No Ordinary Home. Mary Sullivan

again. Yeah, it’s a big part of my psyche these days.”

      He nodded as though he understood, but how could he? He had a good job and, she presumed, a roof over his head. She doubted he ever went hungry or wore hand-me-downs, or worse, ate something found in the garbage. He couldn’t possibly relate to homeless life.

      “Did the meal stay down?” he asked.

      “It stayed down, probably because it was small. I nodded off after I ate. That helped.”

      “Are you still hungry?”

      “Always.”

      Humor crinkled the corners of Austin’s eyes. He had nice eyes, blue and bright, warm when he let down his cop’s guard. He picked up the phone from the bedside table. “What do you want?”

      “Anything.”

      “You mean that, don’t you?”

      “Yes. I’ll eat anything you order. Except maybe raw fish. I doubt I could keep that down right now.”

      Austin’s smile lit up his face like fireworks piercing the night sky. She could sell tickets to the women staying in the hotel and make a bundle. Lordy, lordy.

      “Doubt it’s on the menu,” he said.

      Gracie returned his smile, surprised how good it felt to be playful with this man, to not be serious and worried every second of the day.

      “Grilled cheese okay with you?”

      “That would be good, yeah.”

      He ordered a sandwich for her and a big bag of chips and a soda for himself. After they arrived, he pulled off his cowboy boots and settled himself on top of the covers, leaning against the headboard and shoving chips into his mouth while she ate a sandwich made with two cheeses on whole wheat bread, forcing herself to slow down and savor each bite. The last thing she needed was to screw up her stomach again.

      Austin picked up the TV remote. “Let’s see if there’s anything on worth watching.”

      When Gracie finished the sandwich, Austin caught her licking butter and grease from her fingers. She flushed. “I’m sorry. My manners have slipped while I’ve been on the road.”

      “How long has that been?”

      “Since I—” The sentence came to a screeching halt, like tires squealing before a car wreck. His casual tone had nearly sucked her into betraying her secrets. The ambience of the room, the low lighting that cast a soft glow on one end of a dark room, the camaraderie of two people sitting on a bed watching TV together as friends do, had lulled her. The situation was so unusual for her that she’d been seduced into trusting this stranger.

      Frantic, she rebuilt the mental barriers that had slipped. Even so, part of her still wanted to pretend she could enjoy some of this time together. The pillows running the length of the bed between them offered the illusion of safety. She could appreciate his company without fear of him wanting more.

      He flipped the channels, pausing briefly on a couple doing the dirty.

      “Um,” she murmured. “We should watch something other than porn.” It had been so long, she couldn’t remember how making love felt. This man stretched beside her, in his confident easy male glory, made her sap run.

      None of that, she ordered her unruly libido.

      “Probably a good idea to switch.” He sounded subdued. “Let’s see what else is on.” He flipped channels.

      “Hey! The Television Food Network. I want to watch.”

      “You would. Naw. Let’s find a movie.”

      They settled on The Bourne Identity. “This movie’s great,” Austin said.

      “Macho spy thriller full of action. No wonder you like it.”

      “Matt Damon looking pretty buff. No wonder you like it.”

      “He’s okay.” She tried to sound nonchalant while her eyes were glued to the set. Buff understated it. He didn’t hold a candle to Austin, though.

      She never saw the end of the movie, just quietly slipped under the covers when sleep claimed her. She thought she felt someone pull the covers over her shoulders.