I woke to the sun sliding between my blinds like it had something urgent to tell me. Groaning, I shoved the blankets off, immediately regretting the night’s stubborn refusal to sleep. My head throbbed lightly, just enough to remind me I wasn’t invincible. I eased myself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, bare feet cool against the tile.
Coffee first, I decided, but halfway through grinding the beans, I remembered the toast. I had left it in the toaster while imagining Rouger leaning against the doorway, somehow filling the whole Victorian with him. The scent of smoke hit me before I even pulled the toast out. Brown, crispy edges blackened like charcoal. I sighed, a frustrated laugh escaping me.
“Of course,” I muttered, dumping it in the trash. “Burnt toast. How original.”
I made
