Chapter 3: Dinner

“All clean?”

She nodded in response. Her hair lay damp, clean and untangled across the terrycloth and the back of her neck.

He sat at the office desk, again wearing the pressed khakis, blue shirt and loafers. Sarah felt a little vulnerable and underdressed barefoot in the robe.

“Where are my clothes?” she asked. Her tone may have been sharper than she’d intended.

Brady pointed. A full hotel laundry service bag hung on a hook by the entrance, ready to be collected.

“You didn’t want to dress in those clothes after getting clean, right?”

She didn’t, but she was also somehow relieved that her clothes hadn’t been burned or otherwise disappeared. She slowly shook her head.

“So, I’m stuck in a robe for the rest of the evening?”

Brady shrugged. “If you’d be more comfortable, you can dress in your clothes, or I can lend you a shirt. I don’t think my pants would fit you.”

She thought about it. She definitely didn’t want to sully her silky soft skin with her distressed clothes; it seemed to defeat the purpose of the unexpectedly private shower. Borrowing one of his shirts had a different appeal and message, but she didn’t want to trespass into that territory yet.

“I’m fine in the robe, if you don’t mind.”

He smiled. “Why would I mind?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her answer. Brady rose to answer it. Momentarily, a room service attendant pushed a small cart into the room and unloaded three covered trays onto the desk. Brady tipped the man, and he departed carrying Sarah’s clothes in the laundry bag with him. Brady carried two trays over to the coffee table, gesturing for Sarah to join him. She hesitated a moment, then sat in a chair opposite Brady, primly pressing her knees together.

“I ordered both the salmon and a New York for you,” Brady said as Sarah settled into the chair. “I didn’t know if you were a fish or beef girl.” The plate in front of her contained a perfectly poached salmon filet and grilled asparagus. A glass of white wine complemented the meal.

Sarah looked at him. “Vegan.”

Brady stared at her in surprise. When she laughed at his expression and picked up her knife and fork, he relaxed noticeably. While she respected the few vegans she knew, life on the streets was difficult enough without worrying about additional food restrictions. Any food filled an empty stomach, regardless of its origin.

The fish tasted divine to her tongue and she finished her salmon and the asparagus before Brady ingested even a quarter of his plate. He watched her eat with fascination. When she placed the last bite of asparagus between her lips, he motioned towards the desk and the remaining platter. She considered declining, not wishing to seem greedy, but her stomach convinced her that an offered meal today beat an uncertain one tomorrow. Brady began to rise to retrieve the next plate, but Sarah stopped him.

“I can get it,” she said. She carried her plate to the desk and switched.

The steak, like the fish, was perfectly grilled, medium rare, and tasted like heaven. She polished off the accompanying baked potato as Brady finished his salmon, leaving his greens untouched. For the first time in a very long time, her stomach felt pleasantly full. She settled back in the chair, gathering her legs under her and arranging the robe modestly.

Brady gestured towards her untouched glass of wine.

“You didn’t like the wine?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sarah responded.

Brady looked at her, settling back into his chair and crossing his arms.

“Pregnant?”

Sarah laughed. She’d never had unprotected intercourse, except once years ago before the streets. And she hadn’t had intercourse in the last year at all. Pregnancy was one concern she did not garner.

“God forbid,” she said lightly. “I just don’t drink alcohol.” She didn’t elaborate further. She had more than one reason to avoid it.

Brady considered that for a moment, but didn’t press. He simply reached forward and moved her glass to his side of the table.

“Did you want a soda? Water?”

She nodded. “Just water, please.”

Brady rose and filled a tumbler from the bar tap, handed it to her and settled back into the chair. She sipped at the water, acutely aware of his gaze watching her.

“You’re quite beautiful,” he began.

Sarah returned his gaze. “You don’t have to flatter me. I know I’m not beautiful. I’m battle-scarred and broken. And I understand why I’m here. I get a shower, a really good meal, and perhaps a comfortable bed to sleep in. Actually two really good meals and a luxurious shower, the overnight stay remains to be negotiated.” She paused, her eyes locked on him. “And you get lucky tonight. Very lucky. But I’d also like it on the record that I don’t normally do this.”

Brady peered at her with a bemused expression on his face. Sarah wondered for a brief moment if she’d horribly misread the situation, insulted the man. Her intuition about this sort of situation rarely misled her.