Shiver

insincere-feeling smile, manufactured entirely for Tyler’s benefit, which she directed at Marco.
    He did not smile back. Instead he stayed where he was, studying her just a little too intently. She had almost no doubt that he was recalling those kisses, too, probably way more graphically than she was, and the knowledge rattled her.
    “Come on, Trey.” Tyler pulled out one of the four wooden chairs that were arranged two by two on the long sides of the rectangular, farmhouse-style table, plopped himself down in the chair next to it, and patted the seat of the one he had pulled out invitingly. “It’s getting cold.”
    With a wry inner grimace, Sam recognized the words she regularly used on Tyler to get him to leave whatever game hadhim enthralled and come to the table. Marco’s gaze flicked from Tyler to the dishes Sam was holding. Until that moment she hadn’t realized that she had been frozen in place with a steaming plate of food in each hand. Reluctantly acknowledging that there was no way out of feeding Marco breakfast that wouldn’t involve upsetting Tyler, or making plain to Marco just how unsettling she now found having him around, she moved toward the table and set the pancakes and bacon down on it. Then she forked a couple of pancakes onto Tyler’s plate, and added several strips of bacon. Tyler reached for the syrup with enthusiasm.
    “Fix Trey’s plate,” Tyler said. It wasn’t such an unusual request. If Kendra or another friend stopped by when she was cooking, Sam automatically put food on a plate for them at the same time as she served herself and Tyler. But fixing Marco a plate felt different.
    Lips firming just a little, Sam put two pancakes and some bacon on the plate she had set out for herself, and slid the plate to the spot beside Tyler.
    “The food’s getting cold,” she said over her shoulder to Marco as she turned toward the refrigerator to get out the carton of milk so she could fill Tyler’s glass. Unlike the clothing that had come with the town house, the food she’d found in the refrigerator and pantry when she had checked was varied and for the most part actually stuff that Tyler would eat. He loved pancakes, for example, and since he’d been cheated out of his Saturday morning ritual, when she’d gotten up that morning and found that the supplies included pancake mix and bacon she had decided to fix his favorites. The familiar ritual ofmaking breakfast had brought thoughts of Kendra and poor Mrs. Menifee and home and everything that had been left behind rushing into her head, but she had deliberately forced them out again. Worrying about what she could do nothing to change didn’t help anyone. It certainly didn’t make the present situation easier.
    “It looks great.” Marco was easing himself down into the chair beside Tyler when she returned with the carton of milk. His crutches were propped against the wall within easy reach. He cast a quick, assessing glance up at her as she filled Tyler’s glass, and she noticed a kind of shadow at the backs of his eyes that made her wonder if he were in pain. Having slid her glass over in front of him when she’d repositioned her plate, she automatically proceeded to fill the glass that was now his with milk, too.
    “Thank you,” he said politely. Something in his expression as he flicked another look up at her immediately brought on a vision of him telling her, I’m a little older than four, you know. A lightning memory of everything that had taken place between them after that exchange rolled through her mind like the most unwanted highlight reel ever, and was just as quickly pushed away.
    You are not going to fall for this guy.
    “You’re welcome.” Her tone was maybe a little less than friendly. She set the milk carton down on the table with a definite plop. “Eat.”
    “I’m stealing your breakfast, aren’t I?” The look he gave her was impossible to read.
    “No.” She nodded at the plates in the center of the table. There were still several pancakes and a few strips of bacon remaining. She’d made extra, just in case Tyler was super hungry, or she had wanted more than her usual one pancake, or—well, just because she could. Usually she had to be careful about the amount she cooked to stretch out the number of meals she could get out of the ingredients. Since Tyler’s birth, being thrifty had become like her religion. It had been nice to make a little more than they maybe needed. “Like I said,