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."