“Ah, you’re finally awake,” he observed. “You look better this morning.”
“I feel better.”
“Not going to kill yourself anymore?”
“That was the alcohol talking, I think,” she tried to explain.
“Seemed pretty serious last night.”
“Maybe I take my songs too seriously.”
“Your depression has got to be more than songs.”
She snickered coyly, feeling the ever present lump in her stomach. “It’s been a rough few months.”
“Well, get dressed and I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” she said meekly. A wave of nausea hit her stomach just at the mention of food.
“Plain toast and coffee, maybe?” he suggested seeing the queasy expression on her face.
“Yeah, that would be fine.”
***
“I think you need some counseling,” Naughton spoke to her plainly, once they were sitting in the restaurant with
