Ashley had just stepped into the shower when the buzzer intruded.
“Just bloody typical,” she muttered to no one but herself, wrapping a damp towel around her middle and stepping out. Stretching, she shivered and reached back in to shut off the stream of water.
The buzzer sounded again.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she shouted, knowing whoever it was downstairs couldn’t hear her anyway. Sliding the glass shower door closed, she padded out into the passage, her feet puddling sodden footprints on the carpet, the contrast of air from the bathroom to the kitchen bringing goose bumps to her patches of exposed skin. “Hello?” she said into the intercom’s fake phone, brushing a strand of wet hair out of her face.
“Miss Powell?” a voice asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Lamenzo’s florists, ma’am. Got a bouquet for you.”
“Flowers?” she said, thinking out loud. “Bring them up,” shaking her head, she pressed the door release and looked around for her purse to tip the delivery boy. “Oh, Gabe, you sweet, sweet fool…”