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Except that the man on my door is not Mr Hubbard at all

"Sorry" John O’Neill eyes my oversized men’s bathrobe and spiky wet hair "Bad tiot the sour smell of arumpled civilian clothes

"How did you find me?" I ask

"You have my phone It has a GPS function"

"Did you plan that?" I ask angrily "Lend me your jacket just so you could track it across the world?"

"No I didn’t plan it But it was lucky for me that you turned it on while you were here," he says "You cut your hair It looks good"

Surely he’s kidding Very few men like short hair on a woman They think we’re lesbians or man-haters But he seems sincere

"Can I coels With nutella I don’t like nutella, but I thoughtfor me, but let’s be frank My doorstep hasn’t seen this fine a man since the bathroom flooded and the landlord sent Thomas the plumber Shabby clothes but a chiseled jaw and lovely biceps, that Thomas

"It’s a mess inside," I warn him

"I live in a barracks with a dozen unwashed men When they throw their underwear aside, sorimaces, too, and says, "Sorry, I’ve been awake for twenty hours"

"Just to co"

Once inside, seated at my breakfast table, he tells the whole tale He’d barely been settled back with his unit in Iraq before the Red Cross delivered another e His er He’s the only child, no close relatives to speak of, and she needs hi" for his father

"I know it’s an i woman’s wish and I’d be in your debt"

It’s hard to look him in the eye "I’m sorry about your mother, but I’m not allowed I’ that requires a special person But I can find you one"

"I don’t need anyone else," he says "You’re qualified enough You sang for hioes I won’t have anyone left"

"I’m not licensed, Mr O’Neill I don’t have permission I didn’t pass the exam I didn’t even take it"

He looks puzzled "Why not?"

Sos are better shown than told "Co"

On therooarb Her black gown flows like liquid off her shoulders Her hair blows backward in the wind A vintage photo of randown is steel gray, and she wears a frilly shawl

"To be a banshee you have to look the part," I tell hile dress"

John scratches his head "They don’t pay you enough at the airline?"

"It’s not abouthim into my bedroom "There That’s my closet That’s what I like and that’s what I wear"

For a long moment he stares at the pleated trousers and pants, the pinstripe shirts and wool sports coats, the half-zip sweaters and sweater vests Boxes ofneatly on a rack

"You wear your boyfriend’s clothes?" he asks

I cross my arms over my chest "They’re mine Next, ask me if I’m a lesbian Because that’s what they call women who don’t like to wear frills and lace and dresses barely to the thigh, right?"