“I feel so much better,” she said.
He jumped as if he hadn’t heard her. His back had been to the stairs and she only had socks on her feet. She worried that the wood floors might be cold, but she should have realized they were heated.
Every luxury imaginable was at her fingertips.
“Good,” he said.
His eyes roamed over her in black leggings, the cotton shirt she had on that rested on her hips. There was no hiding her body or the insulin pump on her thigh.
She tried not to be embarrassed about it.
At least not with someone who knew what it was all about.
It wasn’t just an extension of her body; it was an extension of her life.
“I’ll check the beef. It’s got to be thawed enough to cook.”
“Do you want some help?” he asked.
“I’ve got it. I’ll let you know if I can’t find anything.” She walked to the kitchen but could still see him and could talk. Even if she had to raise her voice some. “I’m glad there was everything I needed in that bathroom. I packed little, but enough if I had to stay somewhere for a night. You just don’t know when you’re traveling.”
“Nope,” he said. “That room you’re in is my mother’s. But West makes sure all the bathrooms and rooms are stocked. I was coming back here for a few days after the holidays. I can work here just as easily, but my staff knew I was out anyway. Cleaners will come when I’m gone.”
“Since you brought it up, what do you do for a living?”
“You didn’t look me up?” he asked.
She turned and saw the smirk on his face.
“No. That’s rude.”
His lips pursed and she bit back the laugh. She’d bet anything he was used to women throwing themselves at him left and right for his looks alone. Then, once they discovered his identity, the attention would intensify.
That wasn’t her.
“Then I guess there are a lot of rude people in this world.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she said. She pulled the beef out of the water and opened it. It was thawed enough to break apart into chunks and start cooking. Meat sauce over pasta was a good enough meal. “Try dealing with people in the ER on a Friday and Saturday night.”
“That’s where you work?” he asked. “The ER?”
“That was my last assignment. I’m normally in a hospital, as that is where it’s needed the most. The ER is not my preference but makes the time go by faster.”
“It has to be hard to manage your diabetes if you’re running like that.”
“Yes and no,” she said. She turned and he was in the kitchen now. She hadn’t heard him move either, but he was pulling out a stool and sitting at the island. “I’ve got my pump set at different cycles for when I’m working to deliver less insulin to counter my activity levels. It’s a closed loop thing. Like an artificial pancreas. So if I’m raising or lowering, it can adjust the insulin delivery, but it’s not fast enough to catch a rapidly dropping low.”
“Seems like you’ve got everything under control.”
“I do now,” she said. “I didn’t for years.”
She turned the gas stovetop on and dropped the beef in the pan, then found the spice cabinet and added a few things.
She’d never used a pot filler before, but got the water going for the pasta while the meat cooked.
“It had to be hard,” he said. “Feeling as if you were different.”
“Yeah,” she said, turning to the meat and breaking it up with a wooden spoon. “Unless you experience being different, you just don’t know.”
