CHAPTER 27
I’D HOPED BRIDGET wouldn’t work on the weekends, but no such luck. When I cracked open my door on Saturday morning, she was dusting the picture frames in the hallway right outside.
“Breakfast?” she asked.
I almost said “no” and dived back under the comforter, but I didn’t want to stoop to her level of rudeness.
“That would be lovely.”
She’d already put bread in the toaster by the time I got into the kitchen, and I didn’t dare tell her I’d rather have cereal. I hopped onto a stool at the counter as she slid a mug of filter coffee over to me.
“Thank you.”
I took a sip, hoping she’d go away, but she kept hovering. Why? What was wrong? She made me nervous.
After a few seconds, she cleared her throat. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”
Well, that was a surprise.
