“What time is it?”
“Late, almost ten o’clock.”
“You're a morning person, aren't you?” She accuses.
“Guilty.”
“Gross,” she whines.
I chuckle. “Too many years in the military, doll.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Wouldn't recommend it.” I kiss her temple and down her neck, earning me a small giggle. She cracks one eye open, the sun catching the strands of honey and auburn, making them look like some earthy gemstone. “There she is.”
She grumbles, sitting up, hair wild.
“How do you feel?” I ask, running a finger down the tumble of peonies over her shoulder.
“Great.” She pauses, considering. “Sore, but good sore.”
“Good.” I pull her toward me, unable to go another moment without kissing her.
“Coffee?” She asks the moment we stop.
I laugh. “Doll, you may have a real problem.”
“There’s only a problem if you lied about making me coffee.”
“I would never.” I hold my hand out to her, tugging her from the bed to lead her to the rack of robes tucked behind a paper screen.
“Take your pick.” I grab a dark green silk number, slipping it on while I watch her run her hands over the myriad of fabrics and prints.
“I thought you didn't drink coffee,” she says, pulling the robe I'd laid out for her the first time she was here off its hanger.
“I don't.” We make our way downstairs. “But I'm not a heathen. I always have it.” Which isn't entirely a lie. I try to keep some on hand, but when it was clear she'd possibly be here again, I did go and buy some from Jac. Just in case.
“This is possibly the coolest kitchen I've ever seen.” She says as we step into the bottom floor of the house.
“It was built in 1865. Somehow it never got gutted by past owners.” I explain as I get the kettle going for both of us and assemble her pour-over.
“When did your . . . uncle?”
“Yup.” I nod, leaning against the counter.
“Buy this place?”
“In 1980. The neighborhood was still pretty rough. He got it for practically nothing compared to what it's worth now.”
A mischievous smirk teases that dimple out as I hand her two mugs. “But he did not buy it with mob money, right?” She teases, clearly referring back to my quip about not everyone in Boston being in the mob.
I bring the kettle and pour over to the table. “I didn't say that.”
“So he did.”
“Didn't say that either.” I pour water over the grounds, briefly remembering with a pang doing this for Kevin every damn morning.
“Don't be a tease.” She bats at my arm. I raise a brow, leaning back in my chair to give her a look.
