There’s even a seat, where I can sit and watch thesteam build as I wake up or shave my legs. I love it every morning, and today is no exception.
Each showerhead has its own spray control. I put both on pulse, which delivers a wonderful light pounding spray. I stand and rock a little as the water pummels me, a somewhat goofy smile on my face.
If we do move to Virginia, installation of the same shower will have to be part of the deal.
My head is beginning to clear. Generally speaking, it takes me about thirty minutes to really arrive in the present. The shower gets the ball rolling and coffee seals the deal.
I wash my hair, turning one of the heads to spray, which delivers hard, almost sharp jets of water onto my scalp. The temperature is as hot as I can take it. Cold showers are for the insane.
I finish with some reluctance and proceed to get myself dressed. Black slacks, white shirt. I pad back to the bathroom and perform my bare nod to makeup. I’ve never been much of a makeup gal, less so now than before I was scarred. I pull my hair into a ponytail and secure it. Back to the room. Black jacket, flat pumps. Shoulder holster. Open the gun safe (need to remember to change the combo tonight, I think), grab my Glock, work the slide, then jam the magazine home. I triple-check the safety. I’ve been paranoid about this ever since I heard about an agent blowing two of his toes off. I pull the charger out of my cell phone and the phone gets clipped to my belt. My ID goes inside the inner pocket of the jacket. One final check in the bathroom mirror, and I decide I’m fit to face the world.
I grab my purse and head down the stairs. The breakfast smells are getting stronger, and my stomach rumbles in reply. The scent of coffee makes my nose twitch in anticipation.
Bonnie’s heard me coming. She meets me at the bottom of the stairs with a fresh cup, something she hasn’t done in a while. Guilt, I decide, has its upside.
“Thanks, honey.”
“You’re welcome.” She looks a bit worn but stable. I have the idea she’s feeling a similar exhaustion to mine—wrung out in the right way.
I sip the coffee and crinkle my eyes in an approving smile. “Yum.” It earns another smile, and she goes to the kitchen and grabs three plates and glasses and utensils to set the kitchen table.
Tommy is working at the stove. He’s wearing a red-checkered apron, a look and design that remind me of Betty Crocker cookbooks. I first saw him wear it in his own apartment. It was all he was wearing, and we barely made it through breakfast before I attacked him.
I walk over, stand next to him, and place a hand in the small of his back, that comfortable spot. He moves some bacon over onto a paper towel to drain the grease. It sizzles deliciously. “How do you want your eggs?” he asks. “Fried or scrambled?”
“Fried today, I think.”
“We aim to please.” He nods toward the refrigerator. “Bonnie fresh-squeezed some orange juice this morning.”
“My favorite. Wow.”
He gives the slightest shrug. “She’s pretty helpful right now.”
“Did you guys talk about last night at all?” I murmur, low enough that Bonnie can’t hear me.
“Nope. I doubt we will either. But I think everything is okay, for now.”
I lean against the counter and sip my coffee and watch as she sets the table. She catches me watching and gives me yet another tentative smile.
“Yes,” I say to Tommy. “I think you’re right.”
“For now,” of course, remains operative, but that’s life.
“All ready,” he announces, using the spatula to scoop everyone’s eggs onto a serving plate. “Can you get the bacon?”
I transfer the now less-greasy bacon from paper towel to actual plate and carry it over to the dining table. Bonnie grabs the pitcher of OJ from the freezer. Tommy adds a plate of toast, checks everything over, and nods once, satisfied. “Let’s eat,” he says.
The room is filled with the sounds of people too busy eating to
Each showerhead has its own spray control. I put both on pulse, which delivers a wonderful light pounding spray. I stand and rock a little as the water pummels me, a somewhat goofy smile on my face.
If we do move to Virginia, installation of the same shower will have to be part of the deal.
My head is beginning to clear. Generally speaking, it takes me about thirty minutes to really arrive in the present. The shower gets the ball rolling and coffee seals the deal.
I wash my hair, turning one of the heads to spray, which delivers hard, almost sharp jets of water onto my scalp. The temperature is as hot as I can take it. Cold showers are for the insane.
I finish with some reluctance and proceed to get myself dressed. Black slacks, white shirt. I pad back to the bathroom and perform my bare nod to makeup. I’ve never been much of a makeup gal, less so now than before I was scarred. I pull my hair into a ponytail and secure it. Back to the room. Black jacket, flat pumps. Shoulder holster. Open the gun safe (need to remember to change the combo tonight, I think), grab my Glock, work the slide, then jam the magazine home. I triple-check the safety. I’ve been paranoid about this ever since I heard about an agent blowing two of his toes off. I pull the charger out of my cell phone and the phone gets clipped to my belt. My ID goes inside the inner pocket of the jacket. One final check in the bathroom mirror, and I decide I’m fit to face the world.
I grab my purse and head down the stairs. The breakfast smells are getting stronger, and my stomach rumbles in reply. The scent of coffee makes my nose twitch in anticipation.
Bonnie’s heard me coming. She meets me at the bottom of the stairs with a fresh cup, something she hasn’t done in a while. Guilt, I decide, has its upside.
“Thanks, honey.”
“You’re welcome.” She looks a bit worn but stable. I have the idea she’s feeling a similar exhaustion to mine—wrung out in the right way.
I sip the coffee and crinkle my eyes in an approving smile. “Yum.” It earns another smile, and she goes to the kitchen and grabs three plates and glasses and utensils to set the kitchen table.
Tommy is working at the stove. He’s wearing a red-checkered apron, a look and design that remind me of Betty Crocker cookbooks. I first saw him wear it in his own apartment. It was all he was wearing, and we barely made it through breakfast before I attacked him.
I walk over, stand next to him, and place a hand in the small of his back, that comfortable spot. He moves some bacon over onto a paper towel to drain the grease. It sizzles deliciously. “How do you want your eggs?” he asks. “Fried or scrambled?”
“Fried today, I think.”
“We aim to please.” He nods toward the refrigerator. “Bonnie fresh-squeezed some orange juice this morning.”
“My favorite. Wow.”
He gives the slightest shrug. “She’s pretty helpful right now.”
“Did you guys talk about last night at all?” I murmur, low enough that Bonnie can’t hear me.
“Nope. I doubt we will either. But I think everything is okay, for now.”
I lean against the counter and sip my coffee and watch as she sets the table. She catches me watching and gives me yet another tentative smile.
“Yes,” I say to Tommy. “I think you’re right.”
“For now,” of course, remains operative, but that’s life.
“All ready,” he announces, using the spatula to scoop everyone’s eggs onto a serving plate. “Can you get the bacon?”
I transfer the now less-greasy bacon from paper towel to actual plate and carry it over to the dining table. Bonnie grabs the pitcher of OJ from the freezer. Tommy adds a plate of toast, checks everything over, and nods once, satisfied. “Let’s eat,” he says.
The room is filled with the sounds of people too busy eating to
Similar Books
