Judy Baer - Million Dollar Dilemma

When I’d moved in, the landlord had assured me that the occupant of this apartment was “a nice guy who works for a newspaper or something.” I probably should have paid more attention. That’s hardly a ringing endorsement for a person’s sterling character, but the landlord also told me that if I ever got into a jam I could safely knock on this guy’s door and ask for help. Since I’d had no intention of doing anything that I couldn’t handle on my own, I hadn’t asked any more questions. Now I wished I’d given my curiosity full range.

Maybe I’d just take my salad home and eat it all by myself.

Unfortunately, the cat chose that moment to yowl like a banshee. I looked down to see if I’d stepped on his tail, and when I looked up again, Adam was at the door staring at me with those disconcerting eyes of his. On the front of his faded sweatshirt were the words Don’t Mess With Me.

Wishing desperately I’d heeded that advice much earlier in the day, I did the only thing I could manage. I thrust the bowl into his hands and blurted, “Salad. I made too much. Since you just came home, I thought you might not have anything in your refrigerator.”

“But you brought me flowers already. You’re too generous.” He was laughing at me, so I laughed, too.

“Sorry I’m being such a hick, but this is how we do it back in Simms. I’ll just go back to my place now and spend some time getting sophisticated. I’ll be back in twenty years or so.”

An odd expression flashed in his attractive eyes. “Don’t get sophisticated. I hate it when that happens. It ruins perfectly nice people.” He stepped back, and with his hand indicated that I should enter. “Want some eggs and bacon?” he offered. “I don’t have any bread, so I made a few pancakes to go with it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“No bother. Come in. Scram, Pepto.” The cat slithered away, looking back at me with a disgruntled expression.

Adam pushed his door wide open and beckoned me in. He made no move to close the door after me. Sometimes I surprise myself, but I’m still an old-fashioned girl at heart and I appreciated his thoughtfulness.

He moved to the cupboard, took out two pottery plates and handed them to me. “You’ll have to move the mail to one side while we eat.”

The table was piled high with important-looking letters and a gargantuan stack of magazines, most of which were news publications and journals, with the occasional glossy print piece.

He peeled back the foil on my bowl and peered curiously inside.

“Fruit salad,” I offered, hoping to clarify.

“Not like any I’ve ever seen.” He stared at the oddly colored stuff for a minute before picking out a piece of star fruit. He bit into it and his eyes narrowed. “It reminds me of a soft-shelled crab.”

“I went a little crazy in the produce section and bought one of everything.”

“I thought that was how you shopped for flowers.” He put down the bowl and went to retrieve the frying pan and a stack of pancakes. He set the hot pan on a pile of magazines, his version of a trivet.

“It’s getting out of hand. My new hobby is trying out everything exotic in the grocery store—and compared to Simms, it’s all exotic. You can’t be picky when shopping at a combination grocery store, post office, feed supply, hardware, beauty parlor, pawn shop, you know.”

“No wonder you’re having fun.” Adam slid scrambled eggs and three slices of bacon onto my plate and some onto his own. He rolled an unbuttered pancake into something that looked like a soft-shelled taco, put it beside his plate and reached for my salad. As he dished it up, I winced. The persimmon dressing was not an appetizing color.

“It’s not bad,” he said finally. “You want some?”

“Since you haven’t grabbed your throat and fallen off the chair, I suppose I’ll try it. Frankly, I wasn’t quite sure I was brave enough to taste it myself.” Actually, the prayer I whispered to myself was more a petition for safety—from my own cooking.

“I’ve eaten stranger things lately,” he said enigmatically. He poked at his chipped plate. “I don’t have much in the way of dishes. I usually use paper.”

“These are fine. I never ate on a paper plate at home. My grandfather didn’t believe in waste.”

“No kidding?”

“He also hated throwing anything away if he still considered it ‘good.’ Once we got something, we used it until it fell apart. Then we repaired it and used it some more.”

“Why didn’t you just buy new?”

“Psalm 41:1.”

He stared at me blankly until I remembered that outside my family, giving only a Bible reference was rarely enough.

‘“Happy are those who consider the poor. The Lord delivers them in the day of trouble.’ My grandfather wouldn’t spend an extra dime on himself if he thought he could give it away. My grandmother still jokes that the widows and the orphans had better things than we did because Grandpa was more generous with them than with us.”

“Was that a problem?”

“No. It wasn’t as though we were involuntarily poor. Poverty was a choice for us, a challenge. How much could we give up in order that others might have more? Believe it or not, Grandpa managed to make it into a game. I learned early how little we actually need.”

“Interesting.” He stared at me with those velvety chocolate-colored eyes and once again I felt a little weak in the knees. “Probably considered loony in this day and age, but definitely interesting.”

As I pushed my chair back from the table and started to say goodbye, a furred cannonball landed in my lap and began to rumble.

“Pepto?” Adam stared at the cat that had just launched itself into my arms. I was equally startled, but Pepto redoubled his purr, turned around twice on my thighs and sat down. “What are you doing, crazy cat?”

“He’s fine. I like animals.”

“No, he’s not. He’s never done that before. Even to me.”

“Animals and small children seem to like me,” I told him as I stroked Pepto’s fur. It felt much softer than it looked. “Grandma says it’s a sign of my ‘pure nature.’My sister Jane says it’s because I wear perfume that’s a combination of catnip and cotton candy. Either way, I don’t mind.”

As Pepto tilted his head upward as if he were looking at me, I scratched that tender dip beneath his chin, and his purr turned to a happy roar. When I lifted my head, Adam was staring at me in disbelief, as if I’d made roses grow out of a dirty ashtray. I chuckled inwardly. It was easy to woo the cat. I’m just glad it’s not on my agenda to win his master’s heart.

Animals and small children, huh?

Adam pondered the notion as he scrubbed out his frying pan. He’d never in a million years expected Pepto to do an about-face and decide to actually like someone. He took a pad of steel wool and worked at a bit of egg yolk stubbornly clinging to the pan. Of course, loath as he might be to admit it, Adam had liked his new neighbor, too. Even without the bird-of-paradise, persimmons and improbable red hair, she’d still be charming and funny. She was a breath of fresh air for his very stale attitude, and having her here tonight had provided a moment of relief from the pressure mounting inside him.

He’d turned into the equivalent of a human pressure cooker lately, and Cassia Carr was an unexpected release valve. He’d been tempted to lecture her about the wisdom of being as open and trusting as she’d been in her little hometown, but decided instead that he’d just keep an eye on her. The inhabitants of this building were all good people—many had lived here twenty years or more. Cassia was obviously a quick study and would develop street smarts quickly enough without his advice.