Confidential: Expecting! by Jackie Braun

morning,” Ruth remarked.
    “I didn’t. My alarm clock…” Ruth’s steel-colored eyebrows rose, cutting off the rest of Mallory’s explanation. “Sorry.”
    “I’ll expect a list of story ideas by noon for the specialpullout tab on street festivals that’s going to run next Sunday, and I’ve got a couple of advances for you to write. I need both by the end of the day.”
    “Sure.” Now would not be a good time to ask to leave early, Mallory decided.
    When Mallory spilled a second cup of coffee on her clothes half an hour later, she began to wonder if Logan’s ex wasn’t the only one getting smacked by karma.
    Given the way her day had gone, she didn’t find it surprising that she was running late. Logan was leaning against her apartment door when she arrived home.
    “Have you been here long?” she asked as she balanced her oversize shoulder bag on one knee and dug through it for her keys.
    “Fifteen minutes or so.”
    Mallory glanced up and winced. “Sorry.”
    He cast a considering look. “That’s all right. I’m guessing you’ve had a bad day.”
    “That obvious?”
    A smile played around the corners of his mouth. “Let’s just say your clothes tell a story.”
    When her fingers wrapped around the keys, she sighed. “They only offer the abridged version, believe me. I felt like the poster child for Murphy’s Law today.”
    “Sorry to hear that. If you want to cancel, I’ll understand.”
    As tempting as she found his offer, she waved it aside. “That’s kind of you, but no. Of course, if a natural disaster strikes while we’re out tonight don’t say that I didn’t give you fair warning.”
    “I won’t,” he replied on a laugh.
    Mallory opened the door and invited Logan inside, grateful that the place looked presentable. Housework tended to rank low on her list of priorities, especially when she was in hot pursuit of a story.
    “I have a decent bottle of Merlot in the kitchen if you’d care for a glass while I’m getting ready,” she told him as she toed off her shoes.
    “Should I pour some for you?”
    She sent him a wry look. “Given my track record today with beverages that stain, I think I’d better pass.”
     

    Mallory’s apartment was small, easily a third the size of Logan’s condo, but glancing around, he decided it offered a huge insight into the woman. Her music collection included CDs by Duke Ellington, Miles Davis and Fats Waller, making her a fan of jazz. The bold red wall that served as a backdrop for a piece of oversize geometric art said she wasn’t afraid of color. And her eclectic sense of style—Asian-inspired pieces were mixed in with a boxy modern couch and more traditional leather recliner—told him she didn’t believe in following someone else’s rules.
    She also liked to read. A built-in bookshelf to the left of the television boasted lengthy tomes by some of the country’s leading political commentators, classic literature by the likes of E. M. Forster, William Faulkner and Sylvia Plath, as well as the newest thriller from Tami Hoag. There were no self-help books, he noted, unless he lumped the one on basic home repair into thatcategory. No surprise there. Mallory was self-reliant, self-sufficient.
    A survivor.
    When the uncertainty he’d experienced on his sailboat niggled again, Logan decided to take her up on the offer of wine.
    Her kitchen wasn’t much bigger than the galley on his boat, but since Mallory had already admitted she didn’t cook, he doubted she thought it deficient. He found a corkscrew in one of the drawers and located a wineglass in a top cupboard. As he sipped Merlot, he glanced at the snapshots and other clutter stuck to the front of her refrigerator. One in particular caught his attention. It was of Mallory and another young woman. They were sitting on a split-rail fence wearing cowboy hats and silly grins. Mountains peaked in the background, making it clear the photo had not been taken locally. A vacation? Whatever the