31Outside, the empty swimming pool was awash in afternoon sun.
Inside the guesthouse, sunlight splashed through the bank of windows at the front and onto the tiled floor.
The fired clay looked like it had been colored by a burnt sienna crayon. The tiles were warm under my bare feet.
I’d slipped off my sandals before I stepped into the main room. By the time I crossed the terra cotta to my favorite well-cushioned loveseat, sandy grit coated my soles.
The floor of Holger’s op center hadn’t gotten any cleaner since last night.
But daylight revealed previously hidden undertones in the upholstery’s muted yarns, making the wicker furniture more inviting.
As soon as I sat, Holger put a steaming mug on the ring-marked table in front of me.
I tasted the contents warily.
The flavor was stron
