No Ordinary Home. Mary Sullivan
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thoughtfulness. Oh. Waterworks threatened again. Stop it. What’s wrong with you?
Nothing! I’m not going to cry, okay? I’m just really, really moved.
Maybe this would work. Maybe they could sleep in the same bed tonight without it being too awkward.
Austin stood across the room beside the window, leaning on the frame, big and calm and about as perfect as a man could be, except for a small scar beside his left eye.
He must have shoved his fingers through his hair because it lay in sexy, rumpled waves. She wanted to straighten it out, but no. That would be a big mistake.
Hands off, Gracie. You don’t need to be attracted to a man right now. You haven’t been for six years. Why start now when you’re so close to the end?
What really appealed to her, though, was underneath the great facade. Inside that broad chest beat an understanding heart. The man gave too much. She was a stranger who’d picked his pocket. He should have given her nothing more than a night in jail.
Instead, he’d shown compassion and it made him too attractive, had her yearning for things that could never be.
She glanced back at the bed. Maybe it would still be awkward. She hadn’t been attracted to a man since Jay, probably because she’d been preoccupied with survival, but Austin had taken care of that for tonight, and that made her warm, soft and fuzzy when she needed to keep up her defenses the most. If she wasn’t careful, she would let her guard down.
Don’t forget who you really are. This man must never find out the truth about you.
You’re almost home free.
She had a long way to go before she could relax into her new, safe life. She didn’t need anyone getting in her way.
Lucky for him she was too sick to complain about it. She had both her pride and her independence to consider. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She’d grown sick to death of handlers in her old life.
A residual rumble overturned her stomach. Yeah, all right. She would let him take care of her, but only for one night.
She crawled under the blankets and pulled the covers over her like a cocoon, running her hand across the cheap comforter with the ubiquitous bland design. In her old life, she’d slept in the best hotels, but no bed had ever felt better than this one did.
She hadn’t realized how fortunate she’d been in some areas of her old life until it was all gone.
Someone knocked on the door and Gracie assumed it would be Finn, but a bellhop came in with a tray, setting it onto the small table and leaving after Austin tipped him.
Food.
“What’s that?” she asked. “I thought you were going out with Finn.”
“I am. This is for you. Sit up.”
For her? How much was she going to owe by the time they parted, and how was she going to pay him? One haircut wouldn’t cover it. Whatever the bellhop had brought in smelled good and her stomach grumbled. Austin was going out to dinner. If she didn’t eat the food, it would go to waste.
She sat up and leaned against the headboard.
Austin brought a steaming bowl to her. “Here.” He grasped a pillow from his side of the bed and put in on her lap then set the bowl on top of it.
Chicken soup. It smelled even better than it looked.
“Take a few sips. Make sure it sits well in your stomach. I also ordered a poached egg and toast.”
She hated poached eggs, but she would eat it. Gladly.
He folded his arms across his chest while his cheeks turned pink as though his own kindness embarrassed him. The masculinity of his biceps exaggerated by his crossed arms in contrast to the vulnerability of his blush charmed her. “I don’t really know what you like, other than eating too much too fast.”
“I was starving. You would have eaten the same way if you were in my situation.” The words spurted forth hot and defensive before she realized he was teasing her.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Unflappable, he ordered, “Try the soup.”
Did nothing upset this guy?
How about having his wallet stolen?
Oh, yeah. He hadn’t liked that. Otherwise, though, he looked like he could withstand a cyclone, mayhem and anarchy all at the same time and still keep his cool.
Even when she’d robbed him, he’d seemed angry, yes, but she’d only feared being sent to jail and the notoriety that would cause. She hadn’t worried that he’d hurt her. And wasn’t that strange considering she hadn’t known him.
His posture, his demeanor, everything about him screamed decency.
She sipped the soup. It slid warmly down her chest like sunlight pouring through an open window. It hit her stomach with a resounding aaaaah. “It’s good.” Just as the bed felt amazing, she didn’t think soup had ever tasted as good, even though it was modest. She sipped more, eating it carefully although she wanted to inhale it.
While she ate, Austin went into the bathroom and showered. When he came out, hair damp and smelling of soap, he asked, “How does your stomach feel?”
“Good. Stable. I think I’ll survive.”
He lifted the cover from a plate on the tray and brought it to her.
“Sorry it’s not much. I didn’t want you throwing up again.”
“Me, either.” She took a bite of toast. After she chewed and swallowed, she asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?” She didn’t mean to sound cynical, but life on the road had taught her a lot about people, and their often questionable motives.
Sliding his wallet into the back pocket of a clean pair of jeans, he shrugged then strode to the door, all without meeting her eyes. “See you later.” He hustled out into the hallway as though she’d threatened to shoot him.
So, he had secrets. Fair enough. She had hers, too.
Going slowly, she finished her meal. When she got out of bed, her legs gave out and her ankle ached.
She’d let herself go too long without nourishment.
Taking baby steps and small movements, she retrieved her knapsack from a chair then got back under the blankets and opened it. She didn’t have much time. Austin could be gone for a few hours, or as little as one, and she had work to do.
First, she took out her notebook and snagged the room service menu from the bedside table. She calculated how much the meal had cost Austin and then added what she thought he would tip.
Men tended to tip better than women, and he was a generous guy, so she guessed the tip would have been good.
She added the total to the sum she already owed him and returned the book to the outside pocket of her knapsack.
Shoving aside her old clothing, she pulled her laptop from the big inner section. Crazy to own a laptop, even if it was ancient, and not sell it for food, but this machine fed her soul. It also brought in the only bits of money she earned while on the road.
With a little luck, the room would have Wi-Fi. Most did these days.
She booted up her computer and opened her blog then eased herself out of the harsh reality of her life and into her fantasy world.
When she was ready, she started to type.
Dear readers,
I’m sitting here in (Where should she be today?) the Langhe region of Italy on a stone terrace looking out on (she glanced around the generic hotel room, bland by anyone’s