A Family Affair
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playing around. Enjoy!
Author's Note: I was saddened to hear about Yancy Butler's recent arrest. Apparently, she is still battling her demons. Here's to hoping this beautiful and talented actress can overcome her personal problems and that we'll see her back on the big (or small) screen soon.
Chapter 43.
A delicious scent permeated the apartment when Sara came out of the bathroom 20 minutes later. Her stomach growled audibly and she actually started salivating.
'Hmmm. From the smell of it, Nottingham can cook,' she ruminated. 'If it weren't for the fact that he kills people for a living and has a megalomaniacal, murderous control freak for a father, he'd be quite the catch.'
Toweling her hair dry, she sauntered barefoot into the living room. Her mouth quirked as she saw that Ian was indeed standing at the stove; however, to her chagrin, he had donned a black kimono-style robe and a pair of loose, navy blue drawstring pants.
"That smells heavenly," she told him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools in front of the island countertop/breakfast bar. "I don't know about you, but I'm ravenous."
"I am very hungry, too," Ian admitted. "Paula Siri was thoughtful enough to provide all of the ingredients for a western omelet. She obviously knows you very well for she also included a package of freshly ground coffee." He turned and held up a mug. "Black, no sugar, right?"
Sara's eyes widened. "Give it here!" She practically snatched the mug from him and, despite the fact that the liquid was piping hot, immediately took a sip. The coffee was brewed to perfection. "Ahhh, sweet nectar of life," she sighed, eyes closing with pleasure.
Ian was unable to refrain from smiling at her blissful expression. "I figured you would be craving a cup, having gone without for so long."
"I was seriously suffering from withdrawal," Sara admitted. "Thanks for scratching my java itch, Ian." She opened her eyes in time to catch his smile and felt her pulse speed up. 'Damn, but he has a sexy smile!' she thought, taking another sip of the strong, dark coffee. She eyed his long, lean body hungrily. 'Coffee isn't the only thing I've gone without for too long!'
"Breakfast is served," he said, sliding half of an enormous, golden brown omelet onto a plate, and setting it down in front of her. "Orange juice?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sara muttered, diving into the food.
Shaking his head, Ian poured two glasses of OJ. He set one down next to her plate and then placed his own glass and plate onto a placemat on the countertop before coming around it to take a seat on the other barstool.
"Omigod, this is delicious," Sara said around a mouthful of omelet, which was stuffed with pieces of ham, onions, green peppers, and melted American cheese. Just then, four slices of toast popped up in the toaster. "Stay put, I'll get 'em," she said when Nottingham started to rise. After buttering the slices, she put the toast on another plate and set it on the countertop, snagging a piece for herself.
"I am glad you are enjoying your omelet, my Lady," Ian said, watching her wolf down the food with astounding rapidity in between gulps of coffee. As usual, he took his time eating, slowly sipping his mug of Earl Grey tea and savoring the rich flavor. He'd been taught that it was unseemly to rush through a meal no matter how hungry you were.
Sara finished her half of the omelet in record time and surreptitiously eyed Nottingham's plate. 'Hold on there, Miss Piggy,' she reprimanded herself. 'He's getting over a serious illness and needs to build his strength back up. No mooching allowed!'
"Sara, would you like the rest of this? I find that I am full," Ian offered, indicating the small piece remaining on his plate.
"Well, if you insist," she said, holding out her plate. It was devoured in two bites.
"There are enough ingredients for another omelet, if you would like more," he said as she polished off a third piece of toast.
"No thanks. I'm full," Sara said, covering her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle a belch. "Oh! Excuse me!" she exclaimed, coloring with embarrassment.
The phone rang, startling them both. Sara jumped off her barstool and crossed to where it was anchored to the wall of the kitchenette. "Hello?"
"Good morning, Sara," Robert Siri said. "How's it going over there?"
"Hey, good morning, Robbie," Sara smiled. "We're doing fine. Ian is feeling a lot better. In fact, we just had a delicious breakfast. Tell Paula thanks for the groceries for me."
"You can tell her yourself. She wants to talk to you," her brother told her. "Hold on."
"Morning, Sara," her sister-in-law said.
"Good morning, Paula. Thanks for sending over those groceries. That was really thoughtful of you."
"You're quite welcome. I figured the weather would make it really difficult to get to and from the main house for a couple of days, so . . . This is some blizzard, hunh? There's more than 30 inches on the ground in parts of the five boroughs and out on the island!"
"Yeah, but it looks like it's winding down. I think I see sunlight peeking through the clouds," Sara said, peering outside.
"I think you're right. How is Ian feeling?"
"Much better. His fever broke just after midnight Thursday night, and he's getting his strength back." Sara covered the receiver with her hand as she saw Nottingham start to gather up the dishes. "Leave them," she told him. "I'll clean up. Why don't you jump into the shower?"
"Very well," he murmured and disappeared into the bedroom.
"That's good news. Joey said he's pretty banged up. How'd he get hurt again?"
"He fell off a roof," Sara said truthfully. "He's still hurting, of course, but I've been giving him pain medication, and he's up and about." She frowned as she realized that Nottingham hadn't put his sling back on, nor had he seemed hampered by his injured shoulder whatsoever while making their breakfast -- or while inadvertently groping her earlier, for that matter. Her face grew hot as she recalled the intimacy of their positions upon awakening, and she was glad Ian had left the room.
"Well, I wanted to invite both of you over for dinner tonight. Do you think he's feeling up to it?"
"I'll ask him. Both of us slept all day yesterday, so we're feeling pretty rested," Sara told her. "At least I know I am."
"Sara," Paula paused and then lowered her voice, "feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but, I, um, came across some, uh, contraceptives when I was cleaning up the apartment. They're in the night table drawer if, um, you know, you need protection."
Sara felt her face grow redder even though nobody was there to see it. "Um, good to know," she murmured. "However, given that Ian's still pretty sore, I don't think that sort of, uh, activity is on the agenda. But thanks for looking out for me, Mom."
Paula laughed. "Well, better safe than sorry, I always say. Even banged up, Mr. Nottingham is quite the temptation, if I do say so myself. If I were in your position, I'm not sure I could resist."
"I can hear you, you know," Sara heard Robert say in the background.
"Oops, busted! Dinner's at 6:00. Joey wants to say hi," Paula said, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl. "See you later, Sara."
"Hey, Aunt Sara," her nephew greeted her a moment later.
"Hey, kiddo. Did you enjoy your snow day yesterday?" she asked him.
"Yeah. I love snowstorms, except Dad is gonna make me help him shovel the path in a little while," he groused. "So, Ian's better, hunh?"
"Yeah, thank God."
"I knew he'd be all right. I don't suppose you guys would be up for a snowball fight later this afternoon?"
"Uh, are you a glutton for punishment, Joey? You know nobody builds a snow fort faster than me and that my aim is deadly," Sara reminded him. "But if you insist on getting creamed, I'm ready, willing, and able to do the job."
"You're on. I guess it wouldn't be fair to attack Ian, seeing as he only has one good arm at the moment."
"Yeah, he's also just getting over a bad case of the flu, so getting cold and wet probably isn't such a good idea," she told her nephew. 'Too bad,' Sara thought. 'For some reason, the idea of pelting the crap out of Nottingham with snowballs is very appealing to me, if only to see how he'd react.'
"However," she told Joey, "a teensy little ambush on our way over to dinner tonight isn't out of the question. We'll probably leave here at around 5:00. Can I count on you?"
Joey chuckled. "Yeah. I'll set aside some ammunition after our fight."
"Excellent. Looks likes it's the perfect kind of snow for snowballs, too," Sara said, grinning. "Not too wet and not too fluffy."
"It is. I already checked it out. So, I'll see you in the backyard. Three o'clock. Be there -- if you dare."
"Oh, I'll be there," Sara promised. She heard Joey sigh dramatically.
"The Brat wants to speak to you," he said and then lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "Whatever you do, don't invite her to join our snowball fight. If one little speck of snow accidentally gets her in the face, she freaks out and starts crying. Bye, Aunt Sara!" he said.
"I am too gonna join you. It's my backyard, too!" Sara heard Gina Marie yell at her brother. "Hi, Aunt Sara."
"Hi, Cutie Pie. What did you do during your snow day yesterday?"
"Mommy and me made a chocolate layer cake. We're gonna bake cookies today after lunch. I'll bring some over for you and Ian after Joey and Daddy shovel the path."
"Well, thanks, Sweetie! I'd love some homemade cookies and I'm sure Ian would, too."
"My Mommy says he's conver--, convalet--, convalescing," the 11-year- old finally got out.
"Yeah, he is. But I'm sure he'd love to see you."
"I'm glad Ian's feeling better. Does he like chocolate chip cookies?"
"Who doesn't?" Sara replied, realizing that she had absolutely no idea if he actually did.
"I'm gonna make a special smiley-face one just for him."
"Wow, that's really sweet of you. I know he'll like that."
"Um, can I share your snow fort with you, Aunt Sara?" Gina Marie asked.
"Hey, no fair!" Sara heard Joey protest in the background. "You gotta build your own fort!"
"Tell him I said yes, you can," Sara told her, smiling.
"Ha! Aunt Sara said I could, so there!" she told her brother triumphantly. "See you later, Aunt Sara," her niece said. "Bye!"
"Bye, Sweetie." Sara hung up. She poured herself another cup of coffee and drank it while she did the dishes, all the while mentally planning her strategy for the coming battle.
****
Ian closed the bedroom door behind him, half listening to Sara as she spoke to her sister-in-law. He shrugged out of the black cotton kimono he'd found in the wardrobe, wincing as his shoulder twinged. For appearance's sake, he knew he should probably don the sling again once he got out of the shower, although he didn't really need it any longer. However, it would not do for Sara to find out about his amazing recuperative powers; Ian was very afraid that she would look at him like he was some kind of freak if she did. With a normal human being, a broken bone could take as long as six to eight weeks to heal, depending on the severity of the fracture. Ian's bones started knitting almost immediately, and within two weeks, even complex fractures had completely healed, provided they'd been set properly. His collarbone, shoulder muscles, and ribs were still very sore, but not nearly as painful as they had been. So long as he didn't overdo it and make any sudden moves, the discomfort was nothing more than a minor annoyance. Going into the bathroom, Ian opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small pair of scissors, which he used to cut the tape binding his ribs. Unwinding the ace bandages, he briefly examined the spectacular but already fading bruises on the left side of his rib cage in the mirror. Doffing his borrowed pants, he cut the bandage off his right thigh. Although pink and tender, the bullet wound had already scarred over and wouldn't even require a new bandage. Ian turned on the water in the shower, making it as hot as he could stand it, and got beneath the spray. It felt heavenly to wash away the sweat, grime, and aches of the past couple of days. Opening his eyes, he spied Sara's shampoo and shower gel in the shower caddy. Picking up the shampoo, he opened it and inhaled the familiar vanilla scent, remembering how he had awakened during the night, disoriented and chilled, having managed to kick his blankets off. That was when he had become aware of the warm body beside him in the bed. Sara lay on her left side, facing him, her right arm inches from his, and he saw that the down comforter covering her had slid down to below her waist. Her long, dark hair fanned out over her pillow, and ignoring the protest of his ribs, Ian had leaned over and picked up a gleaming chestnut lock, reverently touching it to his lips before letting the soft, silky strands slip through his fingers. Shivering, he'd gotten up, and smoothed the bedcovers before climbing back onto the bed. Tossing the corduroy reading pillow aside, he stretched out flat on his back next to Sara, pulling the down comforter on top of her up over the both of them, ostensibly so they could share warmth. Shortly thereafter, the sling supporting his left arm had begun to annoy him, and sitting up, he had quickly removed it, flinging it onto the floor, before lying down again.
"Shhh, Ian, s'okay," Sara had mumbled, and he'd stiffened when she flung her right arm across his chest, petting him soothingly before curling up against his side. He had lain there, afraid to breathe in case she awakened and moved away from him, intensely aware of her closeness, as well as the hand and arm on his chest. On her wrist, the Witchblade's red stone pulsed sluggishly in time with her deep, steady breaths. He watched her sleep for a long time, hardly able to believe that the woman he loved and desired slept so peacefully beside him. The next thing he knew, he awoke to find Sara's blushing face only inches from his own.
"Good morning, my Lady," he'd murmured, pleased to find that for the first time in weeks, he felt well rested. His sleep-fogged brain barely had time to register the fact that her slender but curvaceous body was touching his from his sternum to his shins before she pointed out that his left arm was preventing her from getting up. That was when he'd discovered that not only was his arm draped familiarly over her, but that his left hand had somehow found its way beneath her nightshirt. Abruptly, it dawned on him just what his fingers were brushing. Mortified, he'd snatched his hand away from her, causing his shoulder to loudly protest the sudden movement. Disappointment warred with relief within him when she immediately put several inches between their bodies and sat up. Flushing bright red, he had waited for her to upbraid him for his presumptuousness, but, to his surprise, she had merely gotten up and gone to the bathroom. When she came out a minute later, Ian had recovered his composure. But he'd been very aware of her as she stood next to him looking out the window at the impressive snowfall. Self-consciously, he tried to remember what he had said to her in his borderline delirious state the night before, but could only vaguely recall those nightmarish hours of suffering and confusion.
As he stood beneath the shower, the fleeting memory of the feel of her body against his and of the satiny soft skin his fingers had accidentally touched teased him, but he ruthlessly quashed these thoughts when he felt his body start to become aroused. A brief blast of icy water helped cool his ardor. Squeezing a small amount of Sara's shampoo into his palm, Ian washed his hair. He settled for using the shower gel the garage apartment's previous tenant had left behind, although he could not resist smelling Sara's lavender-scented product. By the time he was dressed, his shoulder and ribs were achy enough for him to want some more painkillers. Picking up the sling from the bedroom floor, he went back out into the living room.
Sara was gathering up her hastily discarded clothing from the other night, when Ian came out of the bedroom. She glanced up at him, and then did a double take.
"Wow," Sara breathed, "you look so . . . so normal," she told him. 'And good enough to eat, too!' She blinked at the salaciousness of the thought, glancing suspiciously down at the Witchblade, but the deceptively innocuous-looking bracelet's blood-red stone was dark.
Ian was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a forest green long- sleeved flannel shirt. His dark hair was slicked back, falling in damp waves to just past his broad shoulders, around which a towel was slung. His shirt was open, revealing the navy blue T-shirt he wore beneath it.
Ian raised a dark eyebrow. "Did I appear abnormal before?" he inquired, toweling his wet hair one-handed.
"You know what I mean," she said, retreating into the bedroom to put her dirty clothes in the hamper in the bathroom. "I've never seen you in anything but solid black or navy blue before. Except for those boxers you were wearing earlier, that is," Sara told him when she came back out into the living room, keeping her face straight with an effort.
Nottingham crossed to where the first-aid kit sat open on a side table next to the futon and took out a bottle of Advil, opening it and shaking a couple of pills into his hand. "Ah, yes, those boxers," he murmured, going into the kitchenette. "If I remember correctly, you said they were the first pair you came across."
She shrugged nonchalantly. "That's right."
"Oddly enough, I discovered numerous, considerably less garish pairs in the top drawer of the wardrobe, whereas the bottom drawer contained several pairs of the same ostentatious ilk as the ones you gave me," he commented, pouring himself a glass of water.
"Is that so?" Sara murmured, contriving to look innocent.
"Indeed," he said, after washing the painkillers down with a sip of water, hazel eyes contemplating her speculatively.
"You must be pretty sore," she said, quickly changing the subject. "Which reminds me, Vicky said I should change the bandage on your thigh today. And what about your ribs? Shouldn't they be re-taped?"
Ian lowered his eyes. "I can do it myself," he mumbled. "However, I would like you to help me put this back on." He held out the sling to her.
"Okay, but I don't see how you can bandage your thigh or tape your ribs yourself one-handed," she said skeptically.
"I will manage." He was glad when she didn't pursue the topic.
"Paula and Robbie invited us over for dinner this evening. Are you up for it?" Sara asked him as she adjusted the straps. He smelled wonderfully fresh and clean, and the way the borrowed jeans rode low on his narrow hips, exposing the waistband of the white boxers he wore underneath them, made it very hard for her to think straight.
"That is very nice of them. I would be delighted," Ian said biting back a groan as her arms went around him. Her distinctive scent went straight to his head, lighting the fire of his desire for her, and he had fight the urge to grab her and kiss her. Luckily, the jeans he wore were fairly loose or else she would have immediately become aware of his burgeoning arousal.
"Oh, and Gina Marie is probably gonna drop by after lunch. I hope you like chocolate chip cookies, because she and her mom are baking a batch and she wants to bring some over."
"They are my favorite dessert," Ian replied truthfully. He had only had them a few times, back when he'd been in the Special Forces. One of his fellow Black Dragons had regularly received care packages from home containing the delicious, homemade treats, and he'd been kind enough to occasionally share them with his fellow brothers in arms. Kenneth Irons had frowned upon sweets, expressly forbidding the cook to serve sugary confections of any kind at the estate while Ian was growing up. His master had become more lenient in this regard once Ian had reached adulthood, but his tastes ran more toward sweetmeats, fresh fruit tarts, gateaux, and Italian pastries, none of which particularly appealed to Ian. It had been years since Nottingham had had chocolate chip cookies, but he clearly remembered how much he'd enjoyed them.
"There, you're all set," Sara said, stepping back. "Wanna watch a movie?"
"All right," Ian said. "Just let me tend to my wound and my ribs first." He took a roll of tape, a bottle of disinfectant, and some gauze pads out of the first-aid kit.
"Sure. I don't know what kind of selection this guy has, but, hopefully, I'll have a few to choose from by the time you get back," she said, going over to the rack that held an assortment of CDs, DVDs, and videotapes. A compact stereo sat on a shelf above the 27-inch TV. "Oooo, he's got Surround Sound!" Sara discovered. "With any luck, there's a movie with lots of explosions and special effects in this collection!"
When he came out of the bathroom several minutes later, Ian took a seat on the futon. He had unnecessarily bandaged his thigh because he realized she might glimpse it later, but hadn't bothered to re-tape his ribs. As long as he kept his T-shirt on, she would be none the wiser.
"Okay," Sara announced, "we've got a couple of Nic Cage goodies: 'Con Air' and 'The Rock,' both of which are action packed. We also have two Will Smith flicks: 'Independence Day' and 'Men in Black,' which are also high on the action quotient. Oh, and lookee here! The 'Star Wars' trilogy! Thank God this kid has good taste. He also has some other Harrison Ford gems, including 'Raiders of the Lost Ark,' 'The Fugitive,' 'Blade Runner,' and 'Patriot Games.' And if you like Tom Cruise, he's got 'Mission Impossible,' both I and II, 'Jerry Maguire,' 'A Few Good Men,' and 'Top Gun.' What sounds good to you, Nottingham?" she asked him.
"You choose, Sara," Ian said, unwilling to admit that he hadn't seen any of the films.
"Okay, well, I vote for . . ." Her words trailed off as she spied another videotape in the rack and pulled it out. "Wow! I haven't seen this in years. It's one of my favorites, too. 'On the Waterfront,' starring Marlon Brando in his hunky prime. Let's watch that, okay? We can do explosions and special effects later."
"As you wish, my Lady," he murmured deferentially.
Sara popped the tape into the VCR, but stopped it. "I'm just gonna get a coffee refill, a glass of seltzer, and some munchies. Can I get you something to drink?" she asked Ian, heading toward the kitchenette.
"My glass of water is fine, thank you."
Sara had spied some microwavable popcorn in the cupboard above the sink when she was putting away the groceries the other night. She took out a packet and put it in the microwave. Two minutes later, the scent of hot popcorn filled the air. Taking the bag out, she opened it and dumped the contents into a bowl, placing it and the drinks on a tray, which she set on the coffee table.
"Have you seen this movie before, Ian?" she asked him as she took a seat on the futon, curling her legs up under her.
"No," he said, pleased by how close she was sitting to him. "However, I did see Marlon Brando in 'Apocalypse Now' while I was in the Special Forces. Every week, we had movie night, but we were shown mostly older films rather than new releases," Ian told her.
"Oh, yeah? What else did you see?"
"'From Here to Eternity,' 'Bridge on the River Kwai,' 'The Deer Hunter,' 'The Great Escape,' 'The Guns of Navarone,' 'The Green Berets,' among others."
"Hmmm. I'm detecting a theme," Sara murmured. "Well, this flick will definitely be a change of pace." She pressed play on the remote, grabbed the bowl of popcorn, and settled back to enjoy the movie.
Ian quickly became engrossed in the film. He was vaguely aware of Sara observing his reactions from time to time. At first, he politely declined her offer of popcorn, but after a while, whenever she passed the bowl to him he automatically grabbed some and absently munched it. He was fascinated by the movie's dramatic themes of brotherly love, honor, and betrayal. When former prizefighter Terry Malloy broke down the door to Edie Doyle's apartment and grabbed her in a passionate embrace, he glanced at Sara out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. Her color high, she stared raptly at the screen, one hand pressed to her chest, with a little smile on her lips. He wondered what she would do if he leaned over and kissed her at that moment. Her small, bare feet were only inches from his right hand.
When the movie ended, Sara heaved a sigh. "Wasn't that great?"
"I enjoyed it very much. Marlon Brando is an extremely gifted actor," Ian said.
"And easy on the eyes, too," she grinned. She glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchenette. It was 11:15. "Should we watch another one before lunch?"
"If you wish."
"I wish. How about 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'? Oh, better yet, 'Star Wars'! Yeah, that's what I'm in the mood for. Are you okay with that?"
"Yes." While growing up, Ian had read and heard a lot about this groundbreaking science-fiction/fantasy film, and he was looking forward to finally seeing it.
"Gotta have more popcorn and some soda this time, I think. You?"
"Water will be fine for me, Sara." Ian's sharp hearing picked up a sound outside, and rising he looked out the window. He saw that it had stopped snowing, and that Robert and Joseph Siri had begun the arduous task of shoveling a path to the garage.
"What's going on out there?" Sara asked from the kitchen.
"Your brother and nephew have begun shoveling a path to us."
"Ah, I should probably offer to help, but 'Star Wars' awaits!" Sara grinned, plopping down on the futon, popcorn in hand.
Ian was soon transported from the garage apartment to a galaxy far, far away. He became so involved in the movie that he didn't hear the knock at the door an hour later. It wasn't until Sara pressed stop on the remote and jumped up from the futon that he realized they had a visitor.
"Hi, Aunt Sara!" Gina Marie Siri chirped, stomping her booted feet on the newly uncovered mat in front of the door. She carried a cookie tin in her mittened hands.
"Hey, Cutie Pie!" Sara said, giving the girl a big hug. "Come on in!"
"Hi, Ian," Gina Marie said, smiling shyly as she spotted him on the sofa. "I brought cookies for you and Aunt Sara."
"Hello, Gina Marie. That was very thoughtful of you. Chocolate chip cookies are my favorite dessert," Ian told her, rising.
"There's a special one on top that I made just for you," the girl told him, opening the cookie tin before handing it to him.
Holding the tin in his left hand, Ian peeled back the tin foil to reveal a large cookie with a smiley face made out of chocolate chips. He grinned delightedly. "Thank you, my Lady. I will eat him first." The cookies were still warm, and their scent made his stomach growl loudly.
"Speaking of eating, it's lunch time. I'll make us some sandwiches," Sara said. "Did you eat already, Sweetie?"
"Yeah. We had sandwiches, too, and soup and crackers. What movie were you watching?" she asked, unzipping her pink, puffy down jacket.
"Star Wars," Ian told her, setting the cookie tin on the island countertop. "May the Force be with you, Princess," he intoned.
"Maybe the Force be with you, too, young Jedi," Gina Marie said, grinning. "What part are you up to? Have the rebels attacked the Death Star yet? That's my favorite part." She replaced the lid on the cookie tin.
"Not yet. Obi-Wan Kenobi is attempting to shut off the Death Star's force field while Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Chewbacca try to rescue Princess Leia," Ian said, taking a seat on the futon again.
"Oh, goody! Can I stay and watch the rest of it with you guys, Aunt Sara?" the girl asked.
"Sure, Sweetie. Ian do you want ham and Swiss or turkey and Swiss?"
"I will have turkey and Swiss, thank you."
"Lettuce and tomato?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Mustard and mayo?"
"Just mustard, please."
"You got it."
"So, is your arm hurt?" Gina Marie asked Ian, taking off her coat and hanging it over the back of one of the barstools.
"I dislocated my shoulder and broke my collarbone," Ian told her, catching the sharp look Sara threw him, only then remembering that he had never mentioned his fractured clavicle to her.
"I broke my wrist when I was six. I fell off the monkey bars at the playground. I had a pink cast that all of my friends signed," the girl informed him. "Does your shoulder hurt a lot?"
"Not too badly. The pain medication I took helps."
"Mommy also said you're getting over the flu. I had the flu last year. My fever was 103. I'm glad you're getting better."
"I am, too. It is no fun being sick."
"It sure isn't. We're gonna have a snowball fight later this afternoon in the backyard. Aunt Sara said I could share her snow fort with her. We're gonna cream Joey!"
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. Too bad you can't join us. But you can watch from the window. It's a lot of fun unless you get hit in the face. I don't like it when that happens. Make Joey promise not to aim at our faces, okay, Aunt Sara?"
"Okay, baby."
Five minutes later, Sara placed a plate with the sandwiches on it on the coffee table, along with a bowl of potato chips.
"Do you want a glass of Coca-Cola, Gina Marie?" Sara asked her niece, who was looking through the CDs in the rack.
"Yes, thank you." She plopped down on the futon next to Ian. "Princess Leia is very beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is. She is very brave, too."
"Yeah, she's tough yet girly, like my Aunt Sara."
"Who you callin' girly?" Sara said, pretending to be mad. She set down a glass of soda on the coffee table and then began to tickle her niece mercilessly.
Gina Marie giggled helplessly and tried to squirm away. "I take it back! I take it back!" she cried. "Make her stop, Ian!"
"Cease and desist your sadistic torture at once, Darth Lady!" Ian said sternly. "She will never reveal the location of the rebel base!"
"Oh, all right," Sara said grudgingly. She sat down on the other side of the panting girl and picked up half a sandwich. "Dig in."
"Gladly," Ian murmured, taking up a napkin and a sandwich half.
Sara pressed play, and for the next hour the three of them sat there and watched the rest of the movie in companionable silence, except for the occasional comment or interjection.
More to come. Thanks, as always for your fantastic feedback, which is soooo inspiring! Keep it coming, please!
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Just playing around. Enjoy!
Author's Note: I was saddened to hear about Yancy Butler's recent arrest. Apparently, she is still battling her demons. Here's to hoping this beautiful and talented actress can overcome her personal problems and that we'll see her back on the big (or small) screen soon.
Chapter 43.
A delicious scent permeated the apartment when Sara came out of the bathroom 20 minutes later. Her stomach growled audibly and she actually started salivating.
'Hmmm. From the smell of it, Nottingham can cook,' she ruminated. 'If it weren't for the fact that he kills people for a living and has a megalomaniacal, murderous control freak for a father, he'd be quite the catch.'
Toweling her hair dry, she sauntered barefoot into the living room. Her mouth quirked as she saw that Ian was indeed standing at the stove; however, to her chagrin, he had donned a black kimono-style robe and a pair of loose, navy blue drawstring pants.
"That smells heavenly," she told him, taking a seat on one of the bar stools in front of the island countertop/breakfast bar. "I don't know about you, but I'm ravenous."
"I am very hungry, too," Ian admitted. "Paula Siri was thoughtful enough to provide all of the ingredients for a western omelet. She obviously knows you very well for she also included a package of freshly ground coffee." He turned and held up a mug. "Black, no sugar, right?"
Sara's eyes widened. "Give it here!" She practically snatched the mug from him and, despite the fact that the liquid was piping hot, immediately took a sip. The coffee was brewed to perfection. "Ahhh, sweet nectar of life," she sighed, eyes closing with pleasure.
Ian was unable to refrain from smiling at her blissful expression. "I figured you would be craving a cup, having gone without for so long."
"I was seriously suffering from withdrawal," Sara admitted. "Thanks for scratching my java itch, Ian." She opened her eyes in time to catch his smile and felt her pulse speed up. 'Damn, but he has a sexy smile!' she thought, taking another sip of the strong, dark coffee. She eyed his long, lean body hungrily. 'Coffee isn't the only thing I've gone without for too long!'
"Breakfast is served," he said, sliding half of an enormous, golden brown omelet onto a plate, and setting it down in front of her. "Orange juice?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sara muttered, diving into the food.
Shaking his head, Ian poured two glasses of OJ. He set one down next to her plate and then placed his own glass and plate onto a placemat on the countertop before coming around it to take a seat on the other barstool.
"Omigod, this is delicious," Sara said around a mouthful of omelet, which was stuffed with pieces of ham, onions, green peppers, and melted American cheese. Just then, four slices of toast popped up in the toaster. "Stay put, I'll get 'em," she said when Nottingham started to rise. After buttering the slices, she put the toast on another plate and set it on the countertop, snagging a piece for herself.
"I am glad you are enjoying your omelet, my Lady," Ian said, watching her wolf down the food with astounding rapidity in between gulps of coffee. As usual, he took his time eating, slowly sipping his mug of Earl Grey tea and savoring the rich flavor. He'd been taught that it was unseemly to rush through a meal no matter how hungry you were.
Sara finished her half of the omelet in record time and surreptitiously eyed Nottingham's plate. 'Hold on there, Miss Piggy,' she reprimanded herself. 'He's getting over a serious illness and needs to build his strength back up. No mooching allowed!'
"Sara, would you like the rest of this? I find that I am full," Ian offered, indicating the small piece remaining on his plate.
"Well, if you insist," she said, holding out her plate. It was devoured in two bites.
"There are enough ingredients for another omelet, if you would like more," he said as she polished off a third piece of toast.
"No thanks. I'm full," Sara said, covering her mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to muffle a belch. "Oh! Excuse me!" she exclaimed, coloring with embarrassment.
The phone rang, startling them both. Sara jumped off her barstool and crossed to where it was anchored to the wall of the kitchenette. "Hello?"
"Good morning, Sara," Robert Siri said. "How's it going over there?"
"Hey, good morning, Robbie," Sara smiled. "We're doing fine. Ian is feeling a lot better. In fact, we just had a delicious breakfast. Tell Paula thanks for the groceries for me."
"You can tell her yourself. She wants to talk to you," her brother told her. "Hold on."
"Morning, Sara," her sister-in-law said.
"Good morning, Paula. Thanks for sending over those groceries. That was really thoughtful of you."
"You're quite welcome. I figured the weather would make it really difficult to get to and from the main house for a couple of days, so . . . This is some blizzard, hunh? There's more than 30 inches on the ground in parts of the five boroughs and out on the island!"
"Yeah, but it looks like it's winding down. I think I see sunlight peeking through the clouds," Sara said, peering outside.
"I think you're right. How is Ian feeling?"
"Much better. His fever broke just after midnight Thursday night, and he's getting his strength back." Sara covered the receiver with her hand as she saw Nottingham start to gather up the dishes. "Leave them," she told him. "I'll clean up. Why don't you jump into the shower?"
"Very well," he murmured and disappeared into the bedroom.
"That's good news. Joey said he's pretty banged up. How'd he get hurt again?"
"He fell off a roof," Sara said truthfully. "He's still hurting, of course, but I've been giving him pain medication, and he's up and about." She frowned as she realized that Nottingham hadn't put his sling back on, nor had he seemed hampered by his injured shoulder whatsoever while making their breakfast -- or while inadvertently groping her earlier, for that matter. Her face grew hot as she recalled the intimacy of their positions upon awakening, and she was glad Ian had left the room.
"Well, I wanted to invite both of you over for dinner tonight. Do you think he's feeling up to it?"
"I'll ask him. Both of us slept all day yesterday, so we're feeling pretty rested," Sara told her. "At least I know I am."
"Sara," Paula paused and then lowered her voice, "feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but, I, um, came across some, uh, contraceptives when I was cleaning up the apartment. They're in the night table drawer if, um, you know, you need protection."
Sara felt her face grow redder even though nobody was there to see it. "Um, good to know," she murmured. "However, given that Ian's still pretty sore, I don't think that sort of, uh, activity is on the agenda. But thanks for looking out for me, Mom."
Paula laughed. "Well, better safe than sorry, I always say. Even banged up, Mr. Nottingham is quite the temptation, if I do say so myself. If I were in your position, I'm not sure I could resist."
"I can hear you, you know," Sara heard Robert say in the background.
"Oops, busted! Dinner's at 6:00. Joey wants to say hi," Paula said, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl. "See you later, Sara."
"Hey, Aunt Sara," her nephew greeted her a moment later.
"Hey, kiddo. Did you enjoy your snow day yesterday?" she asked him.
"Yeah. I love snowstorms, except Dad is gonna make me help him shovel the path in a little while," he groused. "So, Ian's better, hunh?"
"Yeah, thank God."
"I knew he'd be all right. I don't suppose you guys would be up for a snowball fight later this afternoon?"
"Uh, are you a glutton for punishment, Joey? You know nobody builds a snow fort faster than me and that my aim is deadly," Sara reminded him. "But if you insist on getting creamed, I'm ready, willing, and able to do the job."
"You're on. I guess it wouldn't be fair to attack Ian, seeing as he only has one good arm at the moment."
"Yeah, he's also just getting over a bad case of the flu, so getting cold and wet probably isn't such a good idea," she told her nephew. 'Too bad,' Sara thought. 'For some reason, the idea of pelting the crap out of Nottingham with snowballs is very appealing to me, if only to see how he'd react.'
"However," she told Joey, "a teensy little ambush on our way over to dinner tonight isn't out of the question. We'll probably leave here at around 5:00. Can I count on you?"
Joey chuckled. "Yeah. I'll set aside some ammunition after our fight."
"Excellent. Looks likes it's the perfect kind of snow for snowballs, too," Sara said, grinning. "Not too wet and not too fluffy."
"It is. I already checked it out. So, I'll see you in the backyard. Three o'clock. Be there -- if you dare."
"Oh, I'll be there," Sara promised. She heard Joey sigh dramatically.
"The Brat wants to speak to you," he said and then lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "Whatever you do, don't invite her to join our snowball fight. If one little speck of snow accidentally gets her in the face, she freaks out and starts crying. Bye, Aunt Sara!" he said.
"I am too gonna join you. It's my backyard, too!" Sara heard Gina Marie yell at her brother. "Hi, Aunt Sara."
"Hi, Cutie Pie. What did you do during your snow day yesterday?"
"Mommy and me made a chocolate layer cake. We're gonna bake cookies today after lunch. I'll bring some over for you and Ian after Joey and Daddy shovel the path."
"Well, thanks, Sweetie! I'd love some homemade cookies and I'm sure Ian would, too."
"My Mommy says he's conver--, convalet--, convalescing," the 11-year- old finally got out.
"Yeah, he is. But I'm sure he'd love to see you."
"I'm glad Ian's feeling better. Does he like chocolate chip cookies?"
"Who doesn't?" Sara replied, realizing that she had absolutely no idea if he actually did.
"I'm gonna make a special smiley-face one just for him."
"Wow, that's really sweet of you. I know he'll like that."
"Um, can I share your snow fort with you, Aunt Sara?" Gina Marie asked.
"Hey, no fair!" Sara heard Joey protest in the background. "You gotta build your own fort!"
"Tell him I said yes, you can," Sara told her, smiling.
"Ha! Aunt Sara said I could, so there!" she told her brother triumphantly. "See you later, Aunt Sara," her niece said. "Bye!"
"Bye, Sweetie." Sara hung up. She poured herself another cup of coffee and drank it while she did the dishes, all the while mentally planning her strategy for the coming battle.
****
Ian closed the bedroom door behind him, half listening to Sara as she spoke to her sister-in-law. He shrugged out of the black cotton kimono he'd found in the wardrobe, wincing as his shoulder twinged. For appearance's sake, he knew he should probably don the sling again once he got out of the shower, although he didn't really need it any longer. However, it would not do for Sara to find out about his amazing recuperative powers; Ian was very afraid that she would look at him like he was some kind of freak if she did. With a normal human being, a broken bone could take as long as six to eight weeks to heal, depending on the severity of the fracture. Ian's bones started knitting almost immediately, and within two weeks, even complex fractures had completely healed, provided they'd been set properly. His collarbone, shoulder muscles, and ribs were still very sore, but not nearly as painful as they had been. So long as he didn't overdo it and make any sudden moves, the discomfort was nothing more than a minor annoyance. Going into the bathroom, Ian opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small pair of scissors, which he used to cut the tape binding his ribs. Unwinding the ace bandages, he briefly examined the spectacular but already fading bruises on the left side of his rib cage in the mirror. Doffing his borrowed pants, he cut the bandage off his right thigh. Although pink and tender, the bullet wound had already scarred over and wouldn't even require a new bandage. Ian turned on the water in the shower, making it as hot as he could stand it, and got beneath the spray. It felt heavenly to wash away the sweat, grime, and aches of the past couple of days. Opening his eyes, he spied Sara's shampoo and shower gel in the shower caddy. Picking up the shampoo, he opened it and inhaled the familiar vanilla scent, remembering how he had awakened during the night, disoriented and chilled, having managed to kick his blankets off. That was when he had become aware of the warm body beside him in the bed. Sara lay on her left side, facing him, her right arm inches from his, and he saw that the down comforter covering her had slid down to below her waist. Her long, dark hair fanned out over her pillow, and ignoring the protest of his ribs, Ian had leaned over and picked up a gleaming chestnut lock, reverently touching it to his lips before letting the soft, silky strands slip through his fingers. Shivering, he'd gotten up, and smoothed the bedcovers before climbing back onto the bed. Tossing the corduroy reading pillow aside, he stretched out flat on his back next to Sara, pulling the down comforter on top of her up over the both of them, ostensibly so they could share warmth. Shortly thereafter, the sling supporting his left arm had begun to annoy him, and sitting up, he had quickly removed it, flinging it onto the floor, before lying down again.
"Shhh, Ian, s'okay," Sara had mumbled, and he'd stiffened when she flung her right arm across his chest, petting him soothingly before curling up against his side. He had lain there, afraid to breathe in case she awakened and moved away from him, intensely aware of her closeness, as well as the hand and arm on his chest. On her wrist, the Witchblade's red stone pulsed sluggishly in time with her deep, steady breaths. He watched her sleep for a long time, hardly able to believe that the woman he loved and desired slept so peacefully beside him. The next thing he knew, he awoke to find Sara's blushing face only inches from his own.
"Good morning, my Lady," he'd murmured, pleased to find that for the first time in weeks, he felt well rested. His sleep-fogged brain barely had time to register the fact that her slender but curvaceous body was touching his from his sternum to his shins before she pointed out that his left arm was preventing her from getting up. That was when he'd discovered that not only was his arm draped familiarly over her, but that his left hand had somehow found its way beneath her nightshirt. Abruptly, it dawned on him just what his fingers were brushing. Mortified, he'd snatched his hand away from her, causing his shoulder to loudly protest the sudden movement. Disappointment warred with relief within him when she immediately put several inches between their bodies and sat up. Flushing bright red, he had waited for her to upbraid him for his presumptuousness, but, to his surprise, she had merely gotten up and gone to the bathroom. When she came out a minute later, Ian had recovered his composure. But he'd been very aware of her as she stood next to him looking out the window at the impressive snowfall. Self-consciously, he tried to remember what he had said to her in his borderline delirious state the night before, but could only vaguely recall those nightmarish hours of suffering and confusion.
As he stood beneath the shower, the fleeting memory of the feel of her body against his and of the satiny soft skin his fingers had accidentally touched teased him, but he ruthlessly quashed these thoughts when he felt his body start to become aroused. A brief blast of icy water helped cool his ardor. Squeezing a small amount of Sara's shampoo into his palm, Ian washed his hair. He settled for using the shower gel the garage apartment's previous tenant had left behind, although he could not resist smelling Sara's lavender-scented product. By the time he was dressed, his shoulder and ribs were achy enough for him to want some more painkillers. Picking up the sling from the bedroom floor, he went back out into the living room.
Sara was gathering up her hastily discarded clothing from the other night, when Ian came out of the bedroom. She glanced up at him, and then did a double take.
"Wow," Sara breathed, "you look so . . . so normal," she told him. 'And good enough to eat, too!' She blinked at the salaciousness of the thought, glancing suspiciously down at the Witchblade, but the deceptively innocuous-looking bracelet's blood-red stone was dark.
Ian was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a forest green long- sleeved flannel shirt. His dark hair was slicked back, falling in damp waves to just past his broad shoulders, around which a towel was slung. His shirt was open, revealing the navy blue T-shirt he wore beneath it.
Ian raised a dark eyebrow. "Did I appear abnormal before?" he inquired, toweling his wet hair one-handed.
"You know what I mean," she said, retreating into the bedroom to put her dirty clothes in the hamper in the bathroom. "I've never seen you in anything but solid black or navy blue before. Except for those boxers you were wearing earlier, that is," Sara told him when she came back out into the living room, keeping her face straight with an effort.
Nottingham crossed to where the first-aid kit sat open on a side table next to the futon and took out a bottle of Advil, opening it and shaking a couple of pills into his hand. "Ah, yes, those boxers," he murmured, going into the kitchenette. "If I remember correctly, you said they were the first pair you came across."
She shrugged nonchalantly. "That's right."
"Oddly enough, I discovered numerous, considerably less garish pairs in the top drawer of the wardrobe, whereas the bottom drawer contained several pairs of the same ostentatious ilk as the ones you gave me," he commented, pouring himself a glass of water.
"Is that so?" Sara murmured, contriving to look innocent.
"Indeed," he said, after washing the painkillers down with a sip of water, hazel eyes contemplating her speculatively.
"You must be pretty sore," she said, quickly changing the subject. "Which reminds me, Vicky said I should change the bandage on your thigh today. And what about your ribs? Shouldn't they be re-taped?"
Ian lowered his eyes. "I can do it myself," he mumbled. "However, I would like you to help me put this back on." He held out the sling to her.
"Okay, but I don't see how you can bandage your thigh or tape your ribs yourself one-handed," she said skeptically.
"I will manage." He was glad when she didn't pursue the topic.
"Paula and Robbie invited us over for dinner this evening. Are you up for it?" Sara asked him as she adjusted the straps. He smelled wonderfully fresh and clean, and the way the borrowed jeans rode low on his narrow hips, exposing the waistband of the white boxers he wore underneath them, made it very hard for her to think straight.
"That is very nice of them. I would be delighted," Ian said biting back a groan as her arms went around him. Her distinctive scent went straight to his head, lighting the fire of his desire for her, and he had fight the urge to grab her and kiss her. Luckily, the jeans he wore were fairly loose or else she would have immediately become aware of his burgeoning arousal.
"Oh, and Gina Marie is probably gonna drop by after lunch. I hope you like chocolate chip cookies, because she and her mom are baking a batch and she wants to bring some over."
"They are my favorite dessert," Ian replied truthfully. He had only had them a few times, back when he'd been in the Special Forces. One of his fellow Black Dragons had regularly received care packages from home containing the delicious, homemade treats, and he'd been kind enough to occasionally share them with his fellow brothers in arms. Kenneth Irons had frowned upon sweets, expressly forbidding the cook to serve sugary confections of any kind at the estate while Ian was growing up. His master had become more lenient in this regard once Ian had reached adulthood, but his tastes ran more toward sweetmeats, fresh fruit tarts, gateaux, and Italian pastries, none of which particularly appealed to Ian. It had been years since Nottingham had had chocolate chip cookies, but he clearly remembered how much he'd enjoyed them.
"There, you're all set," Sara said, stepping back. "Wanna watch a movie?"
"All right," Ian said. "Just let me tend to my wound and my ribs first." He took a roll of tape, a bottle of disinfectant, and some gauze pads out of the first-aid kit.
"Sure. I don't know what kind of selection this guy has, but, hopefully, I'll have a few to choose from by the time you get back," she said, going over to the rack that held an assortment of CDs, DVDs, and videotapes. A compact stereo sat on a shelf above the 27-inch TV. "Oooo, he's got Surround Sound!" Sara discovered. "With any luck, there's a movie with lots of explosions and special effects in this collection!"
When he came out of the bathroom several minutes later, Ian took a seat on the futon. He had unnecessarily bandaged his thigh because he realized she might glimpse it later, but hadn't bothered to re-tape his ribs. As long as he kept his T-shirt on, she would be none the wiser.
"Okay," Sara announced, "we've got a couple of Nic Cage goodies: 'Con Air' and 'The Rock,' both of which are action packed. We also have two Will Smith flicks: 'Independence Day' and 'Men in Black,' which are also high on the action quotient. Oh, and lookee here! The 'Star Wars' trilogy! Thank God this kid has good taste. He also has some other Harrison Ford gems, including 'Raiders of the Lost Ark,' 'The Fugitive,' 'Blade Runner,' and 'Patriot Games.' And if you like Tom Cruise, he's got 'Mission Impossible,' both I and II, 'Jerry Maguire,' 'A Few Good Men,' and 'Top Gun.' What sounds good to you, Nottingham?" she asked him.
"You choose, Sara," Ian said, unwilling to admit that he hadn't seen any of the films.
"Okay, well, I vote for . . ." Her words trailed off as she spied another videotape in the rack and pulled it out. "Wow! I haven't seen this in years. It's one of my favorites, too. 'On the Waterfront,' starring Marlon Brando in his hunky prime. Let's watch that, okay? We can do explosions and special effects later."
"As you wish, my Lady," he murmured deferentially.
Sara popped the tape into the VCR, but stopped it. "I'm just gonna get a coffee refill, a glass of seltzer, and some munchies. Can I get you something to drink?" she asked Ian, heading toward the kitchenette.
"My glass of water is fine, thank you."
Sara had spied some microwavable popcorn in the cupboard above the sink when she was putting away the groceries the other night. She took out a packet and put it in the microwave. Two minutes later, the scent of hot popcorn filled the air. Taking the bag out, she opened it and dumped the contents into a bowl, placing it and the drinks on a tray, which she set on the coffee table.
"Have you seen this movie before, Ian?" she asked him as she took a seat on the futon, curling her legs up under her.
"No," he said, pleased by how close she was sitting to him. "However, I did see Marlon Brando in 'Apocalypse Now' while I was in the Special Forces. Every week, we had movie night, but we were shown mostly older films rather than new releases," Ian told her.
"Oh, yeah? What else did you see?"
"'From Here to Eternity,' 'Bridge on the River Kwai,' 'The Deer Hunter,' 'The Great Escape,' 'The Guns of Navarone,' 'The Green Berets,' among others."
"Hmmm. I'm detecting a theme," Sara murmured. "Well, this flick will definitely be a change of pace." She pressed play on the remote, grabbed the bowl of popcorn, and settled back to enjoy the movie.
Ian quickly became engrossed in the film. He was vaguely aware of Sara observing his reactions from time to time. At first, he politely declined her offer of popcorn, but after a while, whenever she passed the bowl to him he automatically grabbed some and absently munched it. He was fascinated by the movie's dramatic themes of brotherly love, honor, and betrayal. When former prizefighter Terry Malloy broke down the door to Edie Doyle's apartment and grabbed her in a passionate embrace, he glanced at Sara out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. Her color high, she stared raptly at the screen, one hand pressed to her chest, with a little smile on her lips. He wondered what she would do if he leaned over and kissed her at that moment. Her small, bare feet were only inches from his right hand.
When the movie ended, Sara heaved a sigh. "Wasn't that great?"
"I enjoyed it very much. Marlon Brando is an extremely gifted actor," Ian said.
"And easy on the eyes, too," she grinned. She glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchenette. It was 11:15. "Should we watch another one before lunch?"
"If you wish."
"I wish. How about 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'? Oh, better yet, 'Star Wars'! Yeah, that's what I'm in the mood for. Are you okay with that?"
"Yes." While growing up, Ian had read and heard a lot about this groundbreaking science-fiction/fantasy film, and he was looking forward to finally seeing it.
"Gotta have more popcorn and some soda this time, I think. You?"
"Water will be fine for me, Sara." Ian's sharp hearing picked up a sound outside, and rising he looked out the window. He saw that it had stopped snowing, and that Robert and Joseph Siri had begun the arduous task of shoveling a path to the garage.
"What's going on out there?" Sara asked from the kitchen.
"Your brother and nephew have begun shoveling a path to us."
"Ah, I should probably offer to help, but 'Star Wars' awaits!" Sara grinned, plopping down on the futon, popcorn in hand.
Ian was soon transported from the garage apartment to a galaxy far, far away. He became so involved in the movie that he didn't hear the knock at the door an hour later. It wasn't until Sara pressed stop on the remote and jumped up from the futon that he realized they had a visitor.
"Hi, Aunt Sara!" Gina Marie Siri chirped, stomping her booted feet on the newly uncovered mat in front of the door. She carried a cookie tin in her mittened hands.
"Hey, Cutie Pie!" Sara said, giving the girl a big hug. "Come on in!"
"Hi, Ian," Gina Marie said, smiling shyly as she spotted him on the sofa. "I brought cookies for you and Aunt Sara."
"Hello, Gina Marie. That was very thoughtful of you. Chocolate chip cookies are my favorite dessert," Ian told her, rising.
"There's a special one on top that I made just for you," the girl told him, opening the cookie tin before handing it to him.
Holding the tin in his left hand, Ian peeled back the tin foil to reveal a large cookie with a smiley face made out of chocolate chips. He grinned delightedly. "Thank you, my Lady. I will eat him first." The cookies were still warm, and their scent made his stomach growl loudly.
"Speaking of eating, it's lunch time. I'll make us some sandwiches," Sara said. "Did you eat already, Sweetie?"
"Yeah. We had sandwiches, too, and soup and crackers. What movie were you watching?" she asked, unzipping her pink, puffy down jacket.
"Star Wars," Ian told her, setting the cookie tin on the island countertop. "May the Force be with you, Princess," he intoned.
"Maybe the Force be with you, too, young Jedi," Gina Marie said, grinning. "What part are you up to? Have the rebels attacked the Death Star yet? That's my favorite part." She replaced the lid on the cookie tin.
"Not yet. Obi-Wan Kenobi is attempting to shut off the Death Star's force field while Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Chewbacca try to rescue Princess Leia," Ian said, taking a seat on the futon again.
"Oh, goody! Can I stay and watch the rest of it with you guys, Aunt Sara?" the girl asked.
"Sure, Sweetie. Ian do you want ham and Swiss or turkey and Swiss?"
"I will have turkey and Swiss, thank you."
"Lettuce and tomato?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Mustard and mayo?"
"Just mustard, please."
"You got it."
"So, is your arm hurt?" Gina Marie asked Ian, taking off her coat and hanging it over the back of one of the barstools.
"I dislocated my shoulder and broke my collarbone," Ian told her, catching the sharp look Sara threw him, only then remembering that he had never mentioned his fractured clavicle to her.
"I broke my wrist when I was six. I fell off the monkey bars at the playground. I had a pink cast that all of my friends signed," the girl informed him. "Does your shoulder hurt a lot?"
"Not too badly. The pain medication I took helps."
"Mommy also said you're getting over the flu. I had the flu last year. My fever was 103. I'm glad you're getting better."
"I am, too. It is no fun being sick."
"It sure isn't. We're gonna have a snowball fight later this afternoon in the backyard. Aunt Sara said I could share her snow fort with her. We're gonna cream Joey!"
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. Too bad you can't join us. But you can watch from the window. It's a lot of fun unless you get hit in the face. I don't like it when that happens. Make Joey promise not to aim at our faces, okay, Aunt Sara?"
"Okay, baby."
Five minutes later, Sara placed a plate with the sandwiches on it on the coffee table, along with a bowl of potato chips.
"Do you want a glass of Coca-Cola, Gina Marie?" Sara asked her niece, who was looking through the CDs in the rack.
"Yes, thank you." She plopped down on the futon next to Ian. "Princess Leia is very beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yes, she is. She is very brave, too."
"Yeah, she's tough yet girly, like my Aunt Sara."
"Who you callin' girly?" Sara said, pretending to be mad. She set down a glass of soda on the coffee table and then began to tickle her niece mercilessly.
Gina Marie giggled helplessly and tried to squirm away. "I take it back! I take it back!" she cried. "Make her stop, Ian!"
"Cease and desist your sadistic torture at once, Darth Lady!" Ian said sternly. "She will never reveal the location of the rebel base!"
"Oh, all right," Sara said grudgingly. She sat down on the other side of the panting girl and picked up half a sandwich. "Dig in."
"Gladly," Ian murmured, taking up a napkin and a sandwich half.
Sara pressed play, and for the next hour the three of them sat there and watched the rest of the movie in companionable silence, except for the occasional comment or interjection.
More to come. Thanks, as always for your fantastic feedback, which is soooo inspiring! Keep it coming, please!