domineering men! She had her rights! And she was going to have to start sticking up for them! Tensely, she began to pace the carpet beside the bed.
"So," she muttered to herself, "how are you going to get rid of that man out there?" Small rustling sounds came from the bathroom and Kirsten gritted her teeth, wondering if he carried spare toothbrushes in his pocket for these sorts of occasions. How often did he encounter women he "desperately" wanted, anyway? Her temper rose to the boiling point and the necessity for some physical action drove her over to the window.
Peering between the curtains, she studied what could be seen of the parking lot. Her own tiny compact wasn't visible from here but there was an unfamiliar Mercedes in one of the slots. Simon's? A big car for a big man, she reflected bitterly.
A casual knock on her bedroom door drew her startled attention. Was he going to force his way in here? The door didn't look as sturdy as it had a few minutes ago. Well, she'd use the window if he tried anything, Kirsten decided grimly.
"What do you want?" she called, trying to control the trembling of her voice.
"Just wanted to let you know the bathroom's free," he called back easily. "Good night, Kirsten. See you in the morning!" His footsteps retreated in the direction of the living room and Kirsten sank down on the bed with relief, noting absently that he'd done a bit of straightening in this room earlier when he had used the phone. The sheets and blankets were back on the bed, at least. The contents of the closet shelf still lay scattered about on the carpet, though.
It was late and Kirsten realized she was exhausted. This was her bedroom and her apartment. She was not going to let herself be chased away. And if she heard so much as a squeak near her door during the night, she would scream until a neighbor called the management!
But it would have taken considerably more than a squeak to awaken her that night. Kirsten wasn't aware of anything after her tousled head hit the pillow until pale, early spring sunlight filtered through the curtain the next morning. Accompanied by the wonderfully beckoning smell of freshly brewed coffee.
It was the coffee aroma that brought Kirsten out of her dreams and back to reality. Suddenly wide awake, she flung back the covers and padded to the closet, hunting for a robe. She took her time getting ready, trying to work up nerve to face her houseguest. Grateful not to encounter him in the hall, she scurried to the bathroom and back and then slipped into jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a casual pair of shoes. Then, unable to decide what to do with her long hair, she settled for the usual weekend style and braided it, securing the ends with rubber bands saved from evening newspapers. Finished, she opened her door and went bravely down the hall toward the unfamiliar sound of someone making himself very much at home in her own kitchen.
In the light of day, the vandalism didn't look quite so bad as it had the previous evening. Then Kirsten realized that was because Simon had been busy. The furniture had been righted, books replaced, the broken lamp removed. She moved through the living room and came to a halt in the doorway of the small, sunny kitchen.
"Good morning, honey. How did you sleep?" Simon demanded cheerfully as he pawed through a drawer with his right hand. "Where do you keep the spatula?" Kirsten noticed he had replaced the two drawers that had been completely removed and emptied the previous evening.
She considered a moment. "Try that one, near the stove." Then she continued on into the little room. "On second thought, forget it. This is my kitchen and I'll do the cooking. Even if the suests are uninvited!"
"I was hoping you'd volunteer," he grinned, not the least abashed. "I've got the coffee going, though. Does that win me a gold star?"
Kirsten gave him a brief appraisal as he lounged his solid bulk against the refrigerator. Except for the shadow of a morning beard.
"So," she muttered to herself, "how are you going to get rid of that man out there?" Small rustling sounds came from the bathroom and Kirsten gritted her teeth, wondering if he carried spare toothbrushes in his pocket for these sorts of occasions. How often did he encounter women he "desperately" wanted, anyway? Her temper rose to the boiling point and the necessity for some physical action drove her over to the window.
Peering between the curtains, she studied what could be seen of the parking lot. Her own tiny compact wasn't visible from here but there was an unfamiliar Mercedes in one of the slots. Simon's? A big car for a big man, she reflected bitterly.
A casual knock on her bedroom door drew her startled attention. Was he going to force his way in here? The door didn't look as sturdy as it had a few minutes ago. Well, she'd use the window if he tried anything, Kirsten decided grimly.
"What do you want?" she called, trying to control the trembling of her voice.
"Just wanted to let you know the bathroom's free," he called back easily. "Good night, Kirsten. See you in the morning!" His footsteps retreated in the direction of the living room and Kirsten sank down on the bed with relief, noting absently that he'd done a bit of straightening in this room earlier when he had used the phone. The sheets and blankets were back on the bed, at least. The contents of the closet shelf still lay scattered about on the carpet, though.
It was late and Kirsten realized she was exhausted. This was her bedroom and her apartment. She was not going to let herself be chased away. And if she heard so much as a squeak near her door during the night, she would scream until a neighbor called the management!
But it would have taken considerably more than a squeak to awaken her that night. Kirsten wasn't aware of anything after her tousled head hit the pillow until pale, early spring sunlight filtered through the curtain the next morning. Accompanied by the wonderfully beckoning smell of freshly brewed coffee.
It was the coffee aroma that brought Kirsten out of her dreams and back to reality. Suddenly wide awake, she flung back the covers and padded to the closet, hunting for a robe. She took her time getting ready, trying to work up nerve to face her houseguest. Grateful not to encounter him in the hall, she scurried to the bathroom and back and then slipped into jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a casual pair of shoes. Then, unable to decide what to do with her long hair, she settled for the usual weekend style and braided it, securing the ends with rubber bands saved from evening newspapers. Finished, she opened her door and went bravely down the hall toward the unfamiliar sound of someone making himself very much at home in her own kitchen.
In the light of day, the vandalism didn't look quite so bad as it had the previous evening. Then Kirsten realized that was because Simon had been busy. The furniture had been righted, books replaced, the broken lamp removed. She moved through the living room and came to a halt in the doorway of the small, sunny kitchen.
"Good morning, honey. How did you sleep?" Simon demanded cheerfully as he pawed through a drawer with his right hand. "Where do you keep the spatula?" Kirsten noticed he had replaced the two drawers that had been completely removed and emptied the previous evening.
She considered a moment. "Try that one, near the stove." Then she continued on into the little room. "On second thought, forget it. This is my kitchen and I'll do the cooking. Even if the suests are uninvited!"
"I was hoping you'd volunteer," he grinned, not the least abashed. "I've got the coffee going, though. Does that win me a gold star?"
Kirsten gave him a brief appraisal as he lounged his solid bulk against the refrigerator. Except for the shadow of a morning beard.