Becky’s Repairs, Part 1
Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales laid open to the well-thumbed, dogeared portion containing the Wife of Bath’s prologue on the large baroque desk. Wearing red high heels, pearls on her neck and ears and nothing else, one of Becky’s long gracious legs stretched beneath while the other rested atop the desk. A cut crystal glass filled with fine brandy in hand, Reginald’s favorite and most expensive, she tapped her tablet to turn up the volume as a low moan escaped her wide, wicked smile. Her eyes twinkled, fixed upon the screen as she tossed her strawberry blond hair behind her. She reclined on the edge of the burgundy leather Chesterfield chair, while the Sun’s rays freely bathed the room through the window panes. At this moment, she was happier than at any other time in her life.
‘…It’s not what it looks like! This isn’t right! I was tricked! I was… was framed!’
‘Come on guvna’, that’s it then. Jeff! You wanna put your own bracelets on ‘im?’
‘I’m telling you man! Get your hands off me! This is my office! This is… I was tricked!’
‘I’ll get the blanket to toss over ‘em. Blimy he stinks! Listen, just come along quick like. The journos are already campin’ on the steps.’
‘No! No! This is wrong! Damn that girl! Damn you all!...’ The screen cut to black.
“Hmmm, that’s it Justin. Ohh… You do such good work. Hmmmm…” Justin, on his knees and just slightly under the desk continued lapping at his lady’s quim, gingerly tracing up and down her lips, coyly circling her clitoris. “Ooooh! Oh! Not too fast dear. I want to enjoy this. It’s been so very long in coming.” Click. The film started again, the timer reading several hours in length as Becky’s lustful breathing quickened…
Four years earlier
“What… What are you doing! You… You pig!”
A comely young lady with auburn hair, mouth still agape, hurried to button her top as she got off her knees. She scrambled to grab a pile of textbooks from a side table as she ran from the office, brushing past Becky, aghast in the doorway. Breathlessly, the girl whispered “Sorry Ma’am…” on her way out. Meanwhile Reginald hastened as fast as he could to hike up his trousers, half turned away from his astonished wife.
“Oh! Hello Becky. I thought you were in a meeting. It’s uh… It’s not what it seems love. I was uh… was just…”
“Getting your knob polished!? Who was she! What were you doing!”
Anxiety coursed through the room as Reginald stammered while he finished shoving his shirt back into the front of his trousers. The balding little man smoothed the remains of his hair as sweat formed on his brow. He pushed his spectacles up his pudgy nose.
“The girl? Just a student of mine. That’s all. She needed some advice, you see…”
“What, and you were just helping her with your cock in her throat! Don’t deny it! I saw you!”
Reginald thought as he stepped out from behind his desk. His countenance changed as he mulled. “Y-yes… Yes. Fine. You’ve found me out. She came to me for help with her grade and… and I obliged.”
His blunt, almost flippant response destroyed Becky. Where she was at once full of wrath, Reginald’s admission reduced her to a sobbing wreck. Determined to regain her composure, “Who was she?”
“As I said, just a student. No one of consequence.”
“Is she the only one? Or are there more?”
“…”
“ARE THERE MORE?!”
Reginald looked down before squaring on his wife. His spine stiffed as his gaze hardened. “Frankly love, you don’t delight me anymore. You’ve gone stale and I’m quite tired of you. Where you treat me with indifference, they hold me in esteem. Where you yawn at my musings, they hang on my every word.” His swagger increased as he watched her wither. Tears streamed down her face. He didn’t even attempt to stop himself from crushing her as he began to softly rap the desk with a knuckle. “And they are so very tight my dear.” A sneer creased his sweaty face. “That’s right you old cow. I fuck them proper, as long as I like, and for quite some time now. They may get their grade, but how I make them work for it.” Reginald had become a vicious dog, his poor physique at odds with the conviction behind his lecherous sermon.
Becky wept hard, her words soft and broken. “Stop. Stop, I don’t want to hear anymore.”
He scurried from behind his desk and up to her, continuing in as wounding a tone as could be imagined. “Yes yes! They give it to me any time I snap my fingers love! As often as I please. And not just because I can. No, these little birds sing so sweetly, letting me have them any way I wish! And you? You’re old hat. You can’t do it for me like they can.”
Slap!
While it stung, he was prepared for it and a cruel smile remained. Becky, still weeping piteously, fled from his university office.
She sped home and bounded over the curb leaving ruts in the grass, nearly smashing her car into the corner of the house. She hurried inside and slammed the door. Uncontrollably wailing in grief, dishes were thrown, sconces pulled from the walls, vases and lamps tumbled to the floor, doors were kicked in, pictures smashed, and rungs in the staircase splintered out. She even managed to punch a hole through the drywall in the master bath. As Becky saw her face in the mirror, she was aghast. She was unrecognizable. Puffy faced, eyes bloodshot, hair tangled and mussed, makeup ruined. Her own image mocked her, seeming to prove her false husband correct; she looked decades older, a warped version of herself. A soap dish shattered her reflection as her voice cracked in sobs.
Utterly spent with the effort of her rage and woe, she slumped off to bed in a near trance. Pulling the covers back she halted. A feeling of disgust and revulsion washed over her as she stared at Reginald’s spot. The thought of lovemaking in their bed turned her stomach. A kitchen knife was procured and soon feathers and linen were slashed and tossed. Breathing heavily, she dropped the butchering implement and slunk to the study where a comfy chaise would finally give her rest. As she slammed shut the door she fumbled along the bookcases, a new wave of self-pity sapping what strength she had left. Her limbs glanced off a book, which dropped from its shelf and fell open at her feet. Resigning to pick it up and stuff it back in place she read the bold letters at the top of the page. She paused and read them again. Her tired eyes widened as she pulled a blanket over her drained body, the page never leaving her sight as she reposed on the chaise. Ackroyd’s edition of Chaucer’s The Wife of Bath's Prologue captured, and then enraptured her. She read it, and then read it again, and again. Like a fervent penitent she read the passage over and over until she finally passed out, the pages open against her chest.
The next day after many ignored calls and concerned knocks at the door from friends and neighbors, Becky took stock of the household. Fortunately, no one had called the bobbies regarding her car. Backing it out, her BMW was returned to its usual spot in the driveway.
As she locked it Jenny trotted over from across the street, “Becky! Is everything alright! Good heavens you look…”
Wryly, “Terrible? Reginald and I had a row and I would very much not like to talk about it at the moment.”
“Oh. Ok. If you need to, please just drop in anytime.”
“Thanks, I will.” Becky shut herself back inside and proceeded to pick up the bits and pieces scattered throughout. She briefly considered where her husband had spent the night, before deciding not to care. Surveying the more pronounced damages, Becky made a note to look up a repair man provided she wasn’t inclined to do any more harm. After a soak and reading the Wife of Bath’s prologue yet again, Reginald finally turned up at teatime.
“Uh, hello Becky. I stayed away last night to give you some time. I may be… uh…”
“A cad? A bastard? A pathetic excuse for a husband?”
His brow furrowed, “Um, let’s not argue… Listen, whenever you have the papers drawn up, I’ll sign. I will want a few things and to make sure it’s all fair but, there’s no reason to draw this out...”
Becky cut him off, “Oh, but there is…” Her voice was cold steel and full of knives. “We are not getting divorced my dear.”
“W-what?!”
“You are going to continue to call yourself my husband, and I your wife. You will reside in the spare bedroom should you wish to continue keeping up appearances for the neighbors. I will be at your side for formal occasions and social gatherings. And you will keep providing me with your income. You will continue to deposit into our joint account until I say otherwise. You will also sign papers for the bank stating that I am the primary holder and my signature will be required for you to make any transfers or withdrawals.”
Reginald was in a state of shock and growing vexed. “And why would I want or be willing to do all that?”
“Do you really think that I’m so stupid to let you off that easily? That little bird you had yesterday, her name is Rebecca Dawlish. Second year finance student, originally from Edinburgh, likes to volunteer at the RSPCA. And I’m sure when pressed, she’d sing very sweetly, and on the record for me. Wouldn’t she?”
Reginald looked as though he’d been hit by a truck. He bawled up his fists as he hissed, “You bitch!”
“That’s the wonderful thing about the university’s records. My position in the bursar’s office allows me access to the sort of birds that have sung for you.” Reginald shed his anger, a sickening worry replacing it. “I’m sure if I made enough inquiries, I could find a not insignificant flock to sing quite the same song for me… wouldn’t they?”
Beads of sweat formed on this forehead and lips. “You wouldn’t!”
“GO AHEAD AND TRY ME! You fucking worm!” She regained her poise in unnerving fashion. “Now, would you like some tea? After, you can put your things away. I’ve moved all your items out of my bedroom and into the hall. I’ll be having my own keyed lock installed so do make sure you have everything. Oh, and if you ever have any malice in mind to break down my door, you’ll recall I have my father’s old rimfire revolver. It will be quite close by when you’re home.”
Like a fish caught in a net gasping for air, Reginald gave a gob smacked expression for several seconds before stammering his disbelief and wandering up the stairs. All the while, Becky calmly, malevolently, prepared her Yorkshire tea with two lumps and a biscuit smeared with raspberry jam.
It had been ages since Becky had been on a date, much less picked up or seduced a man. The Wife of Bath ever in mind, she rationalized, “What’s good for the goose, is good for the gander.” To further her efforts, she kicked off regular nightcaps with Paula, Jenny, and Wenda, whom she had only been vaguely acquainted with previously, on the supposition of becoming closer friends and neighbors. Subtle hints and suggestions on where to meet men were polled after enough libations were imbibed. Wenda went one further and suggested they all start morning walking exercise together to spill on gossip, and to keep her figure as a flight attendant. Meanwhile, Reginald had acquired a small apartment near the university. Becky had to cosign the lease due to their new financial relationship, but figured it was for the best that he not show his face around the cul-de-sac all too often.
Becky’s wedding ring removed, she dressed to the nines for evenings out to the hottest clubs, pubs, and bars. Though, three weeks into becoming an adulteress proved frustratingly fruitless. While pick-up lines and numbers were exchanged, she was shocked at just how frugal men were in taking her up on taking her panties off. Of the number of times she gave her digits out, only two ever contacted her and even then the texts and calls dried up overly quickly. Her self-confidence took a serious hit and she began to doubt herself. “Am I too forward? Am I not being forward enough? Have I lost my looks...? Am I too old...?” and so on, Becky thought piteously.
Singing the blues, she skipped out on the next gathering of friends and cocktails. Dressed down in jeans and a frumpy black sweater, she found herself alone at the bar in a sparsely frequented public house in the borough. She stared into the pint in front of her, watching the bubbles trickle to the top as she moped over her attractiveness, failed marriage, and inability to exact requite.
“Here you are miss,” The landlady pushed a drink in front of her.
Startled out of her pondering, “What’s this?”
“It’s a martini.”
“No, I mean why are you giving me this?”
The elder woman smiled with a wink, “It’s from the young gentleman over there.” She nodded to a handsome, well-built chap who looked about ten years her junior, sitting alone at a table across the room. Shocked, she stared at him as she was struck by the irony of not being prepared in any manner for a liaison. (Her initial thought was that he was an underwear model who got lost and wandered into this dive). The landlady leaned in, “I think you should go over to him before I do. And take this with you. Lots of luck lassie.”
Fully expecting nothing to come of it, Becky took the martini and walked over to him anyway. “Hello, I’m Becky. You got this for me?”
He stood and invited her to sit. “Hi, I’m Justin, nice to meet you. I was watching you for a while and thought you might like some company. Sorry but my only idea about what to order came from James Bond.”
His American accent was a surprise indeed, and Becky’s spirits lifted a little. “Oh! You’re from the States.”
He gave a small smile, “Yeah, just moved here from Minneapolis...” A long conversation ensued about how his grandfather was in the RAF during the war, married an American nurse and emigrated to the U.S., how he didn’t really know his own father, and how his grandfather basically raised him. “He always spoke fondly of England. I guess that’s why I’m here. But I’ve talked too long about myself. What about you?”
Becky was lost in his backstory and his looks. “Oh! I’m, uh… there’s really not much to tell. I’ve lived in London all my life. I’m in university administration and my hu…” Almost giving herself away fumbling over the word husband she restarted, “… my hobbies are literature and the arts, and I just started exercise.” Even to herself, she sounded like a bore and wanted to redirect back to Justin. “So what brings you across the pond? You here on work? Or… because of a girl?”
Justin nearly spilled his drink. “Excuse me, sorry. Uh, I guess both, just not under the best of circumstances.” Becky raised an eyebrow in question. Exhaling heavily, he began a painfully familiar tale. “It’s a long story, but I was in finance, a financial securities risk strategist in a large corporation. I was all set to become an executive, propose to my girlfriend… I thought I had it all, the world by the tail. Then one day, I was fired. My so-called friend cooked the books and fucked me over, pinned it on me. The firm lost millions. That same afternoon, when I got home my girl had already moved out. Seems she and my… friend…”, he growled with teeth clenched, “were both fucking me over, and each other, behind my back.” Becky was abashed at broaching the question as she looked on at Justin who had a death grip on his glass and stared hard with glossy eyes at the table.
She put a hand on his arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Justin, realizing he’d erred into an unintended foreboding, softened at once. “Oh, no. It’s my fault really. I try not to think about it. I guess I was chasing what I thought I needed instead of following my dreams, you know?”
“Is that why you’ve moved here?”
“Well, my grandfather taught me everything he knew about carpentry. That was his trade after the war. He was always happy swinging a hammer and running electrical. Unbothered with the world and what people thought. I guess I want that too. And a clean break you know, a fresh start.”
“So, you’re a carpenter then?” Becky was astounded at the way fate was coming together in one neat, charming package this evening. She didn’t want to squander her chances, plus she genuinely liked him. “Not to sound overly desperate, but I’ve been looking for a handyman to fix a few things around my estate.”
“I’m still new here. I haven’t even got a business card yet.”
“That’s no problem. Here’s my number,” as she wrote it on a napkin.
“You still haven’t told me much about yourself. You said you were into literature?”
Becky was beginning to comfortably warm, “Lately, I’ve been reading Chaucer.”
“Very bawdy, even salacious. Still, I did enjoy the merchant’s tale.”
She smiled brightly, “Oh! So you know it! So much high-brow hay has been made of so many low-brow scandals.“ The rest of the evening slipped on as they discussed her interests in reading and art. Becky was quite surprised at just how cultured he was on a number of subjects. Justin attempted to pull more details from her, but Becky hoped to remain mysterious enough to entice him further. Her flirting became much more natural as they conversed.
Finally, just before midnight, the landlady called out, “Closin’ time you two!” Becky was surprised to look around and see they were the only ones in the place. They were barely out the door before it was locked and the lights turned out.
Becky dithered about whether to give him a peck on the cheek, or more. “Please, do give me a ring about the work.”
“Sure thing. I had a nice time Becky.” He smiled, “…It’s been the first good evening I’ve had in a long time.”
Becky hesitated for half a second, hoping for something to happen, before she turned and took a few steps. She stopped abruptly, a bundle of confused nerves. “No,” she thought to herself, “I want this. I want this to happen.” She turned back to Justin who was watching her go. Conviction in her heels she strode back to him and gave him a kiss. Then a second longer, deeper kiss. He made to hold her as she let herself go, falling into the moment as he wrapped his arms around her. Passion built as they made-out on the walk in the cool evening air. She breathed, “Take me to your place. Now.”
He didn’t question her. He didn’t say a word. Leading her a short way by the hand, a mere few doors down from the pub, they made their way up to a second story flat he had recently rented. They made out some more on the landing as the door was opened, desire building in anticipation. He lifted her and carried her inside. Becky swooned at his strength, being literally whisked off her feet as he took her under his sway.
Cliché as it were, she was still enthralled about their first time together. Remembering back, Becky liked to think that she wasn’t getting even, getting what she deserved, or that she allowed Justin to take advantage. No, she was staking a new path for her life, even if it involved usury, revenge, and lustful dreams fulfilled. It just required the right cultivation, some difficult explanations, and a formal bond. Simple yet implacably difficult, two sides of the same coin.
Inside the two ripped at each other, lips and hands running roughshod over each other’s bodies, clothing strewn across the floor. A light rain began to patter against the window as the heat continued to build. Alone in their undergarments, Becky suddenly slowed Justin, her breathing heavy while she ran her hands down his chest, slowly over his abs. He stood sentinel as she marveled at his brawny form glistening in the dull light provided by an exterior streetlamp. His figure cut like a Gothic warrior carved in alabaster, a sight to make lesser men tremble, and women covetous. Moving a hand down his boxer briefs, she stroked his engorged and throbbing shaft ending with cupping his balls. Certainly better endowed than Reginald, or any other man she’d known previously (but not excessively so), Becky involuntarily gasped as she felt him. Justin flexed and moaned at her touch.
She got to her knees and slid the fabric slowly past his thighs. His hardened rod swung forward and bobbed as she looked up at him with a slight smile. He made no movement other than to look back at her. Grasping his cock with one hand, she pushed her lips over his head. Guttural moans began as she rocked it in her mouth and pumped her fist around his rod. His gratifying noises increased as Becky cupped his balls with her free hand, working and sucking his cock with gusto. Justin’s muscles flexed throughout as his face contorted in pleasure, hands balled up at his sides. Becky employed a couple of differing techniques, gauging his satisfaction based on audible cues. For her own part, her nipples hardened as her sex moistened thoroughly. Being subservient on her knees pleasuring a real man, not her corpulent so-called husband, made her feel beautiful and desired. Despoiling his manhood, she alone fueled his carnal wantonness. Attentive to Justin not putting his hands on her head and driving into her, she continued at a quickening pace, deepthroating as far as she dared. Justin began eliciting feral roars and rocking his hips into her as his cock trembled, yet he was disciplined enough not to force himself on her still. Becky was on fire, her quim soaking her panty. She wanted him to take her, and roughly, right now.
Keeping one hand gripped around his cock and the other clenching his balls she breathed, “Fuck me. Fuck me hard!”
Justin unfroze at once. He ceased being the polite gentleman she met at the pub and became what she desired. A man bent on defiling her without hesitation. A firm hand grasping her by the nape of her neck, she was pulled to her feet. Still gripping her he practically tore her bra away as licentious distress reflected in her eyes. She gave a small shriek as Justin ripped the sides of her panty at the seams, throwing it to the ground. She felt captured and exposed with him in command of her body and garments aggressively ripped away from her. His own visage was stony as he briskly guided her to the bed. Practically throwing her atop the covers, Becky went to her side, crooking her leg to conceal her sex as she used an arm to cover her breasts. Justin mounted the bed on his knees, his rigid cock protruding ahead of him, his face stern. A hand on her thigh rolled her onto her stomach. Becky went onto her elbows and into a doggystyle position, a mixture of wanting and trepidation swelling within. Justin moved into position, using his knees to push her legs wider apart. There was a long pause as her clit pulsed. Becky suddenly noticed a dresser with a mirror atop to her left. The dark bodies in profile gave her a sensual rush as she saw the rugged man readying his large veiny member in hand behind the willingly capitulated woman. She felt his warlike hand at her shoulder slowly moving down her spine as a chill went through her. He slid it all the way to her ass cheek where it gripped her firmly as it pulled her buttock outward.
“OhOOOhhh!” She wailed louder than intended as she felt his cock head penetrate and stretch her lips. Quietly in a high voice, “Oh my God!” She felt his other hand leave his shaft and be placed on her other buttock. There was a low grunt as he slid it deeper. “Oh! OOooh! GOD!” She felt his member recede slightly before… “OOOhhh! Oh! OH! OH! Fuck! FUCK!”
“Shut it, bitch!” Smack!
The handprint stung as Becky bit her lip but continued to lustfully moan aloud. Her juices readily dripped as he thrust into her deeper and faster. His grunting became louder as his thighs slapped into her ass. Becky again glanced into the mirror as she saw the woman getting fucked hard from behind, her mouth strained into a large O. The monster behind pumping into her in a quickening rage. She saw him reach up with one hand and clench a fist full of her hair. Becky screamed as she was pulled off her elbows and onto her hands. “Oh Fuck! Oh FUCK! Yes! YES! OH, YES! OH! OHHH!” Justin jackhammered into her as her breasts bounced frantically with nipples erect. The angle allowed him even deeper into Becky and her eyes rolled back into her head. She felt his other hand brusquely pinch her nipples and squeeze her breasts as her fingers and toes clenched the bedding. Releasing her hair he drove her head into the mattress, thrusting into her like a savage. SMACK! He struck her ass harder, she reflexively tightened around him. “AhHH! Oh! OOHh! OOOoooOOOhHHh!” Becky screamed as she felt her pussy squeeze and contort, juices spraying from her quim. Justin kept her head pinned to the mattress as he continued to hammer into her, drawing her orgasm out in a long crescendo. His pronounced huffing announced he was close and he quickly withdrew. A roar from behind preceded his ejaculate shooting all over the small of her back and down her cleft.
Justin breathed hard before he collapsed beside her. Becky’s mouth hung open, her body in a state of shock as she remained in the same position he finished her in. “O-Oh! Holy… fuck. HMmmnn…”
Justin’s breathing was still labored, “Hey… Sorry, I…”
“Shhh... No. No talking… absolutely NO apologies...”
He held her as they drifted off to sleep. The rain continued to patter against the panes.
Becky felt warm and replete. It was the best sleep she’d had until she startled herself out of it. Forgetting where she was for a fragment of a second, she gasped as she looked around before she settled. The rain had ceased though the window was still wet. Becky looked to Justin who was softly snoring beside her. The clock on the nightstand read 4:10am in large red figures.
Catlike, Becky slid from the bed and gathered her effects, though she found it a tad difficult to walk straight. She tiptoed to the bathroom, shutting the door before finding the light and cleaning herself off with a washcloth. Putting her clothes on as quietly as possible, she began hating herself for how she was leaving Justin but figured it may entice his curiosity further while she continued to flesh out her machinations. A note was hastily scribbled, to be left by the clock.
My Dear Justin,
Thank you for a wonderful evening
I’m sorry that I had to go
Call me
XO, Becky
Finding her car near the pub, the streets were deserted as she drove home where a hot shower awaited.
Becky reawaked midmorning, unconcerned with the world. In fact, she felt invigorated. Her mind swirled with how best to play her cards; what to say, what not to say, and how to win him to her plans. She was drinking a cup of tea when the phone rang just before noon. “Well, my dear Wife of Bath, the game’s in motion.” She ignored the call, letting it go to voicemail. Finishing her tea, she rinsed and dried the cup before playing the message.
Beep, “Hi… um, It’s Justin. I was hoping you made it home okay. I got your note… You’ll have my number now if you want to call back… I meant it, before, when I said I had a good evening with you… (shoot) um, call me when you’re free.”
Becky smiled warmly. She didn’t want to hurt him. Thus, the next step would be the most delicate of all.
He called again about the same time the next day. Becky would answer this time. “Hello Justin. I’m sorry I didn’t return your call. I had an urgent audit of the accounts yesterday and ran out of time.”
“That’s okay. Say, did you want me to come by and… uh, discuss the jobs around your house you had mentioned?”
Becky’s eyes sharpened as a roguish grin formed. “Oh, but of course Justin. I’m afraid I will need to explain a few things, but I’m quite sure we can come to an agreement.”
Justin’s voice dropped to a hush, “I don’t mean for things to get complicated. But… it would go a long way for me to start doing paying work and to get my name out there. You know, referrals and all. It’s just… with what happened last night…”
“Justin? I want to be clear and ensure we’re of the same mind going forward. I will want you to work on my estate regularly. Quite regularly.” Becky allowed a pause for her words to sink in. “Come over this afternoon and we can talk more regarding your estimates.” The hint of pleasure in her voice was just enough.
“…Anytime you want.”
The address given and cordial goodbyes exchanged, Becky sighed as she reminisced about the previous night. She got wet thinking about her submissiveness at Justin’s hands and a thought came to mind. Riffling through some stored items, she found a pair of handcuffs that belonged to her deceased policeman father. She wanted to employ their use when Justin came over and left them on the nightstand. Practical thoughts intruded overly soon however, beckoning her to make an actual list of things that needed repair and replacement. The house was still in disarray from her rampage a month earlier. She had let her friends in on the cause as they’d had drinks there on a couple of occasions thus far. All they knew however was that it involved a marital spat, and that Reginald hadn’t been seen since.
Sometime later there was a knock at the door. List in hand, Becky was wearing a red silk robe when she opened it.
“Reginald!?”
“Hello dear. Just came to get a few things.” He was fairly affable given how things were between them. He slid inside with a cardboard box in hand. “Oh. Are you getting ready for a bath? I won’t be but a minute.”
“I… I have a repair man coming any time now.”
Gesturing to the broken railings and displaced wall sconces, “’Bout time given the state of this place. You always did have a temper. You’re not meeting him like that are you?” He collected a few books from the study before heading up the stairs.
Becky struggled to figure out just what to do. “No. I was changing… I thought he showed up early. How long will you be?” She tried to mask the strain in her voice.
“Not long.” He disappeared into the spare bedroom as his voice rose in volume. “I’m working on a publication and need some of these old books to cite. Oh, I also ran out of socks.”
Just then, there was a tapping at the door. “Hi. Sorry, it wasn’t closed all the way. Mind if I come in?”
… To be continued…