Free Nightingale by Jennifer Estep Page B

the sides of the powdery mass. Winner, Wynter.  
    “Well, folks, as you can see, the superheroes are having just as much fun as the city’s kids,” Kelly Caleb said. “Speaking of kids, schools have already been closed for tomorrow, Monday, and could remain closed the rest of the week …”
    She started listing the cancellations, and I clicked off the TV.
    “I’m glad you came along when you did,” Talon said. “Or I’d be another icicle out there.”
    I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “It was nothing, really.”
    “It was something to me, Wren.” His voice was low and sexy. “It was really something.”
    The intense tone in Talon’s voice rattled me, especially because he stared at the wall where he thought I was instead of looking at me.  
    “How about some breakfast?” I asked, changing the subject. “I know you must be hungry, and you really should keep your strength up.”
    “Breakfast would be great.”  
    I’m not really a domestic type. Cooking isn’t my forte, and I’d much rather eat out than make something for myself. In fact, one of my favorite guilty pleasures was getting barbecue and all the fixings shipped in from this restaurant called the Pork Pit down in Ashland. But I had enough food on hand to whip up some ham-and-cheese omelets, crispy bacon, blueberry pancakes, and apple juice.
    While I cooked, Talon stumbled into the bathroom. Then, I helped him over to the kitchen table, put a plate of food in front of him, and slid some silverware into his hands.  
    Talon fumbled around with his fork, the metal utensil screech-screech-screeching against the stoneware plate every time he stabbed it instead of his omelet. After the fifth time, I took the plate away from him and cut up his food before handing it back. I just couldn’t stand the noise.
    “The pancakes are at three o’clock, the omelet’s at six, and the bacon’s at nine.”  
    I wrapped my fingers around his hand and guided it to where the food was. More tingles shot through me at the feel of his skin on mine. I hesitated, enjoying the sensation, then pulled away. These lust-at-first-sightfeelings were getting out of hand.
    “Thanks,” Talon said. “I’m usually not this clumsy.”
    “You’re usually not blind either.”
    “My eyes are a little better today,” he said. “Everything is gray now instead of totally black, and I can sort of make out blurry shapes. I should be able to see well enough to get out of here by tomorrow. I think that’s long enough to impose on you.”
    Talon started eating his breakfast, but I put my fork down, troubled. Things would be different when his sight returned. I wouldn’t be able to hide behind the name Wren. Talon would know exactly who I was, while keeping his own anonymity intact. All the awkwardness and weirdness would return, and I’d be right back to wondering which rich playboy thought I was a superhero-stripping freak.
    What exactly would Talon think when he could see clearly again?
    When he could see the real me?

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    After breakfast, Talon took a painkiller and went back to sleep. Because I couldn’t go to the office and leave the superhero alone, I used the opportunity to unpack my things, namely the few CDs that had gotten mixed up in the wrong boxes. Because Talon was asleep, I put a CD into the entertainment center and turned the volume down low, not wanting to disturb him.
    As I moved around unpacking, I sang along. Most people sing only in the shower, but I do it whenever and wherever I can. It really helps me relax. My main guilty pleasure in life is doing a couple of numbers a few times a week at The Blues,the karaoke bar where I’d had my unfortunate run-in with that overcharged amp. As a way to keep me from suing her, Melody Masters, the owner, promised me free admission and drinks for life.  
    Cyndi Lauper launched into her classic rendition of “Time After Time,” and I sang along, trying to make my voice, my tone, my