body out of bed and slipped on her
favorite blue terrycloth robe. “It’s probably Tammy.... lost her key again.”
The moment she stood, it
hit her: the dizziness and a throbbing pain across her forehead. She swallowed
and felt as though she had just taken a gulp of prickly pear cactus juice—with
the prickles.
The loud pounding on the
door seemed to shoot into her ears and through her body, causing her aches to
ache and her hurts to hurt. She was sore in places she hadn’t known she had.
“Oh, great, a cold,” she
grumbled in a voice that was half an octave lower than usual. “Just what I
need.”
On the way to the door, she
grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table and blew into them.
She was still blowing when she opened the door and found Dirk on her front
porch.
“Oh, now that’s appealing,”
he said as he brushed by her and walked into the living room. “What’s the
matter, you sick or something?”
“Yeah, I think I’ve got a
cold, and I should give it to you, waking me up like that. Why are you here so
early?” She reconsidered. “Why are you here at all?”
She followed him as he
continued on into the kitchen. “I came over for breakfast,” he said. “Remember,
the other morning? We were gonna have breakfast together and then you made me
go to the bank and—”
“Boy, you’ve got some
nerve,” she said, sinking onto a chair at the kitchen table. She propped her
elbows on the table and her face in her hands. “I feel like death warmed over,
and you come here expecting me to cook for you. Why I oughta— ach-oo! ”
“Bless you.”
“Eh, bite me. What have you
got there?”
She noticed for the first
time that he was carrying something with him—something pink—and now he was
setting it on the kitchen counter.
A rustling of paper... and
the smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the room, penetrating even her
stuffed-up nasal passages.
“You brought me Pastry
Palace cinnamon rolls?” Suddenly the world seemed bright; perhaps life was
worth living, after all. “And coffee? Oh, Dirk, you’re the best.” From the
depths of the hot pink paper bag he pulled two giant Styrofoam cups. With great
aplomb he set one of them in front of her and pulled off the plastic lid. “With
extra cream, not milk, and two sugars, just the way you like it.”
She took a sip, and the hot
sweetness soothed her angry throat. “Dirk, darlin’, I adore you.”
He grinned. “And here we
have.... an extra goopy, super cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting.” He
opened a small cardboard box and waved the pastry under her nose. “For this,
you should volunteer to be my sex slave. After you get over that cold, that is.
I don’t want you givin’ me cooties.”
“I ain’t giving you
nothing, boy, with or without cooties. But, oh, this is so-o-o-o good! It warms
the cockles of my little heart.”
He grunted as he plopped
down onto the seat next to hers and unwrapped his own breakfast. “I hate to
think how long it’s been since I had my... ah... cockles... warmed.”
“Do you mind? Person eating
here.”
They munched and sipped in
blissful silence for several minutes. Savannah could feel the infusion of sugar
and caffeine jump-starting her groggy system. And along with enhanced
consciousness came suspicion.
“Why did you really come
over here,” she said, “bearing coffee and goodies? I mean, not that you aren’t
the soul of generosity, but—”
He gave her a wounded look,
then bit off a mouthful of roll. “You’re sure a cynical old broad, you know
that?”
“Cynical middle-aged broad.
Let’s just say that I know you. And if you’d just intended to be sweet, you
would have dropped by Joe’s Donuts, gotten a free dozen, and come over with
that. But this—” She waved a hand at the bounty. “You actually opened your
wallet and shelled out cold, hard cash for this spread. You want something. No
doubt about it.”
His lower lip protruded
like that of a petulant
favorite blue terrycloth robe. “It’s probably Tammy.... lost her key again.”
The moment she stood, it
hit her: the dizziness and a throbbing pain across her forehead. She swallowed
and felt as though she had just taken a gulp of prickly pear cactus juice—with
the prickles.
The loud pounding on the
door seemed to shoot into her ears and through her body, causing her aches to
ache and her hurts to hurt. She was sore in places she hadn’t known she had.
“Oh, great, a cold,” she
grumbled in a voice that was half an octave lower than usual. “Just what I
need.”
On the way to the door, she
grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table and blew into them.
She was still blowing when she opened the door and found Dirk on her front
porch.
“Oh, now that’s appealing,”
he said as he brushed by her and walked into the living room. “What’s the
matter, you sick or something?”
“Yeah, I think I’ve got a
cold, and I should give it to you, waking me up like that. Why are you here so
early?” She reconsidered. “Why are you here at all?”
She followed him as he
continued on into the kitchen. “I came over for breakfast,” he said. “Remember,
the other morning? We were gonna have breakfast together and then you made me
go to the bank and—”
“Boy, you’ve got some
nerve,” she said, sinking onto a chair at the kitchen table. She propped her
elbows on the table and her face in her hands. “I feel like death warmed over,
and you come here expecting me to cook for you. Why I oughta— ach-oo! ”
“Bless you.”
“Eh, bite me. What have you
got there?”
She noticed for the first
time that he was carrying something with him—something pink—and now he was
setting it on the kitchen counter.
A rustling of paper... and
the smell of cinnamon and coffee filled the room, penetrating even her
stuffed-up nasal passages.
“You brought me Pastry
Palace cinnamon rolls?” Suddenly the world seemed bright; perhaps life was
worth living, after all. “And coffee? Oh, Dirk, you’re the best.” From the
depths of the hot pink paper bag he pulled two giant Styrofoam cups. With great
aplomb he set one of them in front of her and pulled off the plastic lid. “With
extra cream, not milk, and two sugars, just the way you like it.”
She took a sip, and the hot
sweetness soothed her angry throat. “Dirk, darlin’, I adore you.”
He grinned. “And here we
have.... an extra goopy, super cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting.” He
opened a small cardboard box and waved the pastry under her nose. “For this,
you should volunteer to be my sex slave. After you get over that cold, that is.
I don’t want you givin’ me cooties.”
“I ain’t giving you
nothing, boy, with or without cooties. But, oh, this is so-o-o-o good! It warms
the cockles of my little heart.”
He grunted as he plopped
down onto the seat next to hers and unwrapped his own breakfast. “I hate to
think how long it’s been since I had my... ah... cockles... warmed.”
“Do you mind? Person eating
here.”
They munched and sipped in
blissful silence for several minutes. Savannah could feel the infusion of sugar
and caffeine jump-starting her groggy system. And along with enhanced
consciousness came suspicion.
“Why did you really come
over here,” she said, “bearing coffee and goodies? I mean, not that you aren’t
the soul of generosity, but—”
He gave her a wounded look,
then bit off a mouthful of roll. “You’re sure a cynical old broad, you know
that?”
“Cynical middle-aged broad.
Let’s just say that I know you. And if you’d just intended to be sweet, you
would have dropped by Joe’s Donuts, gotten a free dozen, and come over with
that. But this—” She waved a hand at the bounty. “You actually opened your
wallet and shelled out cold, hard cash for this spread. You want something. No
doubt about it.”
His lower lip protruded
like that of a petulant
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