Chapter 22
Focus, Annie, Focus.
I pulled my attention back to the simmering pot, stirring to make sure it didn’t stick to the bottom and burn. Again. I’d attempted to salvage as much as I could from last night’s dinner but the pumpkin soup had boiled dry. I thought I’d saved it but a few chunks of burnt pumpkin had lifted from the base of the saucepan and found their way into the Executive Officer’s serving. A true Halloween horror story. He’d complained after the meal. “Food’s gone downhill a bit since Shorty deployed.”
I missed him, too. Everywhere I turned, I was reminded of George. It was our galley. Our sink, where we’d splashed each other. Our floor, where we’d danced around each other. Our fridge, where we’d shared hidden chocolates. The stainless-steel walls felt like they were
