THIRTY-ONE
Caitlin ended the call and set her phone down on the kitchen bench. "They're downstairs. Can you give me a hand moving the loveseat into my bedroom?" She waved at the tiny sofa.
I burst out laughing. "That's seriously what this thing's called?" I lifted it easily. "Making love on this would be pretty cramped. One wrong move and you'd end up on the floor."
Caitlin pushed aside some of this morning's debris with her foot, blushing redder with every step. The moment we'd put the sofa down, she dropped to her knees to clean up the mess of bottles that we'd knocked off the dressing table. I glanced at the mirror. The fog had faded, but I could still see the faint outline of where her body had rested, the line of her thigh along the top of the dresser...
"I should probably wipe
