Page 7 of Kian

Once the soup was ready, she carried the bowl into the living room to see him sitting with his back against the bricks of the fireplace. She almost dropped the bowl. His chest was amazing. His pecs could have been carved from stone, and the dusting of hair made her mouth water, but that six-pack stomach had her wanting to lick it. Such a good-looking man. She wondered about his family.

She set the bowl down, pulled the coffee table over closer to him, then placed the bowl on it. He looked at her and smiled and she felt like a giddy teenager.

“I’ll get those sweatpants for you. I have a flannel shirt that would fit too. I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gretchen headed to her bedroom, pulled the blue sweatpants out of the drawer, then found the flannel shirt hanging in her closet. Making it back to the living room, she placed the clothes on the sleeping bag.

“Thank you.”

“Are you married?” she asked.

He looked at his left hand. “I don’t think so. You said I didn’t have any ID on me, right?”

“Yes, nothing at all. No coat, hat, wallet, cellphone, nothing to tell me who you are or who to get in touch with.”

“I would have frozen to death out there,” he said quietly, then looked at her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Eat. I do have a spare bedroom you can use. I’m sure you don’t want to sleep on the floor.”

“The fire feels good though, but yeah, I’ll take the bed.”

The buzzer rang on the dryer, so she left the room to check his clothes. They were dry and clean.

Gretchen carried his clothes back to him and set them on thecoffee table.

“I had to throw your T-shirt away, but you’ll be more comfortable in the sweats and flannel shirt, or I could get you a T-shirt that would fit you.”

He looked her up and down. “I doubt that.”

She grinned. “It was a gag gift. It’s extra-large. I’ll get it for you. You can wear it under the flannel shirt until you warm up.”

“Alright.”

She quickly made her way to her bedroom, opened the drawer, and pulled the T-shirt out and held it up. She laughed but carried it out to him. She placed it on his lap, but when he tried to hold it up to look at it, he swore and grabbed his right shoulder.

“Damn, that hurt.”

“Be careful. You have to remember you’re hurt. Give me the shirt.” He handed it to her, and she held it up so he could read what was printed on it.

“Cowboys stay on longer?” he asked with a grin.

Gretchen laughed. “A friend of mine knows I have a thing for cowboys. She got it for me for my birthday.”

“Maybe I’m a cowboy,” he murmured.

“Well, you were wearing cowboy boots.” She pointed to them sitting on the hearth.

“I honestly don’t know.” He shook his head, then winced.

“I don’t even know what name to call you by.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you.”

“I can’t say hey you, every time we talk.”

“Call me John for now. John Doe.” He smirked.

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