Nathan stared up at the ceiling of Sara’s spare room, with the subtle scent of lavender escaping from a dish on the dresser, he reminded himself again that staying here was the practical and convenient thing to do. After all, he’d be leaving first thing in the morning. What did it matter where he bedded down for the night?
It mattered.
When he’d accepted her invitation, she’d told him straight out that she wouldn’t bother him, that he could pretend he was staying at a hotel, that she had some work to do on her computer in her bedroom and he could make himself a sandwich, open the package of cookies on the counter, help himself to whatever he could find.
That’s what he’d done, and he’d turned in early.
Levering himself up in the double bed now, he switched on the bedside lamp. He felt so out of place here. This wasn’t a motel. The furniture wasn’t impersonal. Sara had told him this brass bed had been hers when she was a child. The blue-and-white-striped spread and coordinating curtains were obviously new. But the snow globe with the castle on the dresser, the photograph of Sara and her mother in the crystal frame on the nightstand, the faded latch-hook rug with butterflies and flowers next to the bed, were belongings Sara clearly cherished.
He realized he was trying to get to know this woman without actually getting to know her. Maybe he was just searching for signs or signals that would warn him if there were dangerous waters ahead. His eyes fell on the paperback thriller poking out of his duffel bag. But then his stomach grumbled. He might as well get something to eat and spend the next hour reading. Maybe then he could doze off.
Listening for a moment, he didn’t hear a sound in the apartment, and suspected Sara was already sound asleep.
He’d brought navy flannel sleeping shorts for his overnight stay. He hadn’t figured he’d need anything else, alone in a motel room. He could put on his jeans. Nah. He’d be in and out of the kitchen in a couple of minutes.
When he passed Sara’s room, he was relieved to see no light shone under the door. He switched on the hall light soundlessly, then went down the short corridor to the dining room. As he passed through it, he saw the hood light glowing over the stove in the kitchen. At the same moment, he realized Sara was standing at the sink, likely as startled to see him as he was to see her. She was wearing a fuchsia nightshirt with Peace embroidered across the front in sparkly letters. The sleeves went to her elbows, while the V-neck hinted at her cleavage.
He quickly pulled his gaze up to her face, but that wasn’t a whole lot better. Her blond hair was tousled. Her big green eyes were wide with surprise. Devoid of makeup, her flawless skin asked to be touched.
He stopped, not sure whether to proceed or retreat. Her gaze was glued to his bare chest for a moment, then dropped lower, to the elastic band on his shorts. His equilibrium went haywire.
Finally, her eyes meeting his, her cheeks a little flushed, she said, “I thought you’d be sleeping.”
“And I thought you’d be sleeping.”
“You need another pillow or comforter or—?”
“No, Sara. I’m just fine.” Then he said the first thing that came into his head. “My stomach was grumbling.”
Her hand fluttered toward the refrigerator. “Help yourself. There’s still plenty of sandwich fixings. I’m trying warm milk. Want some?”
He wrinkled his nose. “That idea never appealed to me.”
She laughed, and the sound awakened something in his heart, something shadowy that had been lost since Colleen had died.
“You have to add a little honey and a square of chocolate so that it becomes a magic sleeping potion,” she said.
He chuckled. “Magic is right.”
“Don’t turn up your nose if you haven’t tried it.”
There was something completely unpretentious about Sara that he couldn’t help but like. “I’ll pass for tonight.”
Opening the refrigerator, he pulled out a package of ham, along with cheese, and grabbed the mustard and a head of lettuce. When he took the items to the counter, Sara passed him the loaf of bread. He could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra under the nightshirt. Why would she, to sleep?
Since that thought almost made him break into a sweat, he concentrated on making sandwiches. “Want one?” he asked as she stood there, silently stirring her milk.
“No, thanks. If I make a sandwich and sleep on it, I’ll be wearing a few extra pounds in the morning.”
Before he thought better of it, he muttered, “I doubt that.”
She looked surprised at his comment and her cheeks became a little pinker. Switching off the burner, she poured her milk concoction into a mug. “Do you want to eat alone or do you want company?”
Although he’d rather just take his sandwiches to his room and dive into the thriller—that was the safe thing to do—he thought a little conversation might be a good tactic before Sara actually moved into his house for a couple of days. The only problem was, that damn V-neckline distracted him.
“Company’s fine. Maybe we’ll both be able to sleep when we’re finished,” he decided.
When he took the plate of sandwiches to the table, she followed, and he had the feeling she was inspecting him as they walked. What a weird sensation that gave him. How long had it been since a woman checked him out? He supposed turnabout was fair play, but the idea was arousing. He quickly sat at the table.
After she set her mug at the place mat, she went back to the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of orange juice and snagged a glass from the cupboard.
“Thanks,” he murmured, wondering if her thoughtfulness was a part of who she was or a part she played whenever she had a guest. He wondered if she had guests often…especially men guests.
Seated around the corner from him, she crossed her legs under the table. Her toes brushed his ankle and a jolt of fire leaped up his leg.
She looked a bit embarrassed as she shifted to the far edge of her chair, putting more distance between them. “So is the article I read about you accurate?” she asked. “Were you a financial analyst once upon a time?”
“Yes, I was. I was with an investment banking firm. I was on the fast track to becoming a rich, powerful mover and shaker.”
He’d said it so tongue-in-cheek, she laughed. “You didn’t want all that?”
“Back then I wanted it…before I knew what was really important.”
Her eyes were wide again. “What did you find that was really important?”
“When I got married, I knew my marriage was important, but I think my job was still at the top of the list. I was headed up and nothing was going to stop me.”
She stirred her hot milk. “Kyle’s birth did?”
Obviously, she was tiptoeing around the death of Colleen and Kyle’s twin. Hesitating before he answered, he finally admitted, “Not Kyle’s
