To say that Kate is on a mission would be an understatement.
She's a force, today, as she tackles her latest project: fitting a new DIY bookshelf in Bill's living room.
It's gorgeous — or will be, once she puts it together — all rich, warm wood, clean lines, and glass doors.
She just has to do a little re-arranging, so it'll actually fit along the wall she's chosen.
- - - - -
The Front Door swings open an inch, then two.
"Oh, come on."
Another inch, and the plaid arm of a checkered couch becomes visible.
From the other side of the door, Kate gives the piece of furniture one more shove into the hall; half the sofa slides across the bar's threshold.
None the wiser, she turns around to survey how much space she just created to work with, swiping at her sweat-damp forehead with the back of her hand.
An indignant squeak cuts her victory short.
Surprised, she turns to face the hall, and sees Milliways, instead.
"You have got to be kidding me," she all but groans. With a resigned sigh, she grabs the couch, and tugs.
"Now you're really just messing with me," she mutters under her breath, fighting the urge to curse the Landlord.
this is all my fault
should've seen something before it got so bad
15 November 2011 @ 10:07 pm
26 June 2011 @ 10:41 pm
She should tell him.
She should, shouldn't she?
A thousand and one possibilities cycle through her thoughts, the same fear shadowing each of them: What if this damages his timeline, somehow? What if she ruins something by telling him she met his younger self in the bar?
- - - - -
She falls into a fitful sleep, well before Bill comes home.
- - - - -
She wakes a few hours later, still in her short khaki skirt and summery top, to the sound of Bill snoring next to her.
She scrubs her eyes and sits up, rumpled and groggy. The light blanket Bill must've covered her with before bed slips to her waist.
Squinting at the clock on the nightstand, she breathes out something between a sigh and a yawn. With a glance at her wrinkled clothes, she slides out of bed to change into actual sleepwear.
She pulls on a fresh camisole, and finds her favorite pair of yoga pants, worn soft and thin from hundreds of washings. In the bathroom, she pulls her tousled hair into a ponytail; she washes her face and brushes her teeth as quietly as possible, in hopes that she won't interrupt Bill's sleep.
- - - - -
She can't turn off her brain.
Giving up, she pads out of the bedroom, careful not to wake Bill. She pours herself a glass of white wine, and flips on a single lamp in the living room.
She settles into her favorite corner of the couch, a navy scrapbook in tow. Its contents have become as familiar as some of her own family photo albums, each newspaper clipping and photo caption holding information that feels firsthand, now, instead of second and third.
As horrifying and heart-breaking as most of the photographs are, she draws a strange kind of comfort from every page she pores and flips.
09 January 2011 @ 06:43 pm
"Have a good day, sheriff."
"That can't be it," he says.
She's chuckling against his chin when he pulls her closer for a true goodbye.
"Anything more than that, and I won't let you leave."
"Maybe I don't really want to in the first place."
Kate gives his ass a playful swat as he makes for the door, and he reminds her she's assaulting an officer.
She's still smiling to herself as she returns to the kitchen.
As soon as the breakfast dishes are drying in the rack and the counters are spotless again, she completes what's become her morning routine: She changes into a pair of battered jeans, a faded Stanford track and field tee, and paint-splattered Timberlands.
She has a bathroom to gut.
- - - - -
She's reaching into the fridge for a fresh bottle of water when the doorbell rings.
Wiping her forehead with one sweat-slick forearm, she heads for the foyer.
She doesn't recognize the man on the other side of the door; for one stomach-clenching second, she wonders if he's a friend or relative of Eric Lawson.
Don't be silly, she tells herself, but if Los Angeles and Wheelsy, South Carolina have taught her anything, it's that the worst is possible.
14 August 2010 @ 11:39 pm
The carriage house is dark and silent, save for her breathing and Bill's; waves rolling onto the nearby shore are a low, relentless blanket of sound.
"I should let you pick out unmentionables more often," she says, hiding a grin against his chest.
27 July 2010 @ 12:34 am
Foam-flecked waves lap at her bare feet and ankles; she gives Bill's hand a squeeze, not sure who needs the reassurance most.
27 July 2010 @ 12:14 am
Smothering a smile, she eases out of bed; she wants a shower before breakfast, and she's sure he will, too.
She pauses in the bathroom's threshold, a line between her brows.
She glances over her shoulder.
The clothes they left in a careless, haphazard mess on the hardwood —
They're folded in a neat stack on top of the dresser.
And Bill's belt is draped over one arm of the sofa.
- - - - -
Breakfast is phenomenal: pesto and feta omelets, homemade sweet potato fries, buttermilk-and-brown sugar pancakes, and fruit so fresh Kate's mouth waters with every bite.
She spears another blackberry with her fork, her eyes moving from Bill to Mrs. Palmer as the woman brings out a second French press.
Kate breathes deep, the rich coffee filling her nose. Feigning nonchalance, she offers a smile.
"Mrs. Palmer, this is fantastic."
"Thank you, dear. I take it you two are enjoying yourselves?"
Kate nods, mirroring Bill.
"But, um." She clears her throat. "Did housekeeping make an early round?"
Mrs. Palmer's eyebrows lift as Kate continues.
"Maybe someone dropped in to straighten up while we were still asleep?"
A half-smile tugs at one corner of Mrs. Palmer's mouth.
"That would be Georgia," she says, chuckling as she offers Bill more turkey sausage. "She always did love to keep this place in tip-top shape when she was alive."
15 July 2010 @ 02:45 am
After flicking on a low-burning lamp, she steps out of her heels with a murmur of relief; taking one foot in hand to massage her tender arch, she can't help a soft groan.
"Remind me why I'm a slave to fashion again?"
04 July 2010 @ 01:18 am
After a warm reception and a short tour from the innkeeper, Kate and Bill return to the third floor to settle in.
Kate crosses the spacious suite and steps onto the piazza, taking in the view of the harbor and Fort Sumter.
"God, this is gorgeous."
19 April 2010 @ 02:06 am
27 March 2010 @ 10:46 pm
She doesn't dream, either, but occasional lines appear between her brows or wrinkle her forehead.
At some point, she takes in a deep breath -- deeper than the others, so far -- and her eyelids flutter before opening.