“It allows me to make calls, to talk to people anywhere, at any time. The phone plays music and movies, it does all kinds of things. A phone really has become indispensable in this day and age.”
With a nod, he eyed the phone, then bent to pick up the largest pieces of the broken mug.
“Forgive me, lass. I dinna know why I acted like a scared lad.”
Dressed in a pair of pale pink shorts and a tee that she’d slept in, Daisy grabbed a towel from a basket on the floor and mopped up the coffee.
Callan knelt to help her, carefully picking up the rest of the pieces.
“I am verra sorry about the mess, lass.”
Daisy waved off his apology. “Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen.”
She tossed the towel in the sink and turned on the faucet to rinse it out.
“I never cared for that mug, anyway.”
The volley of questions about music, phones, and how electricity and water worked made her mumble under her breath, “It’s too early in the morning for so many questions.”
With a fresh towel on the counter, Daisy made a note to do laundry. It wasn’t like she had an excuse. After all, she had the luxury of a stackable washer and dryer in a tiny closet in the hallway. No, it was just always an afterthought to do laundry, meaning that she usually only got around to it when she was down to her last bra. Not that she really needed to wear one, being a member of the small boob society and all, but running out of them was the sign to run a load of laundry.
Turning off the water, she moved to the fridge and pulled out a half full carton of eggs. “How about some breakfast? Do you like eggs?”
At Callan’s nod, she grabbed a pan and set it on the stove, along with a generous tablespoon of butter. Callan watched, fascinated, as she cracked the eggs into the pan.
“There’s no fire,” he murmured, leaning in to inspect the stove.
“I don’t know how the stove works, only that it does, and that’s good enough for me,” she said, forestalling any more questions.
There wasn’t any bacon, but there was bread, so she popped two slices in the toaster oven, then set the table while Callan stared at the eggs and toast cooking, mumbling to himself.
By the time they’d finished breakfast and had another cup of coffee, Daisy was ready to face the day. She let Callan shower first, promising to find him something more suitable to wear.
Daisy rummaged through her closet, eyes landing on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tee shirt, remnants from a pro hockey player she’d dated for a while. For being accused of being smothering, the guys she dated typically left behind clothes or other stuff. Usually she shoved it in the closet and forgot about it until about once a year she undertook a major deep cleaning and donated everything left behind.
“Callan?” she called out. “I’m putting a stack of clothes for you to wear outside the door. These should work until we go shopping today.”
The tiny studio apartment looked more cluttered than ever, between the clothes on the floor, dishes in the sink, and Callan taking up so much space. While he was in the shower, she decided to see how much she could accomplish in the next fifteen minutes or so.
Had she done the right thing by giving him a razor? The way he’d looked at the pink blade made her pause, but he said he liked to be clean-shaven and the guy had a serious case of five o’clock shadow.
By the time he finished, she’d washed Frankie’s bowls, finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher, wiped down the counters, and started a load of laundry. The clean clothes piled on her now made bed, she’d gathered up all the ghosts of boyfriends past and tossed them into two large trash bags to drop off at a donation place on the way to the store. There wasn’t anything else that would fit him, so they’d have to go shopping today. Then maybe he’d tell her what was really going on. Daisy only hoped he wasn’t an escaped convict or something far worse.
Callan watched her move a load of clothes from the washer to the dryer and before he could ask, she explained as best she could how the appliances worked.
“Ye live in a marvelous time.” He ran his hands up and down the tee and sweats, missing her frown.
What did he mean? It was almost like … no, she shook her head, not going there.
“The cloth is so fine and soft.”
“It’s cotton.”
She turned on the dryer, put another load in the washer, and turned.
“Ow.” She rubbed her nose. He was standing so close she’d slammed into him. It was like running into a wall.
He caught her and set her on her feet. “Apologies, lass.”
