“I hear voices.”
Huh, I grunt. “Plural.”
“Yes, which would imply multiple people to see you with bed head and pink pajamas with skunks all over them.” She looks around. “Where’s Cooper?”
“I locked him in the bathroom because we forgot his litter box.”
“That could have been bad.”
“I know the last time we locked him in a bathroom he sprayed.” No amount of odor neutralizing spray got that off the walls. I wince, shuffling to the bathroom and knocking once. “Cooper.” I swear I see his little feet under the door and his shadow moving across the worn wooden slats.
“I think he’s mad.”
“I can’t leave him in there and make things worse.” Worrying my lip, I reach for the doorknob. I really don’t want to make this entire bed-and-breakfast smell. “I’m opening the door.”
“You should really get his scent glands removed,” Lark whispers.
“That removes his entire purpose,” I hiss. “Shh, or he will hear you.”
With a roll of her eyes, she steps back and to the corner of the bedroom while I swing open the door.
Cooper stands there with his squinty, beady eyes. With a defiant chirp, his tail feathers out.
“I’ll bring you eggs.” Undeterred by my offer, he vibrates his tail. “Fine, I’ll hunt down a grasshopper.” In the freaking fall, though, it’s more like winter this far north. For a solid minute, I think he’s going to spray me, but then he struts over to a pillow I threw off the bed mid sleep and curls up to fall fast asleep.
“That was close,” Lark wheezes out. “Where are you going to?—”
“Don’t say it.” I shake my head, hoping that maybe this little town has a pet store somewhere—it wouldn’t make any sense not to—or at least a general store. All I can hope for at the present moment is caffeine to go with that bacon. “Dress. Mama needs sustenance.”
“The preteen needs sustenance,” Lark retorts, marching out of my room and into her own.
I shut the door in her wake, locking myself in with the grumpy skunk. I glare at my suitcase resting on the floor.Clothing slips out in haphazard piles I’m going to have to dig through in order to find exactly what I want.
When my brother invited us to live with him in Maine, I hadn’t anticipated the weather. Sure, I went shopping for heavier leggings and some sweaters, but it wasn’t like he gave me a shopping list. That’s something I’m going to have to remedy as soon as possible.
What are the odds that there is a clothing store downtown with something a little warmer?
I toe through one of my piles, finding a set of clean unmentionables, jeans, and what looks like a sweater.
I dress and find a fresh pair of socks, or as fresh as I’m going to get, considering my moving pod is on its way to Maine with all the rest of our important necessities. Here’s to hoping Arlo can get my car fixed sooner rather than later.
Knowing there is no help for my curls since I went to bed with wet hair, I pull my locks back into a messy bun and rush out the door. Lark’s door is open, and her laughter trails up from the kitchen downstairs.
Following the sound of her musical laughter, I enter a kitchen that throws me back a hundred years but leaves me confused. It’s like she purposely upgraded it to the past. Along the far wall, windows allow the fresh morning light to filter inside with the spectral view of the cemetery beyond.
In front is a booth, where my smiling girl sits, sipping something steamy with an enormous plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. Her little legs swing as she chows down.
To the left rests a normal kitchen, or what I would consider a normal kitchen, with quartz countertops and a farmhouse sink. The right throws me off, with a fireplace and a stove set inside it.
Saffron hums to herself as she works over a lit flame, cooking eggs in a cheesy goodness that makes my mouth water. The small butcher’s block island is filled to the brim with all kinds ofbreakfast goodies that make me salivate, and my hands itch to snatch a plate.
“Wash your hands.” Saffron doesn’t even look up as she expertly flips an omelet, wearing another dress that belongs in a different century. I can’t tell if it’s her aesthetic, or if she’s just playing a part here in this bed-and-breakfast I have yet to learn the name of.
Feeling sheepish, I head over to the sink and wash my hands, but it’s okay, because I find the coffee carafe steaming with a fresh pot and an empty mug screaming my name.
Filling the mug with a little skunk on it, I sip the bitter black liquid, and a sigh escapes my lips as I swallow.Perfect.
Saffron turns with a pleased smile on her face as she hands me a plate with a cheese omelet, bacon, and toast. There’s enough food here for a grown man, but I take the plate with a pleasant smile and a thank-you on my lips. Gram raised me with southern hospitality, and you say thank you when you’re handed something.
