19
The next morning, I walked downstairs at Mrs. Janowski’s house, smiling at the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm blueberry muffins.
My headache had diminished considerably, leaving only a slight trace that I was sure a cup of coffee would wash away. Last night, I slept soundly, aided by Mrs. Janowski’s sleep concoction. A good night of sleep had been refreshing. I wished Brett would do the same. Reflecting on last night, he didn’t look healthy. He appeared thinner, almost ragged.
But I didn’t want to think about him. I was too confused as to where we left things. It was something to sort out in a couple of days when he’d have a team of employees and more time.
Walking into the sunny kitchen, I was confronted with a bustling eighty-year-old who zoomed around the kitchen in prep
