining room and placed
it before him.  His eyes took in my apron but he made no comment.

“Would you like me to make you a martini, sir?”

He looked down at his pork tenderloin, rice pilaf, and sautéed
greens.  “No, I'll finish the pinot noir from last night.”

I brought out the bottle and poured him a glass, then withdrew to
the kitchen.  After only three days of making his dinners, I could already
feel myself settling into a routine.  Scooping some rice into a bowl, I
sat at the island waiting for him to call me.  It wasn’t long before he
did.

“Did you have time to make another dessert this afternoon?” 
He asked as I refilled his wineglass.

“No, sir, I didn’t. There is some pie leftover, however.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I had pie for breakfast and again for
lunch.  I think I’ll have to forgo another piece today.”

“That reminds me, sir, I have a question about leftovers.”

“Yes?”

“There’s still most of last night’s chicken left.  Do you
mind if I use it to make a soup or stir-fry or something?”

“Of course not.  In fact, I encourage you to do so.  I
don’t like to waste food.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have any favorite dishes, or a favorite type of cuisine?”

He put his knife and fork down at looked up at me with an odd
expression on his face.  “Why do you ask?  Did Mrs. Sheridan give you
the impression that I'm difficult to cook for?”

“Oh no, not at all.  The opposite, in fact.  She said
you ate everything she made and never complained once.”

“Then, again, why do you ask?”

Why had I asked?  It had been an impulsive question, but
surely I had some reason for wanting to know.  As always, his direct gaze
seemed to draw the truth out of me without hesitation.

“I want to please you.”

His gaze remained locked with mine.  He was looking at me so
intently, searching my face for something.  I didn't know if he found what
he was looking for, as I struggled to keep my expression as blank as possible.

“I can’t think of any favorites off the top of my head, but if I
do, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, sir.”  I turned to go back to the kitchen when he added
one last comment.

“Miss Lane, you do please me. You please me greatly.”

The next few days were a blur. It was crunch time at school and I
only had one week left to get my final papers completed.  Luckily, I had
turned a corner in the one giving me the most difficulty, and it was now merely
a matter of compiling all the citations, just busywork, really, but
time-consuming.  I’d also managed to put together an outline for my oral
presentation and was about as ready as I was going to get for that.  All
in all, I felt like I had a handle on things; if I could just wring a few extra
hours out of each day, I might even feel confident.

Apart from the nearly overwhelming time crunch, the other issue
weighing on my mind was my ongoing need to find a place to live for the
summer.  Britt and I had looked at two more apartments Saturday morning
and they were just getting worse; there was simply nothing decent still
available in town.  The salary Mr. Hunter had handed me before I left on
Friday was useless if I couldn’t find a place to rent.  Britt told me
after class on Monday that she’d even checked to see if I could move into her
family's on-campus house they were given by the university as part of her
mother’s professorship, but had been told the housing was for immediate family
only.  “But we're not out of options, yet, Syl.  Let’s go check out
the bulletin board in the Center and see if anyone’s looking for a roommate.”

There were several such ads.  I didn’t recognize any of the
names, but Britt knew a couple of them.  “Not this guy, he's a
sleaze.”  “This girl’s nice, but her place is in the south end.” 
“Hmm, this one sounds pretty good – right location, anyway. I don’t know who
this guy is, but let’s take down his number and you can call him later.” 
I let Britt shuttle me through the decision-making, my mind on the paper I
really wanted to finish tonight, and of course the fact that it was time to
head to
Southbay’s
and then on to work.  We left
with two numbers, which I stuck in my purse.  Maybe I could make some
calls from Mr. Hunter’s kitchen if I had time.  And whispered.

Pete greeted me with a big smile when I arrived at the meat
counter about an hour later.  “What's for dinner tonight, Sylvia?”

“I don't know yet. What looks good?”

“How about some seafood? We just got some fresh halibut in this
morning and it looks fantastic.”  He pointed to a pile of white fish.
Yeah, I thought, reading the price card, for twenty dollars a pound it had
better be fantastic, but I found myself nodding and asked for a filet.  My
dad practically lived on fish in the summer, and I could cook it in my
sleep.  I also bought a lemon, a couple of leeks, cream, some pasta, and a
bag of pre-washed baby spinach because if dinners this week had a theme, it was
going to be “easy.”  I wondered how Mr. Hunter felt about hot dogs.

Waiting for me on the kitchen island when I arrived at the house
was a parcel with a note that read, “Miss Lane, please wear one of these from
now on when you’re here.”  I reached in and pulled out two identical navy
blue dresses.  Holding one up in front of me, I couldn’t find anything
immediately objectionable about it.  The neckline was modest, the sleeves
elbow-length, and the hem would just cover my knees.  Maybe not as comfortable
as jeans but then, nothing really was except maybe sweatpants.  Now the
question was, where the heck was I supposed to change?  I chose the powder
room off the living room as it was the closest to the kitchen and as far as I
could tell, never used.

Locking the door behind me, I slipped out of my jeans and
t-shirt.  The dress went on easily, with a zipper up the front and two
side ties that I guessed I was supposed to secure behind my waist.  Once
everything was zipped and tied, I realized the dress fit well and was perfectly
comfortable, so I would wear it if that was what Mr. Hunter wished.  I
took a moment to look at myself in the small mirror above the vanity and had to
admit the color did look good on me.  Peering closer at my face, I noticed
the tell-tale dark circles I always got when I was tired.  My hair wasn’t
doing anything for me, either, I thought, as I re-tied my pony tail a little
higher and tighter.  Better?  Not by much.  I still looked
exhausted.  Well, I was exhausted, I thought.  So sue me, as Mr.
Hunter would say.

Monday was proving to be the day that look the longest to complete
my tasks.  There was no quick way to get through dusting the entire house,
especially given the size of the library.  It wasn’t physically tiring,
though, and I enough energy left as I entered the kitchen to start
dinner.  One look at the clock told me I didn’t have time to call any of
the roommate seekers, though. I could call tonight, I thought, as I slipped the
apron over my dress and got to work.

The halibut went into the oven at five-thirty.  I set a pot
of water on the stove to boil for the penne, tossed the spinach into a salad
bowl and began making the lemon/leek/cream sauce that my dad loved with
salmon.  At six-oh-five I entered the dining room where Mr. Hunter was
already sitting.

“Good evening, Mr. Hunter.  Sorry I’m a few minutes
late.  The fish took longer than I expected.”

Not having seen him since Friday, I was struck again by his
amazing good looks.  Why was this man single?

"Good evening, Ms. Lane.  I was beginning to worry that
you had some kind of kitchen disaster.  Mrs. Sheridan once dropped an
entire pot roast on the floor and I had to wait until six-thirty while she made
me an omelet instead.”

The horror, I thought.  “Oh no, sir, nothing like that. 
I just have to dust faster, I guess.”

“It's not too much for you, I hope.”

“Not at all.  I’m sure I’ll get faster the more I do it.”

“I'm sure you will, Miss Lane.”  He turned his attention to
his dinner.

“What would you like to drink tonight, Mr. Hunter?”

“Hmm, just ice water tonight I think.”

“Yes, sir.”

I filled a glass with ice and water from the dispensers on the
fridge door and returned to place it in front of him.  He’d already eaten
almost half of his fish and looked up at me as I stood beside him.

“You asked me last week if I had any favorite dishes.  This,”
he gestured to his fish, “is now one of them.  You can make this for me
any time.  The sauce is delicious.  Leeks?”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you.”  His praise had its usual
immediate effect and my voice came out with a bit of a squeak, as if I was
trying not to cry.  I wasn’t, was I?

He caught the off tone of my voice and asked me if everything was
all right.

“Yes, it’s just finals week and I have a lot of stress right now.”

“Are you going to be able to work this week? I can give you time
off if you need it.”

“That's very kind of you, but no, I’d like to keep coming in.
Working here is the only peaceful, stress-free thing in my life right
now.” 
Wow, where did that
come from? Oh right,
he was looking at me with that “honesty only” gaze against which I was utterly
powerless.

“Well, I’d like to help in some way. Feel free to bring your
things and study here if you have any free time.”

“Thank you,
sir, that
would actually help
quite a bit.”

“And just for this week, you can go after you’ve served dinner. I
can clean up the kitchen myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes.  Really.  I am capable of starting the dishwasher,
I just prefer not to.”  He smiled and his face was beautiful.  “I’ll
make an exception for you this week, Miss Lane.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Hunter.  I really appreciate
it.  So it’s all right if I go now?”

“If it helps you get through the week, then by all means, feel
free to go.”

“Okay.  Goodnight then, Mr. Hunter.”

“Goodnight, Miss Lane.”

I finished one paper that night around nine.  One down, two
to go.  Before I left the library I dug into my purse for the phone
numbers Britt and I had collected earlier and pre-dialed one of the numbers
into my phone.  Once I was through the doors, I hit send and waited
through several rings until voicemail picked up.  “Hi, this is Thomas.
Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you.  If you're calling
about the roommate advertisement, sorry but I already found someone.” 
Great.  I hung up and dialed the second number, again getting voicemail
but this time it was one of those generic computer-generated inboxes, so I left
a message saying I was calling about the roommate ad, and if someone could call
me back, I’d appreciate it.

Back in my room Anna was asleep and Megan was still out when I
turned off my light at eleven-thirty, setting my alarm for six.

The next afternoon I finished the vacuuming at three.  It was
a warm day and I found myself actually glad to be in a dress.  It was much
cooler to work with my legs bare, more like wearing shorts.  I’d put
yesterday’s dress in the wash with my apron and Mr. Hunter’s clothes, noting
wryly that the load seemed to be getting bigger on a daily basis.  After
returning the vacuum to the closet and switching the clothes to the dryer, I
hauled my laptop and book bag off the floor by the backdoor and set them on the
kitchen island.  If Mr. Hunter really didn’t mind me doing homework here,
I wasn’t going to argue since at this point every hour counted.  I’d gotten
quite a lot done early this morning before class and if I was lucky, I might be
able to finish another paper by the end of the day.  I found a convenient
socket for my laptop’s power cord at the base of the island, fixed myself a
glass of ice water, and got to work.

Two hours later I had made enormous headway on the paper.  I
was going to finish tonight, I could tell.  I rolled my head around in a
couple of circles to ease the kinks in my neck and breathed a huge sigh of
relief.  Wow, I thought, it does really help to work in total peace and
quiet with no distractions.  Chalk one up to Mr. Hunter.

Mr. Hunter!  Oh no, dinner!  What time was it?  In
a panic, I spun around to the kitchen clock.  Thank god, it was only
five-twenty.  That was close.  Dinner tonight was only sausages and
potato salad, and I’d already boiled the potatoes so I just had to fry the
sausages and assemble the salad.  Plenty of time.

I shut down my laptop and packed away my notes and books, then
jogged downstairs to fold the laundry and slip on my apron.  I took Mr.
Hunter’s clothes up to his room, put everything in its place, and then hurried
back downstairs, remembering at the very last minute to pass quietly on the
second floor landing.

“Good evening, Miss Lane,” said my gorgeous employer as I entered
the dining room at six.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Ah, sausages.” He stated the obvious as I put down his dinner.

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Did you make the potato salad yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You really don’t have to go to any effort this week, Miss
Lane.  Store-bought potato salad would have been fine, although I'm sure
yours will taste much, much better.”

Now you tell me, I thought.

“It wasn't any trouble, Mr. Hunter.  I was even able to get
some studying done this afternoon.”

“Good, I'm glad to hear it.”

“So, what can I get you to drink?”

“Eager to leave?” He was smirking a little and dare I say teasing
me?

“No, not really.  I just know you like to have your drink
before you start eating.”

“Well, what I drink tonight depends entirely upon you.”

“How so?”

“I happened to see you arriving this afternoon and you were
carrying far too much.  A bag of groceries is one thing, but I should have
realized you’d need your computer and books if you were going to study
here.  I’d like to drive you home after dinner.  If you accept, I’ll
take a glass of ice water.  If you prefer to walk, you may bring me a
beer.”

I returned to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the
cabinet.  This was a no-brainer - a ride home would be awesome.  I’d
nearly died on the walk here; my book bag must weigh fifty pounds at
least.  I filled the glass with ice and water and smiled as I put it down
next to Mr. Hunter’s plate.

He smiled back up at me.  God, his eyes were pretty when he
smiled.  “Very good. Give me about twenty minutes or so and I’ll be ready
to go.”  He started cutting into the sausage.  “You can grab a bite
to eat and change back into your school clothes while you’re waiting for me.”

“Actually, I think I’ll keep this on.  It’s very
comfortable.”

“Fine.  I’m glad you like it.  It flatters you
immensely.  Now off to the kitchen with you.  I’ll let you know when
I’m finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

I ate a cup or so of the potato salad.  It was okay, nothing
great.  Ah well, I told myself, every meal can’t be a home run.  I
put my dishes in the dishwasher, set up the coffee, took off my apron and hung
it in the pantry, and somehow managed to fit my jeans and shirt into my already
overcrowded bag.  I was just wiping down the counter tops when Mr. Hunter
came in through the dining room door carrying his own dishes, which he
proceeded to load into the dishwasher himself.  He stood back up and swept
his arms out in a gesture that said, “See, I can do it!”  I couldn't help
but laugh, and I gave him a little golf clap that said “Amazing!” back to him.