She sniffed and said ‘sorry.’ As she was about to go down the hallway she asked if I ‘had anything she could wear to get out of these fuck-me cl...thes.’ That sounded like the old Jill, but why she was wearing ‘fuck-me’ clothes remained to be seen. ‘Sure’ I said, giving her one of my flannel shirts and a pair of her gray sweats she had forgotten there years before. She laughed when she saw them. When she was gone I stoked the fireplace so that it would be roaring and warm shortly. It took her. The timer went off on the microwave and I tested the spuds with a touch, “Two more minutes Brandy,” I cooed softly as she curled around me to see if they were ready to put the butter on yet. My arm slid over her shoulders and I pulled her to my side with a sigh of my own content. Her arm swept around my waist and held herself close in the warmth of connection. One handed I lifted the top on the grill and turned the patties over as she watched intently, a cook was something she was not though I. More

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