not have survived the vomit, and the workout capris and T-shirt she brought along. She had packed pajamas, too, one of her nice satin sets she bought during the period of Flourish, but none of those clothes in combination gave her an outfit she could wear outside. Maybe she could use the hotel robe as a coat.
But Joe had already thought of that.
Resting on the low table in front of the couch was a bag. And inside were a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, both with “Utah” written across them. He also bought her a pair of fuzzy socks, the kind with little plastic circles dotting the bottom to keep the socks from slipping on the floor.
Sarah sank onto the couch and examined the loot. Why was he being so nice to her?
She had the chance to ask him when he returned within the hour carrying two sacks of food: a burger and fries for him, hot oatmeal and a banana for her. He also handed her a cup of tea.
“Burke, what is this?” she said. “The clothes, the food, the knight in shining armor . . . ”
“Just doing my duty,” he said.
“What duty?” she asked, almost afraid of his answer.
“Taking care of opposing counsel. I think it’s somewhere in the rules.”
“Right,” Sarah said, but she didn’t press him any further.
She opened the lid on the Starbucks oatmeal and shook out the brown sugar packet on top. She left the nuts and dried fruit alone—she thought they might be too rough on her recovering stomach.
Joe sat on the couch and laid his own feast out on the table. Then he started scrolling through his phone.
“Thanks for the clothes,” Sarah said. She had noticed Joe’s the minute he walked in. He wore jeans—button-down Levi’s—which was unfortunate. Because she always thought he looked particularly great in jeans—the way they hugged his backside just perfectly. For some reason they always made him look especially masculine. Or maybe it was just because he’d been wearing them the night she always thought of as the beginning of everything between them.
Along with his jeans this time he wore a fleece pullover on top, charcoal gray over a white T-shirt. And sturdy sneakers that might have qualified as hiking boots. It was a good look, overall, Sarah thought. It made him look strong and tall and outdoorsy. Like a man who had just come in from chopping wood.
“You really need to start packing for the weather,” Joe told her. “It’s going to get colder the next few months where we’re going, not warmer. You should always have something as backup.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she answered dryly. But she bit back anything more in favor of eating the soothing food he’d brought her.
“Something else,” Joe said, getting up. He went to Sarah’s bag resting on the luggage cart. She realized he must have gone through there to know she hadn’t packed anything warm. But before she could complain about that, Joe reached into her bag and pulled something out.
“What are you doing with this?”
Sarah’s face heated up. And not with fever this time.
“It’s none of your business.”
“Sarah, are you crazy?”
She stared at the hair iron in Joe’s hand. Not only was it an Atheena, it was the exact make and model that had lit all those women’s hair on fire.
“I know you’re not stupid,” Joe said, “so why are you being so stupid?”
“I believe in the product.”
“Cut the crap,” Joe said. “Have you not been listening to every one of my clients? This thing is dangerous, Sarah. I should have thrown it out when I found it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Sarah said, getting out of bed and grabbing it away from him. “I know what you think, but this is the best product I’ve ever had. You wouldn’t understand—you’ve never had to deal with hair like mine.”
He looked at her frizzy mop. “I like it the way it is—right now. Why do you have to do anything to it?”
“Right,” Sarah said, shoving the hair iron back into her bag. “What do you have to do to your hair, Joe? Run a bar of soap over it and you’re done? You wouldn’t understand.”
“You called me Joe.”
“It was an accident.”
“Sarah, please don’t use that thing anymore. You may hate your hair the way it is right now, but it’s a hell of a lot better than burning it all off.”
“That’s not going to happen to me.”
“How do you know?” he asked.
“Because I have a theory. And it’s none of your business.