Chapter 2

Richard's apartment was very close to campus, so I walked there that evening. Normally, evenings would have been bad for me, crowded with rehearsals and such; but this semester my workload had convinced me not to try out for any plays, for which I was now very grateful.

I punched the button by the name 'Richard Maddox' by the door, and after a moment he buzzed me in. His apartment was on the top floor; I climbed the three flights of stairs, feeling my heart pound in a way which had little to do with exertion and a lot with meeting my tutor for the first time. I was ridiculously nervous. After all, I normally enjoyed meeting people. At the top of the stairs, I paused for a long time before pulling myself together and rapping sharply on the door. It swung open at once.

"Hi, Susan," the man in the doorway said, offering a hand. "I'm Richard Maddox. Come on in."

I shook his hand, feeling a little stunned. I don't know why I had expected him to be a thin little guy, except that that was my preconceived image of computer geeks, and his voice on the phone had been a high tenor rather than a deep bass. But my expectations were completely wrong. Richard looked much more like a football player than a computer geek. He was comfortably over six feet, with broad shoulders, sandy-brown hair falling in somewhat rumpled waves over his forehead, a massive chest and piercing gray eyes. I opened my mouth and said the first thing that came into my head.

"Hi," I said. "You're shorter on the phone."

Richard laughed, a sudden explosion of sound that left my ears ringing. The laugh made his voice seem bigger as well. Maybe he talked quietly deliberately, so as not to deafen his listeners.

"A lot of people have that reaction," he said. "Come in."

His apartment was small, but looked comfortable: a livingroom/kitchen combination, with a big computer desk set in one corner and a huge stereo system filling much of the rest of the space; doors that presumably led to a bedroom and bathroom. There was a big futon against one wall, and two slightly battered-looking armchairs. The walls had mounted prints of Monet and Van Gogh paintings. The floor was covered by a slightly worn oriental rug. The air held a strange but not unpleasant mixture of smells: incense, peppermint, and laundry soap.

"This is a great place," I said, "but don't you find it a bit small?" Clearly my internal censor was still on strike.

"Obviously my size has made a big impression on you," Richard said. "No pun intended. Have a seat." He gestured towards one of the armchairs. "Can I get you something to drink? Herbal tea?"

Incense and herbal tea. He must wish that he'd been born a hippie. "Thanks," I said, settling onto the edge of the armchair. "That would be great." He moved into the kitchen, and I started fumbling with papers in my book bag. "I've got all my CS 110 work with me," I called after him.

"Good. Just put it on the coffee table there and relax."

I obeyed, while he poured water into the kettle and turned the burner on. Still feeling nervous, I stared at Van Gogh's cypresses on the wall, rippling green flames, suddenly frozen on canvas. Calming. What did Richard think of the way I'd been acting? So far, his first impression must have been less than stellar.

By contrast, Richard was very impressive. Not just his physical presence. The force of his personality almost shouted out at me. It was a little unnerving. It was also attractive as hell. Brad was a big guy, and so were most of my previous boyfriends. But none of them had a fraction of Richard's quiet power.

Quiet in more ways than one. I nearly jumped as his voice came from behind me. "That's the most pathetic example of relaxation I've ever seen," he said. "Here." He held out a steaming mug.

I clutched my heart, gasping. "Please try to make more noise than that when you walk," I said, still in full babble mode. "I'm too young to have a heart attack."

"If stress is any indication," Richard said mildly, "you're well on your way." He put a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed. "Lean back. This is an armchair, not a stool. Good. Now, drink your tea while I look at your work. Relax. I'm not a dentist."