Heseemed natural in the kitchen. Working smoothly, neatly. The only soundbeing the jingle of his bangles or anklets."So, what does your husband do," I...asked.There was a sharp intake of breath. "I, er, I don't have a husband. I'mstraight." So, you're just a sissy?"He ignored me. "Would you like sugar in your tea?"I moved closer to him. He involuntarily took a step back. I held hischin and brought his face up for eye contact. "Answer the questionsissy," I said sternly.His lips were quivering with. “Now, as much as I’d like to be offering charity to every wandering girl who calls herself a warrior…” That stings, man. “I’m afraid you make some money or sleep in the streets.” I bite my lip and look up at him. He’s pretty handsome, I suppose. An older gentleman, black hair beginning to sink into gray, but still looking well-kept and combed. Under a really girly, mint-green apron is a worn pair of black dress pants and a long, white button-up shirt. But the thing that really pushes me is his. More

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