around on the plate when she attempted to tackle them with a fork. Glancing enviously at Nicholas' wine that she was not of legal age to order, she sighed and broke a piece off her hard roll and buttered it. At least she knew how to do that. When she reconciled herself to the meager consolation of her water goblet, Nicholas caught her eye and they both started giggling.
"Wait 'till I get Maurice alone in some dark hallway," Nicholas said.
"No, not alone. Let's both gang up on him."
"I've got a better idea. We'll lock him in the attic with Hattie and have her read Chaucer to him. In Middle English."
"On bread and water only," Trissa agreed.
"Uh uh. That's more than he deserves. We'll make it artichokes and ABC fish."
"ABC fish?"
"Already Been Chewed."
They had just managed to quell their giggles when Maurice sidled over to ask how they enjoyed their food. That set Trissa off again and she had to dab the tears away from her eyes with the corner of her napkin.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, Maurice, just send the waiter with our check," Nicholas choked out.
"But you've hardly touched your..." He looked over at Trissa whose face was bright red with her effort to suppress her laughter. Shielding his face from her with the wine list, he whispered to Nicholas, "Oh, dear, maybe I was wrong to suggest so potent an aphrodisiac for one as young and newly wed."
"Aphrodisiac? Scallops and artichokes and celery?"
"Well, I was only trying to help. You can't get decent fresh oysters around here anymore."
Nicholas put his hand to his brow and said, "The check, Maurice, the check."
They wound up at Steak 'n Shake where they ordered fat, juicy patty melts and fries and Dutch chocolate malts.
"Oooff, I'm more stuffed than an artichoke," Trissa confessed when she drained the thick malt with a loud slurp.
"Oh, dear, and look what I saved you." Nicholas reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a clean scallop shell. "A souvenir fish dish. I thought we'd sip champagne from it later in our bridal suite."
"Do you think we dare? There might be some secret, potent powers still clinging to it."
"Secret, potent...? You heard Maurice?"
She nodded and took the scallop shell and put it in her purse. "Maybe you'd better tell me what happened at school. How did you manage with Miss Royal?"
They spent the rest of the evening and their ride home on safe subjects. He told her all about her missed assignments and the arrangements for making up her exams and how he had Miss Royal wound around his little finger. She described her day with Augusta and Beverly and Ruth. He laughed when she recounted her tantrum with Edmonds, admitting she had had more luck landing blows with him than he had.
They did not discuss the sleeping arrangements until they were confronted with the big empty bed and the extra pillows and blankets at the foot of it. Trissa avoided the issue by sneaking into the bathroom first while Nicholas set up his coffee pot. He took his turn when she emerged wrapped like a mummy in those god awful brown and yellow flannel pajamas.
When he came out in his own pajamas and a blue terry bathrobe, she was already asleep, curled under the blanket she had drug to the sofa. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, turned out the lights, and then went back to the sofa himself. He wrestled with the pillow and blanket until he found a niche where no springs poked his backside and the sags matched the contour of his shoulder and hip. He heard the rustling of the bed in the darkness and Trissa's bare feet as she padded across the floor.
"I will not put you out of your bed, Nicholas Brewer. And if you care to dispute that, I will kick you in the shin, too."
Nicholas sat up and saw her determined stance silhouetted in the dim glow of the bathroom night-light. Her hands were on her hips and she tapped her foot impatiently. "I'm fine," he said. "I just got comfortable."
"Come here and bring your stuff."
He put on his robe and gathered up his blanket and pillow and followed her. She fussed with the bed covers, turning down each side but struggling to keep the center of the bed untouched. She attacked the project with the precision of a practiced paper airplane folder, smoothing the sheets to knife-edged angles. "Now give me your blanket." She shook out the