matter what. Everything else is dry and fine, so now I can walk home without catching a chill." Actually, he probably could have walked back wet and been all right for it, or else taken a cab and asked the driver to turn up the heat. But her offer to take care of him while his clothes dried had simply been impossible to resist. She'd felt so firmly about it, and he'd have taken almost any excuse to see her for longer.
"I'll go and change now," he said. "And, if it's all right with you, I'll come back tomorrow to see how our dogs are doing."
She turned to him then, her eyes large and liquid, clearly filled with tears. But she was smiling, her whole face filled with light and emotion — all for him, he realized, with a shaky inward jump of his heart. Her hands clasped together briefly. "I — I should very much like that, Mr. — Shel."
He returned to the bathroom carrying his clean-smelling dry clothes, even the jacket that would now fit his nephews. Reeling inwardly, he met his gaze in the mirror and saw the quirked, impossible-to-remove smile there. Slightly cocky, gleaming, and full of life and hope.
Because anything was possible now. They barely knew one another; he was already starting to realize they came from entirely different social and economic lives, but oh — anything, anything could happen. Because it wasn't just him. It was her, too.
She felt the same way!
Chapter seven
Shel found his footsteps quickening. His heart picked up speed as he climbed the steps to Ellie's building. He was visiting so often, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The puppies provided the excuse, and indeed, he loved them dearly. But Ellie was the real reason.
Whenever he arrived to see her, she'd be here with a big smile on her pretty, calm face, looking at him with that perfect understanding they seemed to share. She was always as glad to see him as he was to see her.
He was almost jogging on the last few steps before he reached her apartment and knocked. The door across the hall was open a crack, one eye visible, watching him judgmentally.
"Hello, Mrs. Jansen. Good morning to you," he said loudly, and gave her a quick smile and tip of the hat. The offended woman retreated, banging the door with a loud sniff. Her retreat was probably more to do with not wanting any of the neighbors to think she was on speaking terms with him than embarrassment. But at least she was gone now.
Ellie d idn't answer the door herself. Instead it was her maid, Mrs. Fine; she wore an apron around her ample waist, and she always had a comfortable, competent air about her. Not today. "Hmph," she said, standing back and holding the door open. "You'd better come in, then."
"Thank you." He swept his hat off grandly to greet her, but it didn't earn him the flattered, scolding smile it usually did. Instead, she looked troubled. "Can I ask what's wrong?" he ventured.
"Oh, you'd best ask Miss Goldman. I'm sure it's not my place to say." She looked angry, which made him wonder if she even knew what was wrong.
He glanced around. "Where are the pups?" It was strange not to be greeted by them running around his ankles and trying to gnaw his shoelaces.
"In with Miss Goldman," said Mrs. Fine, shooing him in that direction. She barely gave him time to get off his coat, grabbing one of the arms to help him out, tugging it off him. Whatever was wrong must be severe indeed; Mrs. Fine was usually very much in the background. She seemed to believe it was her duty to be present but not too present during his visits.
"Go on," urged Mrs. Fine, making shooing motions with her hands. She had strong, pale hands that looked like bread dough and were good for kneading it.
The kitchen smelled of soup and something baking. He took another appreciative sniff as she pushed him from the room. "Is that bread? Cinnamon rolls?" he guessed.
"Raisin bread, and you'll have some if you can fix whatever's wrong with her," said Mrs. Fine.
He stared at her in astonishment. "Why,
"I'll go and change now," he said. "And, if it's all right with you, I'll come back tomorrow to see how our dogs are doing."
She turned to him then, her eyes large and liquid, clearly filled with tears. But she was smiling, her whole face filled with light and emotion — all for him, he realized, with a shaky inward jump of his heart. Her hands clasped together briefly. "I — I should very much like that, Mr. — Shel."
He returned to the bathroom carrying his clean-smelling dry clothes, even the jacket that would now fit his nephews. Reeling inwardly, he met his gaze in the mirror and saw the quirked, impossible-to-remove smile there. Slightly cocky, gleaming, and full of life and hope.
Because anything was possible now. They barely knew one another; he was already starting to realize they came from entirely different social and economic lives, but oh — anything, anything could happen. Because it wasn't just him. It was her, too.
She felt the same way!
Chapter seven
Shel found his footsteps quickening. His heart picked up speed as he climbed the steps to Ellie's building. He was visiting so often, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The puppies provided the excuse, and indeed, he loved them dearly. But Ellie was the real reason.
Whenever he arrived to see her, she'd be here with a big smile on her pretty, calm face, looking at him with that perfect understanding they seemed to share. She was always as glad to see him as he was to see her.
He was almost jogging on the last few steps before he reached her apartment and knocked. The door across the hall was open a crack, one eye visible, watching him judgmentally.
"Hello, Mrs. Jansen. Good morning to you," he said loudly, and gave her a quick smile and tip of the hat. The offended woman retreated, banging the door with a loud sniff. Her retreat was probably more to do with not wanting any of the neighbors to think she was on speaking terms with him than embarrassment. But at least she was gone now.
Ellie d idn't answer the door herself. Instead it was her maid, Mrs. Fine; she wore an apron around her ample waist, and she always had a comfortable, competent air about her. Not today. "Hmph," she said, standing back and holding the door open. "You'd better come in, then."
"Thank you." He swept his hat off grandly to greet her, but it didn't earn him the flattered, scolding smile it usually did. Instead, she looked troubled. "Can I ask what's wrong?" he ventured.
"Oh, you'd best ask Miss Goldman. I'm sure it's not my place to say." She looked angry, which made him wonder if she even knew what was wrong.
He glanced around. "Where are the pups?" It was strange not to be greeted by them running around his ankles and trying to gnaw his shoelaces.
"In with Miss Goldman," said Mrs. Fine, shooing him in that direction. She barely gave him time to get off his coat, grabbing one of the arms to help him out, tugging it off him. Whatever was wrong must be severe indeed; Mrs. Fine was usually very much in the background. She seemed to believe it was her duty to be present but not too present during his visits.
"Go on," urged Mrs. Fine, making shooing motions with her hands. She had strong, pale hands that looked like bread dough and were good for kneading it.
The kitchen smelled of soup and something baking. He took another appreciative sniff as she pushed him from the room. "Is that bread? Cinnamon rolls?" he guessed.
"Raisin bread, and you'll have some if you can fix whatever's wrong with her," said Mrs. Fine.
He stared at her in astonishment. "Why,
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