The next morning at breakfast—more of Kay’s deliciously creamy scrambled eggs—I’m wrapped in silence. The whiskey knocked me out in the end, pushing me into a fitful sleep, but I’m still tired. Last night’s conversation has drained all energy from my body.
Kay doesn’t force small talk, as though she has a sixth sense about these things. She’s all showered and dressed already, wearing jeans and a pale yellow blouse, I’m still in the robe she loaned me last night.
When my curiosity gets the best of me, I ask, “What’s with the fancy-dress?” I’ve been here almost a week and I’ve never seen her in anything but shorts or slacks.
“Got some business to attend to today. Some potential tenants are viewing one of my properties.”
One of her properties? The surprise must be visible on my face, beca
