Kathryn rolled over to the smell of coffee. It took her a few moments to clear her head as she blinked in her surroundings. She was in her room, in her bed, but for the life of her, she didn’t remember leaving the club the night before. She sat up with a groan, her neck and shoulders stiff, and smiled when she saw she was still in her slip. Smitty. She momentarily entertained the idea that Jenny was in her kitchen, lording over the coffee, but had she been the one to tuck her in last night, she certainly wouldn’t have left her half-dressed. Not Jenny.
She slipped on her robe and wandered into the kitchen, where she greeted Smitty, who was leaning on the counter, reading the sports section, in his trousers and undershirt, his suspenders hanging limply from his waistband.
“Oh, pretty,” he said as he looked up.
Kathryn pushed her disheveled hair from her face. “Thanks.” She kissed him on the cheek on her way to a desperately needed cup of coffee.
Smitty tucked the paper under his arm as he turned to face her. “How are you?”
“Better, thanks,” she said as she poured her cup.
He watched and waited. No words needed to pass between them about the night before, but it had been so long between episodes that she knew he just wanted to make sure. She picked up her cup and smiled as she playfully snapped his suspenders against his hip on her way to the table.
“I’m fine.”
He smiled, sliding the rest of the paper from the counter before joining her.
“Want the front page?” he asked as he settled into his chair.
“Is the war over?”
“No.”
“No thanks, then. How about the funnies?” She didn’t know why, as she rarely found them funny. She took the offered comics section and smiled as she fondly regarded him. He looked particularly handsome this morning, in a rugged sort of way, his unshaven face accentuating the bottomless dimples in the hollows of his cheeks. It was times like this she wished him married, or with a sweetheart, at least, someone who could truly appreciate everything he had to offer. Instead, his life was chained to hers, walking the same tortured path, with no hope of escape. Even worse, he didn’t seem to mind.
“You didn’t have to stay here last night.”
“I love your couch, Kat,” he said with a grin, as he pretended to stretch a kink out of his back and then turned the page.
“You’ve seen it enough.” She rubbed her face. “I don’t even remember getting home last night. Did you carry me out of the club?”
“Out of the club, to the car, out of the car, up your steps, into bed …”
“That had to hurt.” She pointed at his knee.
“Aw, twern’t nuthin’, ma’am,” he drawled.
“Uh-huh,” she said with a smirk, knowing the truth. She scanned the comics without really seeing them. “What about Jenny?”
He turned the page of the sports section. “I told her you had a migraine and sent her home. Said you’d call her this morning, so don’t forget.”
Kathryn grinned. As if she could forget. “I won’t.” She eyed him sincerely. “Thank you.”
“She was pretty worried about you. I practically had to kick her out of the club to get her to go home.”
Kathryn chuckled, appreciating Jenny’s devotion, and settled her attention on one of the silly brainteasers at the bottom of the page.
Smitty was staring at her, and she knew he had something to say about the night before. “What did you do with your pills, Kat?”
She pretended to ignore him as she turned the page upside down, looking for the answer to the number puzzle. “You know, sometimes these things just make no sense. It’s all logic and mathematics, yet—”
“Kat,” Smitty drew out.
She righted the paper and nonchalantly reached for her cup of coffee.
“I threw them out.”
Smitty didn’t say anything, but she knew he wanted to, so she took a sip and swallowed, lifting unrepentant eyes. “And I’m not replacing them.”
Smitty raised his brow in guarded acceptance, as her decision settled around them like specks of dust in the light of an unadorned window. He cleared his throat and went back to his paper. “Spud Chandler is pitching today. Want to go?”
“Can’t. I think I have a date to arrange.”
Smitty stared at her in mock disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re choosing sex over baseball.”
She chuckled and watched him shake his head as he disappeared behind the sports page. She returned to her section of paper and laughed out loud at the sight of Dagwood Bumstead bowling over the mailman for the umpteenth time, letters flying.