He wondered why he had such a relentless need to find the reason for all three. He listened to the murmur of her voice as he puzzled over the buttons on the microwave. He was about to make an executive decision and hope for the best when she hung up the phone and came over.
“This part I know,” she said and punched a series of buttons. “I’m an expert nuker.”
“I do better when the package comes with directions. I’ll start the grill. I’ve got some CDs over there if you want music.”
She wandered over to the stack of CDs beside the clever little compact stereo on the end table beside the sofa. It seemed he preferred straight, no-frills rock with a mix of those early rebels Mozart and Beethoven.
She couldn’t make up her mind, couldn’t seem to concentrate on the simple act of choosing between “Moonlight Sonata” and “Sympathy for the Devil.”
Romance or heat, she asked herself impatiently. What do you want? Make up your damn mind what it is you want and just take it.
“The fire shouldn’t take long,” Nathan began as he stepped back in, wiping his hands on his jeans. “If you—”
“I had a breakdown,” she blurted out.
He lowered his hands slowly. “Okay.”
“I figure you should know before this goes any farther than it already has. I was in the hospital back in Charlotte. I had a collapse, a mental collapse, before I came back here. I may be crazy.”
Her eyes were eloquent, her lips pressed tight together. Nathan decided he had about five seconds to choose how to handle it. “How crazy? Like running-down-the-street-naked-and-warning-people-torepent crazy? Or I-was-abducted-by-aliens crazy? Because I’m not entirely convinced all those abducted-by-aliens types are actually crazy.”
Her mouth didn’t exactly relax, but it did fall open. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard you. I’m just asking for clarification. Do you want a drink?”
She closed her eyes. Maybe lunatics were attracted to lunatics. “I haven’t run naked in the streets yet.”
“That’s good. I’d have to think twice about this if you had.” Because she started to pace, he decided touching her wasn’t the best next move. He went back to the refrigerator to take out the wine and uncork it. “So, were you abducted by aliens, and if so, do they really look like Ross Perot?”
“I don’t understand you,” she muttered. “I don’t understand you at all. I spent two weeks under psychiatric evaluation. I wasn’t functioning.”
He poured two glasses. “You seem to be functioning all right now,” he said mildly and handed her the wine.
“A lot you know.” She gestured with the glass before drinking. “I came within an inch of having another breakdown today.”
“Are you bragging or complaining?”
“Then I went shopping.” She whirled away, stalking around the room. “It’s not a sign of stability to teeter on the brink of an emotional crisis, then go out and buy underwear.”
“What kind of underwear?”
Eyes narrowed, she glared at him. “I’m trying to explain myself to you.”
“I’m listening.” He took a chance, raising his hand to skim his fingers over her cheek. “Jo, did you really think I’d react to this by backing off and telling you to go away?”
“Maybe.” She let out the air clogging her lungs. “Yes.”
He pressed his lips to her brow and made her eyes sting. “Then you are crazy. Sit down and tell me what happened.”
“I can’t sit.”
“Okay.” He leaned back against the kitchen table. “We’ll stand. What happened to you?”
“I—it was ... a lot of things. Work-related stress. But that doesn’t really bother me. You can use stress. It keeps you motivated, focused. Pressures and deadlines, I’ve always used them. I like having my time designated, my routine set out and followed. I want to know when I’m getting up in the morning, what I’m doing first and second and last.”
“We’ll say spontaneity isn’t your strong suit, then.”
“One spontaneous act and everything else shifts. How can you get a handle on it?”
