Page 74 of The Woman Left Behind

“Then I’ll be over tonight.”

Her expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe I should go to you. Even pooches think that Daddy is better than any filet mignon.”

“If you’re cool with it, I can bring them here.”

He knew the answer. She’d already invited them. He just didn’t remind her why they didn’t come.

But he was surprised at how her eyes lit up. It wasn’t her usual blinding radiance, but he’d take it.

“That’d be awesome,” she agreed.

He nestled her closer before he had to say, “I can tell by the position of the sun I’m running late, so I need to get going.”

“It’s good work is only a five-minute walk away, then,” she replied.

This was something interesting to consider, and blindsiding him, Harry found himself considering it.

He didn’t live far from the department. Fifteen minutes, if traffic was good. Twenty if it was tourist season or the equivalent of rush hour in Misted Pines.

But twenty to thirty extra minutes in any day was a boon.

Lillian took him out of his thoughts when she made a move, saying, “I’ll go first in the bathroom so I can brush my teeth, then make you coffee.”

He kept her where she was.

When her gaze landed on his, he ordered, “You stay here and try to sleep more.”

“Harry,” she said quietly. “I’ll never get back to sleep, and I’m better when I’ve got something to do. Let me make you coffee. And toast? Maybe some eggs?”

Since he already knew this about her, he acquiesced. “Something in my stomach would be good.”

She nodded, moved in for a swift kiss, then she rolled out of bed.

Harry didn’t.

He used that time to fully take in her space. The wanton femininity of it. The muted floral pattern of the curtains at the window. The ornate gilt on the small vintage mirror on the wall. Not one but two dried flower arrangements on the white chest that served as her bedside table. The big, soft spray of the massive dry bouquet in its creamy pot on the windowsill. The elegant sweep of wispy white drapes that hung on the wall at the sides of the headboard to frame the bed.

The soft sheets.

The plethora of pillows.

Lillian made every inch of her space…Lillian.

It was her, so easy to look at, so pleasing to the eye, you missed how much work she put into making it what it was.

Harry was a guy. He didn’t want to worry about taking off his boots or smoothing a bedspread just right.

But somehow he knew he’d break his back to keep what Lillian made Lillian just as it was supposed to be.

On this thought, he heard her call, “I’m out,” and he knew the bathroom was free.

He rolled out of bed.

Rus hadn’t only packed Harry’s toothbrush, paste and floss, he packed his shampoo, shower wash, shaver and comb.

Definitely a deft hand with a go bag.

Harry took his uniform and an extra pair of skivvies to the bathroom, did his morning thing, dressed, left his bathroom stuff where it was, took his pajamas back to the duffle, shoved everything in, pinned on his badge and tucked his pens in his breast pocket, grabbed his boots and duffle and walked out.

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