Fast Courting by Barbara Delinsky

prevailed for an instant, to be broken by the woman’s rich soprano as she sang the national anthem.
    Nia slowly exhaled the breath she’d been holding, flicked the switch to an unpatriotic “off,” and slumped against the high wooden stool by the counter. She had missed the pregame interviews. The game itself was about to begin. That wasn’t what interested her. Rather, it was Daniel. Why had she hesitated? Why hadn’t she turned the set on sooner? Had it been pure stubbornness on her part? Even arrogance? Then why was she disappointed now?
    It occurred to her that she would very much have liked to have seen him on the air. Their lunch together had given her a glimpse of him off-court, even though he had been studiously closemouthed about his private life. What was he like in his official capacity as head coach of the New England Breakers?
    Well, she acknowledged with a drawn-out sigh, she’d blown it again. Twice in one day…poor show. Better to chalk this day off and move on. After all, Daniel Strahan was nothing more than an assignment, was he not? When he called to give his final “no,” they would have no more to do with one another.
    So she reminded herself at intervals all evening, each time she took a break from her reading. Her attention was supposedly focused on the Amish feature for which she was scheduled to travel to Pennsylvania the following week. This preliminary work was imperative if she hoped to make maximum use of her time in the field.
    With the spate of interruptions that characterized life in the office, she often saved such reading for home. Tonight, however, the interruptions were of her own making. Was it halftime? Was it over? Had he won? Or lost? Was the locker room aswarm with reporters devouring his postgame comments? Had he left? Where was he now? What did a coach do when the stadium emptied and the lights went out? What did Daniel Strahan do?
     
     
     
    Breakers Topple Bullets, 112–94 . The triumphant words exploded from the sports page the following morning, hitting Nia in the face as she peered over the shoulder of a man on the subway. Chivalry had vanished with the quarter token. This stranger sat; Nia stood. She had no qualms at all about reading his paper.
    They had won. Ten in a row. Not bad. Perhaps, riding high on this string of victories, Daniel might be favorably disposed to grant her the interview. Once again she wondered whether that was what she wanted. But it was out of her hands; it was his decision now. When would he contact her?
    It happened when she least expected it. She was tired and just the slightest bit miffed at the thought that, given the extent of her own preoccupation with the man and this assignment, he should not be conscientious in reaching a decision.
    The subway was particularly crowded on her way home, the crowd particularly restless. When Nia reached the square she peered from the kiosk at the pouring rain that had not been forecast…and the bus that had just pulled away from the curb and sailed down Brattle Street oblivious to her plight.
    A treat. That was what she needed. It would be a good ten minutes before the next bus rolled in. Ten minutes. In silent calculation, she looked toward The Lobster’s Claw at the far end of a side street. Did she have time? Did she have enough cash? Could she make it there and back without a total drenching?
    On impulse she made the break, darting from doorway to doorway until she reached her destination, returning in similarly sporadic fashion with a half-pound of fresh-cooked lobster meat tucked safely beneath her arm.
    As though on command, the bus appeared. Boarding quickly, she savored its warm, dry haven, if only for the few minutes’ ride to the top of her street. Anticipation of the gastronomical treasure she carried lightened her gait as she ran down the street and up her front steps. It was there that she found Daniel.

Four
     
     
    T he relentless spatter of the rain masked the extent of her alarm