Key to Love by Judy Ann Davis Page B

shut seconds later. Chuck Sanders came back on the line. “You’re a lifesaver. How’s everything going in Pennsylvania?”
    “Fine. If Dad keeps recovering as fast as he appears to be, we can bring him home next week. Of course, there will be weeks of therapy. He’ll have to be in a wheelchair and will have to keep the leg immobilized. I’m going to interview some nurses for in-home help.”
    “We really miss you, Elise. How long do you think you’ll stay?”
    “Come on, Chuck, I haven’t even been away for forty-eight hours. It’s only Wednesday. You guys promised me parole until the end of next week.”
    “I know, I know, don’t remind me. It was a silly, impetuous question.”
    She laughed. “And you don’t miss me, Chuck, you miss my organizational skills.”
    “Of course, I miss you, but I won’t deny things are falling apart here. No one can seem to find anything. Levinson called today. He asked about you. It looks like the five-city hotel plan will become operational after all, once the investors are lined up.”
    “Has Paul forgiven me for my act of insanity with Levinson before I left?” Elise poured herself a glass of orange juice, smelled it, and turned the carton slowly in her hands, looking for the sell date, hoping it was fairly recent.
    “Right now, since Levinson affirmed our position in the deal, Paul is ready to nominate you for architectural sainthood.”
    “Tell him I want a raise instead.” A partnership would be a real thrill, she thought, but bit back the words. She heard silence for a moment, then a soft chuckle.
    “Sure, I’ll give it a whirl. Nothing like putting the squeeze on, eh?”
    “You got it. I figure he owes me.”
    “Listen, Elise, I have to go. It’s really not the same around here. I miss your voice, your perfume, your laughter—”
    She scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Sanders. Then there’s my efficiency and the way I organize your notes and make your coffee. I get the drift of where you’re headed. Bye, Chuck.” She pushed the button on the phone and stood near the kitchen window in silence. Through the open window, she watched a pair of swallows dart through the sky playing air tag, and far off, she heard a calf calling for its mother. Two years ago, she would have felt homesick for the office and its hectic schedule that attracted her like a human magnet. So why wasn’t she feeling it now?
    Maybe it was because she finally realized she was trapped, like a pathetic hamster inside an exercise wheel. She was racing to nowhere. She had been smoothing everyone’s feathers since her arrival at Winston and Sanders without one mention of a senior partnership even slipping past anyone’s lips. Efficient people, she had learned, were always rewarded; unfortunately, with more work. Well, she was fed up with correcting other people’s errors, acting as company gofer, and playing nursemaid to cranky clients. She was tired of choosing wallpaper and carpet colors and designing landscape and parking lot patterns. If her career was stuck in neutral, it was her own fault. She had only herself to blame. She had let it happen. She had become too efficient.
    Elise looked through the archway and saw Lucas sitting on the steps, chatting with Fritz. Bags of groceries were scattered at their feet. He reached down and took out a soup can, turning it slowly in his hands, rubbing the label almost sensually with the pads of his thumbs. She wondered how many women had been held and caressed by those same hands. Dangerous hands, she reminded herself.
    As if he could feel her eyes on him, he looked her way. Her stomach fluttered, and she started toward them. Get a grip, Elise, she told herself. You’re going to have to separate the man and his needs from your childish, foolish attraction to him, and you had better do it soon before someone gets hurt.

Chapter Eight
    The kitchen smelled glorious. The scents of frying chicken, Chinese vegetables, hot oil, and soy sauce rose from the