Page 7 of Treat

It wasn’t a huge space, but it wasn’t tiny, either. Designed as sort of an open galley, it was perfectly adequate for two people, with plenty of room to maneuver. But as he reached overhead for a mug, then past her to the refrigerator for the cream, it sure didn’t feel that way.

By the time he’d poured his cup and circled the counter to settle on one of the stools, she felt like she’d run the fifty-yard dash, shaky and breathless and sweaty. To cover, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then grabbed the sugar bowl off the counter.

“Oh, hey,” he said suddenly, and she looked up. He held up the cream he’d taken from the fridge. “This is probably yours, huh?”

“Oh.” She looked at the pint carton, store-brand, bought with the change she’d been able to scrounge from under the seats of her car. “Yeah, but it’s fine. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” He poured in a generous dollop. “Can you pass me a spoon?”

She plucked one out of the drawer and passed it over.

“Thanks. So what’s up with your apartment?”

Her hand jerked, scattering sugar crystals across the counter. Heart pounding, she turned to the sink to dampen a paper towel. “What do you mean?”

“You said you needed a place to crash, so I figured something was wrong with your place.”

“Ah, yeah.” She squeezed the excess water out of the towel and tried to marshal her scrambled thoughts. “It was, um, a plumbing problem. A pipe burst.”

“In your apartment?”

“No, the one next door.” Improvising her ass off, she started moping the counter. “But they had to shut off the water to the whole building to fix it, so…”

“That sounds like a mess.” He lifted his cup to his mouth, then lowered it again, frowning. “Don’t they have to put you up in a hotel room for that?”

“Huh?”

“If they have to kick you out for essential repairs,” he elaborated, his frown deepening, “I think they do. It’s a state law.”

“Oh. They did,” she said, focusing on her task like the spilled sugar was an atomic bomb.Shit, shit, shit.“But they were having a hard time finding one that would take Tilly, and since you weren’t here…”

She trailed off and glanced up. “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked with you first.”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving it away. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

How does six months sound?she thought and turned to dump sugar in the sink.

“How’s your head this morning?”

“Fine.”

“No pain, dizziness, nausea?”

“None.”

“Who won the Stanley Cup last year?”

“The Baltimore Ravens.”

“Well, at least you’ve moved on to football,” he muttered. “You know the names of other hockey teams, right?”

She tossed the paper towel in the garbage under the sink and turned to lean against it, picking up her coffee. “I know them. I just don’t pay much attention.”

He set down his mug. “What do you mean, you don’t pay much attention? Don’t you like hockey?”

“I’m more of a baseball fan,” she confessed and felt her mood lift a little at his goggle-eyed shock. “No offense.”

“Offense very much taken,” he replied, rubbing the heel of one hand over his chest as though soothing an ache. “How can you not like hockey?”

---