by her answer and, indeed, she did not know what meaning she meant to convey by it. There were certainly several interpretations, all of which flashed through her mind along with the abashing certainty that similar thoughts were occurring to him. She munched silently on her roll while he sliced some banana on his cereal and splashed on some milk.
His voice was crisp and businesslike when he spoke again. "We will have to discuss sleeping arrangements at some other time. This morning, there are other details that have to be worked out."
"You have to go to work," she sighed, resigning herself to being without him for a while.
"Do you have someone you can call about your classes? You don't want to fall behind if you can help it. I can stop by and pick up assignments or whatever. You can tell them I'm your -- I don't know -- uncle maybe? Don't look at me like that. You may think it sounds fishy, but what else could I be?"
"My concierge?" she suggested brightly.
He cast her a quelling look and continued. "Ask for enough for a week. By then you should look and feel well enough to--"
"Wait, wait, wait." He was going too fast. And this wasn't just playful teasing. He was seriously suggesting she go back to school. "What are you talking about? I can't go back. I have to get a job to help pay--"
"No. A job now is out of the question. I'm not rich, Trissa, but I'm not destitute. School first. That's the most important thing. When's the semester over?"
"It's supposed to be May twenty-second, but I'm missing exams. I don't know if they'll let me--"
"Nonsense. Accidents happen. They have to realize that. Maybe I should talk to them. You call and say I'm coming and I'll explain when I get there.
"But my books are at--"
"Your books are right over there on the desk. Your mother gave them to me. If she forgot some, let me know and I'll fetch them." Nicholas finished his cereal and his coffee. He left the second cinnamon roll on the plate and pushed it toward Trissa.
Her lips still frosted sweetly with the first, she reached out eagerly for it. She needed the sugar to steady her flittering nerves. "It's on Lindell," she said.
"What?"
"The Academic Services Center. You can park in the lot behind. I could call Miss Royal, my advisor. She would probably help me out. Her office is in that building."
"Perfect. I'll ask for Miss Royal then." Nicholas went to rinse his cup in the bathroom sink then returned it to the cabinet where Trissa had found it. "I want you to get some rest today, Trissa. I'll have Augusta check in on you once in a while. She knows where to reach me if something comes up.
"And make yourself at home. I put your stuff away in the top drawer of the chest and the left side of the closet. There's a television downstairs in the back parlor. I'm sure Beverly will welcome your company. I believe she's off today and I think she gets lonely when she's on the night shift at the funeral parlor. The telephone is in the hall to your right by the stairs. I've put some change in the dish by the coffee pot. Oh, and I'll talk to Augusta about lunch. I'd like to have dinner alone with you though. We'll go out if you feel up to it."
His brisk efficiency baffled her. It was as if her life had become part of an internal checklist of his. She had not had the time or the energy to think about anything but the minute that followed the present one, while he seemed to have the schedule plotted until June. He took over, and, for now, she was very content to let him.
Nicholas rose and went to the closet for his coat and she pattered after him like some bewildered, stray puppy dog. She knew there were a dozen questions she should be asking him, but only one came to her. "Nicholas, how did you happen to me?"
"It's very simple," he said, as he tilted her chin up to him on the crook of his finger. "You were my mission." He brushed her lips with a whisper of a kiss that tasted of cinnamon and bananas. "I'll be home about five, wife."
As he closed the door, she found herself still on tiptoes as she had been when she reached for more of the kiss.