Hiroshi heard the tink and ping of bowls and plates, the sucking sound of the refrigerator door, and the shush of the faucet. He smelled coffee, or a dream of coffee, and rolled over to smell Ayana on the empty pillow next to him.
Maybe Takamatsu was right about the need for food, drink, conversation, and sleep. He felt restored. And s*x. Especially s*x.
His phone was ringing. It was Watanabe at the Tax Agency. “Can you stop by here on your way to work? I found some things you might like.”
Hiroshi told Watanabe he’d be there in less than an hour and hopped in to the shower.
After he got dressed and picked up the client list and his cellphone, he found a message from Takamatsu that they were already at work, reminding him he missed the morning meeting, again, and asking where he was.
H
