its prying eyes.
Next morning, Angel and I dragged ourselves out of bed at nine and spent a couple of hours on our weekly chores. We divided them up, and every Saturday morning, we set to, usually before breakfast, and cleaned our way through the house. Then Angel would make brunch, we’d eat, and I’d clean up the dishes.
But first, coffee. I fired up the espresso machine while she fixed herself a cup of English breakfast tea, two bags strong. I pulled four shots and added milk, caramel, and ice to make an iced caramel latte. We sat down at the table with our to-do list, still tired from the night before.
“I should call Viktor and ask how Sheila’s doing,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“Text him instead. If he’s still sleeping, which I would think he is, you don’t want to wake him.” Angel sipped her tea and glanced over the list. “Okay, this week, I have the floors, dusting, and straightening up, while you have bathrooms and laundry. We both clean the kitchen.”
“Ugh. I hate doing bathrooms. But at least it doesn’t take too long. I’m grateful neither one of us is a slob, though.” I chugged down half my latte. “I guess we’d better get a move on.”
She finished her tea and pushed back her chair. “All right. Let’s get going.”
Mr. Rumblebutt decided to help me with the bathrooms. He liked walking around while I worked, staring at me like some miniature micromanager. I cleaned the hall bath first, given it was the one company used. While the cleanser soaked off soap and scum from the shower walls, I cleaned the toilet, then washed the vanity and polished the mirror. I bagged the garbage, then rinsed off the shower walls and carried the rugs out to the side yard where I shook them clean. After replacing them, I moved on to Angel’s bathroom, then to mine. I finished shortly before she was done vacuuming the living room. I sorted the laundry, starting a load of clothes before returning to the kitchen.
Angel finished her chores—we were both responsible for cleaning, or not, our own bedrooms—and began making brunch. I washed my hands and set the table.
“What are we having?” I paused over the bowls. “What do we need?”
“I thought we’d have sausage cheese muffins, tomato soup, a fruit salad, and Danish pastries. That work for you?” She held up the sausage patties, waiting for my answer.
“That sounds wonderful.” I pulled out two bowls, two plates, two clear ramekins for the fruit salad, and a platter for the pastries. I set the table, then arranged the Danish on the platter. After that, I fixed myself a second latte and made another cup of tea for Angel.
The sun splashed through the kitchen window, bathing us with its warmth. I sat down, turning my face toward the sun. The light soothed me at first, but then I felt an odd sting from it, and I found myself moving my chair out of the direct focus of the beam.
“It’s too bright for this time of year. I’m glad to see the spring but it feels too sudden, if you know what I mean.”
“What did you say?” Angel asked, carrying the soup and sandwiches to the table. She handed me the fruit salad before filling our bowls with tomato soup. It tasted like it had been simmering for hours, the flavors were so vivid and bright.
“I’m not sure—I mean…” Even though I knew precisely what I had said, I wasn’t sure why I’d said it. “I feel weird. I’m not sure what’s up.” I paused, staring at my plate. “Maybe I’m just nervous about tonight. I wish Herne could go with us.”
“You mean instead of Yutani?” Angel bit into her sandwich, then delicately wiping the corner of her mouth.
“Or along with. I like Yutani. We’ve been talking a lot more lately, but he’s…”
“He’s chaos incarnate. His father is a trickster, even if he does shift things to help rather than hurt. Yutani always has a restless feel about him. Has he said anything about wanting to take a trip or anything? Lately when I’ve been near him, I keep thinking he’s searching for something and he doesn’t know what it is.”
“That’s the perfect way to describe him.” I shook my head. “No, he hasn’t said anything. Though…and don’t you say a word about this! He actually told me that if I wasn’t with Herne…” I let the thought drift, looking over at her.
Her face was