Hilda headed across the street to the hotel. The receptionist, an elderly woman, took in Hilda’s spiky hair and made-to-last, waterproof-as-f**k work boots and, assuming she was a lesbian with DIY abilities, immediately warmed to her.
She had spent most of her life with a man as silent as a goalpost. Not that her husband was bad or anything; more that he simply wasn’t there. He hadn’t touched her in years; now a widow with no one to cook for, she often wondered about women. Would living with, caring for, loving a woman be any different?
“If it’s a room you’re after, you’ve no chance, luv.”
Hilda warmed to the “luv.”
The receptionist glanced at Hilda’s apprehensive face. “Or is it a lesson?” She pulled a book from under the desk. “You’ll need to schedule the next open appointment,” she
