Message in a Bottle - Nicholas Sparks [89]
“Only by a little, but thanks. It works for us. It’s real convenient to everything.”
“Like restaurants?”
“Exactly. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I didn’t like to cook. I’m not exactly Martha Stewart.”
“Who?”
“Never mind,” she said.
Outside her apartment, the sound of traffic was clearly audible. A car screeched on the street below, a horn blared, and all at once the air was filled with noise as other cars joined in the chorus.
“Is it always this quiet?” he asked.
She nodded toward the windows. “Friday and Saturday nights are the worst—usually it’s not so bad. But you get used to it if you live here long enough.”
The sounds of city living continued. A siren blared in the distance, growing steadily louder as it approached.
“Would you like to put on some music?” Garrett asked.
“Sure. What kind do you like?”
“I like both kinds,” he said, pausing dramatically. “Country and western.”
She laughed. “I don’t have anything like that here.”
He shook his head, enjoying his own joke. “I was kidding, anyway. It’s an old line. Not too funny, but I’ve been waiting for my chance to say it for years.”
“You must have watched a lot of Hee-Haw as a kid.”
Now it was his turn to laugh.
“Back to my original question—what kind of music do you like?” she persisted.
“Anything you have is fine.”
“How about some jazz?”
“Sounds good.”
Theresa got up and chose something she thought he might like and slipped it into the CD player. In a few moments the music started, just as the traffic congestion outside seemed to clear.
“So what do you think of Boston so far?” she asked, reclaiming her seat.
“I like it. For a big city, it’s not too bad. It doesn’t seem as impersonal as I thought it would be, and it’s cleaner, too. I guess I pictured it differently. You know—crowds, asphalt, tall buildings, not a tree in sight, and muggers on every corner. But it’s not like that at all.”
She smiled. “It is nice, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not beachfront, but it has its own appeal. Especially if you consider what the city has to offer. You could go to the symphony, or to museums, or just stroll around in the Commons. There’s something for everyone here—they even have a sailing club.”
“I can see why you like it here,” he said, wondering why it sounded as if she were selling the place.
“I do. And Kevin likes it, too.”
He changed the subject: “You said he’s at soccer camp?”
She nodded. “Yeah. He’s trying out for an all-star team for twelve and under. I don’t know if he’ll make it, but he thinks he has a pretty good shot. Last year, he made the final cut as an eleven-year-old.”
“It sounds like he’s good.”
“He is,” she said with a nod. She pushed their now empty plates to the side and moved closer. “But enough about Kevin,” she said softly. “We don’t always have to talk about him. We can talk about other things, you know.”
“Like what?”
She kissed his neck. “Like what I want to do with you now that I have you all to myself.”
“Are you sure you just want to talk about it?”
“You’re right,” she whispered. “Who wants to talk at a time like this?”
The next day, Theresa again took Garrett on a tour of Boston, spending most of the morning in the Italian neighborhoods of the North End, wandering the narrow, twisting streets and stopping for the occasional cannoli and coffee. Though Garrett knew she wrote columns for the paper, he didn’t know exactly what else her job entailed. He asked her about it as they made their way leisurely through the city.
“Can’t you write a column from your home?”
“In time, I suppose I can. But right now, it’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s not in my contract, for starters. Besides, I have to do a lot more than sit at my computer and write. Often, I have to interview people, so there’s time involved in that—sometimes even a little travel. Plus, there’s all the research I have to do, especially when I write about medical or psychological issues, and when I’m in the office, I have access to a lot more sources. And then there’s the fact that I need a place