don't have anything except that coat." She gave him a skeptical look. "I'll wear it if you want me to, but it's not going to be easy."
"I didn't mean that. I'll take care of rounding up some clothes for you," he said, his face looking comical, like it couldn't decide whether to fall into lines of amusement or impatience. "The next rule is to respect each other's territory. You take the bedroom and I'll have the living room."
"But you can't sleep on this couch," she protested. "It's just barely long enough for me. You take the bed and let me have the couch."
"It folds out to make a bed. And I'm inclined to use the desk at odd hours, so this room would be more convenient for me. Obviously, I'll have to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom and you're free to use the living room any time you want to—except at night—but I think we can work around those things. Now, any questions?"
The bank president was back with a vengeance. A place for everything and everything in its place. Maybe I should salute, she thought, hiding her smile.
"No, sir. No questions," she replied briskly.
He grinned, his expression looking remarkably boyish as he acknowledged the thrust. Pushing her in the direction of the bedroom, he said, "Go to bed. If you'll pull the drapes, it will be cooler to there."
"I'll be fine," she said, smiling back at him. Then her face grew solemn. "Ben, thank you . . . for everything."
As the door closed behind her, she walked to the bed and picked up the cream-colored shirt he had left there for her. Silk. Soft, fine silk. He had obviously not left everything behind to the suburban house.
What a curious man he was. A curious man and a curious situation. Two survivors with disparate personalities forced to share the same life raft. As she pulled on the shirt, she wondered wistfully what would happen to them before they reached the end of their precarious voyage.
"Don't think about the end," she murmured as she pulled back the comforter. Now was what was important. Every day was an adventure, and she had a friend to share those adventures with her. A little hesitantly, to be sure, but still he was there to share them.
Would he have been a friend in her former life? Was he the kind of man she had once been attracted to? Married to?
Lying on the bed, she curled up in a ball as she fought the idea of being married. She didn't want even to consider the possibility. She would not allow herself to be married. She was new clay, and being married wasn't part of the image of Sunny that was beginning to take shape. The vague lines showing were fluid and free. Sunny was open and unrestrained. Kind to old people and children. Friend to rebelling executives. Sunny was . ..
She paused in her reflections when a yawn took her by surprise. Sunny was exhausted.
***
Ben silently let himself into the apartment and stood for a moment listening, then breathed a raspy sigh of relief. She was still there. Not that there was any obvious indication of her presence. No sound of her, no forgotten scarf or comb to point out the fact that she had appeared in his life. But just the same there was something there. Or was it only in his imagination that the air seemed to vibrate, alive with the knowledge that in the short space of an afternoon his whole life had changed?
Dropping the packages he carried onto the couch, he walked to the bedroom door and silently eased it open. He stood there for a while, peering through the shadows to watch her sleep.
She lay on her back, her golden hair making a bright splash of color on the white pillowcase. Her face in sleep was just as enchanting, the vibrancy and life not absent, merely resting for the challenge of a new day.
Watching her should not feel this right. He should feel that he was invading her privacy—like a voyeur, perhaps—but he didn't. He was responsible for her welfare. He felt somehow entitled to the pleasure of watching her.
Dangerous thinking, he warned himself silently.
"I didn't mean that. I'll take care of rounding up some clothes for you," he said, his face looking comical, like it couldn't decide whether to fall into lines of amusement or impatience. "The next rule is to respect each other's territory. You take the bedroom and I'll have the living room."
"But you can't sleep on this couch," she protested. "It's just barely long enough for me. You take the bed and let me have the couch."
"It folds out to make a bed. And I'm inclined to use the desk at odd hours, so this room would be more convenient for me. Obviously, I'll have to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom and you're free to use the living room any time you want to—except at night—but I think we can work around those things. Now, any questions?"
The bank president was back with a vengeance. A place for everything and everything in its place. Maybe I should salute, she thought, hiding her smile.
"No, sir. No questions," she replied briskly.
He grinned, his expression looking remarkably boyish as he acknowledged the thrust. Pushing her in the direction of the bedroom, he said, "Go to bed. If you'll pull the drapes, it will be cooler to there."
"I'll be fine," she said, smiling back at him. Then her face grew solemn. "Ben, thank you . . . for everything."
As the door closed behind her, she walked to the bed and picked up the cream-colored shirt he had left there for her. Silk. Soft, fine silk. He had obviously not left everything behind to the suburban house.
What a curious man he was. A curious man and a curious situation. Two survivors with disparate personalities forced to share the same life raft. As she pulled on the shirt, she wondered wistfully what would happen to them before they reached the end of their precarious voyage.
"Don't think about the end," she murmured as she pulled back the comforter. Now was what was important. Every day was an adventure, and she had a friend to share those adventures with her. A little hesitantly, to be sure, but still he was there to share them.
Would he have been a friend in her former life? Was he the kind of man she had once been attracted to? Married to?
Lying on the bed, she curled up in a ball as she fought the idea of being married. She didn't want even to consider the possibility. She would not allow herself to be married. She was new clay, and being married wasn't part of the image of Sunny that was beginning to take shape. The vague lines showing were fluid and free. Sunny was open and unrestrained. Kind to old people and children. Friend to rebelling executives. Sunny was . ..
She paused in her reflections when a yawn took her by surprise. Sunny was exhausted.
***
Ben silently let himself into the apartment and stood for a moment listening, then breathed a raspy sigh of relief. She was still there. Not that there was any obvious indication of her presence. No sound of her, no forgotten scarf or comb to point out the fact that she had appeared in his life. But just the same there was something there. Or was it only in his imagination that the air seemed to vibrate, alive with the knowledge that in the short space of an afternoon his whole life had changed?
Dropping the packages he carried onto the couch, he walked to the bedroom door and silently eased it open. He stood there for a while, peering through the shadows to watch her sleep.
She lay on her back, her golden hair making a bright splash of color on the white pillowcase. Her face in sleep was just as enchanting, the vibrancy and life not absent, merely resting for the challenge of a new day.
Watching her should not feel this right. He should feel that he was invading her privacy—like a voyeur, perhaps—but he didn't. He was responsible for her welfare. He felt somehow entitled to the pleasure of watching her.
Dangerous thinking, he warned himself silently.
Similar Books
