He sat down on the couch, tucked one leg under himself, let fingers brush over strings.
The cat arrived out of thin air, leapt up beside him, and became a large grey puddle of laziness. “Hey,” Kris said to him. Ariel purred, flopped onto his back, and dozed off.
He might be alone—other than well-fed feline approval—in the room, but he couldn’t be lonely; greenery wiggled leaves at him, and Justin would be coming back, and he knew if he poked his head into the office Bill would plunge readily into conversation and history, and if he ventured outside James would ask him whether Justin had been eating enough and then offer to let him drive the robot.
He’d begun unconsciously playing the first few notes of “Winter King William.” His mother’d always liked that carol.
No one came in to tell
