Twenty

Morning came far too early, but there was no sleeping in. I had two of the most reliable alarm clocks in the world to wake me. One was chewing on my hair; the other was kneading my stomach.

I rolled out of bed, taking care to protect my bandaged arm, and led Java and Frothy to the kitchen before their feline antics woke Mike.

Blinking away the last shreds of grogginess, I dished up their favorite food. They purred their approval of my breakfast selection, and my heart warmed a little. Then their two tails—one coffee-colored, the other white as milk foam—swished like those balloon clowns in front of a used car lot, and I stifled a laugh.

I would have liked to linger, brew a pot of coffee, and check headlines on my phone, but duty called.

I showered, dressed, and gasped at the time. The bakery delivery was nearly due, and I was running late; but, before heading down to the coffeehouse, I stopped to give my sleeping fiancé a quick good-morning kiss.

Mike’s sandy hair was mussed, his angular jawline was dark with stubble, and his nose flared with a slight snore. Sleeping beauty he wasn’t. But I couldn’t have loved him more.

Bending over the mound of his big, snoozing form, I pressed my lips to his cactus cheek.

“Mmm…that’s nice,” Mike murmured, his deep voice still raspy from sleep.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Come here…”

Mike’s strong arms pulled me closer, and when he deepened our kiss, it went completely through me. I could tell he felt that, too. With a moan of regret, I broke it off—

“I have to go,” I whispered.

“I know.” He touched my cheek. “You need help with your bandages?”

“No, I’ve already cleaned and redressed my arm, and my long sleeves will cover it for the day.”

“You can’t take the day off?”

“Because of a few scrapes and scratches? Oh, please. Go back to sleep, Lieutenant. I’ll be up later with some fresh, hot coffee—and something sweet.”

Mike lifted an eyebrow. “That sounds promising.”

“You know I’m talking about pastries.”

“We’ll see.” Mike began to smile, until he caught my shift in mood. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell Esther. You know, about what happened last night to Mr. Scrib—that is, Mr. Van Dyne.”

Mike propped himself up. “Why?”

“What do you mean why? She cares about him, and I don’t want to keep the truth from her.”

“I know you don’t, but…you might consider delaying it.”

“What do you mean?”

Mike rubbed his eyes. “Van Dyne’s vitals were strong when they took him to the hospital. He may have recovered overnight. And you’ll have worried Esther for no reason.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Whatever you think, Clare. But I’ll be down later with news, good or bad. If you like, we can speak with her together. Okay?”

Feeling relieved, at least for the moment, I nodded—

“Okay.”