Chapter 7: One Night

Her bakery was a narrow brick shop in Bridgeport with the lights off and the chairs stacked on the tables.

The whole place smelled of butter and burnt sugar.

She unlocked a side door and went up a steep staircase, and I carried my father's box up behind her.

At the top was one room with a slanted ceiling, a bed under the window, a lamp and a shelf of cake tins.

I set the box down by the wall.

She turned the lock and faced me with her back against the door.

"I have rules," she said.

"Of course you do."

"One night."

"Okay."

"No names."

"I know your name."

"Not theirs. Not his, not hers, not mine either. Not in this room." She held up a third finger. "No morning."

"And?"

"No questions about my life."

I looked at the gold ring on her hand.

She saw me look, and her thumb moved over it once.

"Those are the terms," she said. "Take them or go home."

I should have asked her why.

I thought about my empty apartment, and the ring box in my jacket, and the black Audi pulling away.

"I'll take them," I said.

She crossed the room in three steps and put both hands flat on my chest.

"Good," she said, and she kissed me.

It was not gentle.

Her mouth was hot and sure, and she tasted like coffee and the pie she had stolen off my plate.

I got my good hand into her hair and the pins came loose and the red-brown mass of it fell down her back.

She made a low sound in her throat, and I felt it in my knees.

"Slow down, Nurse Hatch," she said against my lips. "You're fogging my windshield."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"That's what we're calling it."

She backed me across the room until the edge of the bed hit my legs.

She pushed me down by the shoulders, and I sat.

She stood between my knees and pulled her sweater over her head.

Her bra was plain black cotton, and her chest and shoulders were freckled.

I didn't touch her, because she hadn't told me I could.

She took my bandaged hand and kissed the gauze.

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