From the Heart

jerking his head toward the proper cabinet. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
    Liv did as he bade, plucking up the flatware as well before she followed. “I have to admit,” she said as she took her chair at the table, “that I’m in deep awe of anyone who can fix a meal and consistently have everything ready at the same time.”
    “What do you eat at home?”
    “As little as possible.” She began to help herself from the platter. “Mostly I use all those little boxes that say ‘Complete Meal Inside.’ Sometimes there really is.”
    “Liv, do you have any idea what sort of things they put inside those little boxes?”
    “Please, Thorpe.” She shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth. “Not while I’m eating.”
    He laughed and shook his head. “Didn’t you ever learn to cook?”
    Liv lifted a shoulder. She remembered the meals she had fixed during her marriage. They had usually been hurried—dinners put together before she had dashed on to the evening shift at the station, a quick something after classes. She had cooked adequately, even well on sporadic occasions. But there had been so little time and so many obligations. She skipped back over that to give him the answer.
    “When I was growing up, my mother didn’t consider it important. In fact,” she added after finishing off a slice of bacon, “she didn’t care to hear about the few times I poked into the kitchen to see what was going on. That wasn’t our territory.”
    Thorpe buttered a slice of toast and considered how remarkably diverse their backgrounds had been. He and his mother had been close, both from necessity and out of love. Liv and hers had been distant, perhaps from a simple lack of understanding.
    “Do you go back to Connecticut often?”
    “No.”
    There was a signal in the one word. Don’t press too close. Thorpe recognized it and detoured.
    “How’s your schedule today?”
    “Packed. The first lady’s dedicating that children’s center at eleven. Dell’s due into National at one, though I doubt we’ll be able to get near him, and I have another stakeout atthe school board this afternoon.” She finished off the rest of her eggs. “I’m scheduled to tape another promo. The general manager’s nervous about the ratings.”
    “Aren’t they all.” He glanced at her empty plate. “Well, at least you’re fortified.”
    “If that’s your subtle way of saying I stuffed myself, I’ll overlook it.” Rising, Liv began to gather the plates. “Since you cooked it, I’ll wash up while you dress.”
    “Very democratic.”
    She kept her eyes on the plates and platters. “I’ll need to go back to my apartment to change before I go in. I’ll take a cab.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    Unsure of her moves, Liv lifted the stack of plates. “It’s silly for you to drive halfway across town, out of your way. It would be simpler—”
    He stopped her by taking the stack of plates out of her hands and setting them back on the table. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he studied her face. It was in his eyes again—the searching, the depth of intensity that was inescapable.
    “Liv, last night meant something to me. Being with you means something to me.” He could see the quick flicker of emotions as she digested his words. “No cabs.”
    “No cabs,” she agreed, then slipped her arms around him to hold him tightly. The gesture surprised him, moved him. Liv closed her eyes and held on. She had been afraid he would agree without a second thought. The sensible part of herself had told her it would be best—keep it light, keep it sophisticated. Take a cab and see you later. But her heart wanted more. And her heart was beginning to outweigh everything else.
    “Will you wait for me tonight?” he murmured into her hair. “Until after my broadcast?”
    She tilted her face to his. “Yes.” As his mouth touched hers, she thought fleetingly that the ground she was treading on might be dangerous; but she hadn’t felt so alive in years.
     
    It was five thirty-two when Thorpe stood in the control room and watched Liv through the window. He paid scant attentionto her report on a robbery at a local chain store, or to the technical aspects of television that went on around him. She had, quite simply, been on his mind all day. He’d wanted to see her again before it was his turn in front of the camera.
    “Punch up camera one,” Carl ordered from his seat in front of the wall of monitors. She was there too,