CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Rachel leaned against the washing machine in the alcove between the kitchen and bathroom. The smell of percolated coffee drifted from the galley. A bowl of pancake batter was ready for the griddle, her whites were in the washer, and her colors were in the dryer. On her laptop, she scrolled through all the photos she’d taken since starting her research.
She glanced up when Aubrey stepped into the kitchen, eyes sleepy and hair tousled with errant curls, wearing the black silk robe with the dragon. Its tongue curled below his abdomen.
“Morning,” he said.
“Blueberry pancakes ready when you are,” she replied.
“Sounds great.” He walked into the bathroom and doused a washcloth with hot water before pressing it to his face. Then he came back out, whipping the contents of
