forkful.
He gestured to his spaghetti, what little remained, all hacked into tiny pieces. “I’ve already got the food. What are they going to do? Take it back? And who’s Mr. Henrey?” he asked as he tucked himself back in.
I grinned at him. I loved this man. “My old boss at The Chronicle. ”
Curt raised an eyebrow.
I took a deep breath and said with pride, “He offered me a job, a great job.” I gave him all the facts. “Isn’t that fabulous?” I leaned back as Astrid cleared our table. “We can buy a house with lots of windows and great light for your studio and it can be near my parents. We can go to my old church. You can paint western Pennsylvania things and have your work hung in western Pennsylvania galleries. And when I get an unexpected assignment, you can watch the kids for me because you’ll be home working. Can you imagine anything better?”
I looked at him expectantly and realized with surprise that he had pulled back, literally, leaning against the back of the seat, and figuratively, folding his arms over his chest.
“First,” he said, his chin raised in challenge, “if I’m working, I will not be able to watch kids, either in Amhearst or Pittsburgh or anywhere else. You need to understand that. When I’m working, I’m as unavailable as you are when you’re working.”
“Okay.” Inconvenient but understandable.
“I mean it, Merry. I may work at home, but that doesn’t mean I’m on call. I’m not.”
“I get it.” My voice was a bit tart.
“Good.” He added cream to the coffee Astrid had just brought. “And when does this marvelous opportunity of yours start?” His voice was still cool.
“As soon as.”
“Huh.”
That was it? Huh?
“I know it’s a surprise,” I said, leaning forward, trying to understand his attitude like a good fiancée. “I was surprised, too.”
“You didn’t contact him first?”
I blinked at the chill washing across the table. “You mean as in apply for the job? Are you kidding? Without consulting you?”
Curt just stared, his eyes sober behind his lenses.
I was offended. “Do you really think I’d do something like that behind your back? We’re getting married. Married people make decisions together.”
The frost thawed somewhat as he nodded, apparently satisfied that I wasn’t as nefarious as he’d feared.
“Give me some credit,” I muttered, peeved that he even thought I might do such a thing. And he’d squelched my joy. I felt flat where I’d expected to feel as if I were soaring. I swallowed my resentment, forced a smile and asked, “So, want to move to Pittsburgh with me?” Sensing the wintery atmosphere once again lowering to frostbite temps, I added, “Of course, we would have to give Mac plenty of time to replace me and you plenty of time to get used to the idea.”
Curt grunted.
“Should I take that as a yes, I’d love to move to Pittsburgh?”
“Did you already take the job?”
“Sheesh, Curt.” I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my palms. “I already told you I wanted to talk it over with you.” Where had this stubborn, unreasonable Curt come from?
He grunted again. “I’m not certain this conversation qualifies as talking it over.”
“Yeah, well, it would if you’d talk.”
Suddenly he leaned over the table, getting in my face. “Do you realize you haven’t asked my opinion?”
I drew back and stared at him. “I just asked if you wanted to move.”
“That is not asking my opinion. What if I think such a move isn’t in our best interest?”
Much as I hated to admit it—and I wouldn’t out loud, at least not right now; I was too steamed and too hurt—he had a point. “So what’s your opinion? Why wouldn’t this be in our best interest?”
“What about my career?” he asked. “Do I just give it up?”
“Of course not.” Talk about foolish. “I just said you could paint western Pennsylvania scenes. I mean, you can paint anywhere.”
He just stared
He gestured to his spaghetti, what little remained, all hacked into tiny pieces. “I’ve already got the food. What are they going to do? Take it back? And who’s Mr. Henrey?” he asked as he tucked himself back in.
I grinned at him. I loved this man. “My old boss at The Chronicle. ”
Curt raised an eyebrow.
I took a deep breath and said with pride, “He offered me a job, a great job.” I gave him all the facts. “Isn’t that fabulous?” I leaned back as Astrid cleared our table. “We can buy a house with lots of windows and great light for your studio and it can be near my parents. We can go to my old church. You can paint western Pennsylvania things and have your work hung in western Pennsylvania galleries. And when I get an unexpected assignment, you can watch the kids for me because you’ll be home working. Can you imagine anything better?”
I looked at him expectantly and realized with surprise that he had pulled back, literally, leaning against the back of the seat, and figuratively, folding his arms over his chest.
“First,” he said, his chin raised in challenge, “if I’m working, I will not be able to watch kids, either in Amhearst or Pittsburgh or anywhere else. You need to understand that. When I’m working, I’m as unavailable as you are when you’re working.”
“Okay.” Inconvenient but understandable.
“I mean it, Merry. I may work at home, but that doesn’t mean I’m on call. I’m not.”
“I get it.” My voice was a bit tart.
“Good.” He added cream to the coffee Astrid had just brought. “And when does this marvelous opportunity of yours start?” His voice was still cool.
“As soon as.”
“Huh.”
That was it? Huh?
“I know it’s a surprise,” I said, leaning forward, trying to understand his attitude like a good fiancée. “I was surprised, too.”
“You didn’t contact him first?”
I blinked at the chill washing across the table. “You mean as in apply for the job? Are you kidding? Without consulting you?”
Curt just stared, his eyes sober behind his lenses.
I was offended. “Do you really think I’d do something like that behind your back? We’re getting married. Married people make decisions together.”
The frost thawed somewhat as he nodded, apparently satisfied that I wasn’t as nefarious as he’d feared.
“Give me some credit,” I muttered, peeved that he even thought I might do such a thing. And he’d squelched my joy. I felt flat where I’d expected to feel as if I were soaring. I swallowed my resentment, forced a smile and asked, “So, want to move to Pittsburgh with me?” Sensing the wintery atmosphere once again lowering to frostbite temps, I added, “Of course, we would have to give Mac plenty of time to replace me and you plenty of time to get used to the idea.”
Curt grunted.
“Should I take that as a yes, I’d love to move to Pittsburgh?”
“Did you already take the job?”
“Sheesh, Curt.” I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my palms. “I already told you I wanted to talk it over with you.” Where had this stubborn, unreasonable Curt come from?
He grunted again. “I’m not certain this conversation qualifies as talking it over.”
“Yeah, well, it would if you’d talk.”
Suddenly he leaned over the table, getting in my face. “Do you realize you haven’t asked my opinion?”
I drew back and stared at him. “I just asked if you wanted to move.”
“That is not asking my opinion. What if I think such a move isn’t in our best interest?”
Much as I hated to admit it—and I wouldn’t out loud, at least not right now; I was too steamed and too hurt—he had a point. “So what’s your opinion? Why wouldn’t this be in our best interest?”
“What about my career?” he asked. “Do I just give it up?”
“Of course not.” Talk about foolish. “I just said you could paint western Pennsylvania scenes. I mean, you can paint anywhere.”
He just stared
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