The next morning, I tiredly went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. My deep thoughts had kept me awake longer than I’d intended, and I felt like Sam looked most mornings. Instead of coffee, I wanted my OJ.
I squinted against the harsh light and scanned the sparse contents of my designated shelf for the orange liquid of life. No orange juice. Shuffling the contents around didn’t change the answer. Nope, not there. Straightening, I surveyed the kitchen and spotted its remains in the recycling.
The shower turned on in the bathroom, and I remembered Peter had stayed over. I looked down at Clay, who silently accompanied me, as usual.
“Great. Another non-coffee person,” I complained to him.
Since I drank the last of the milk yesterday, I went for a glass of water instead. The faucet handle jiggled loosely in my hand, and only a trickle came out.
“Seriously?” I mumbled as Rachel glided into the kitchen.
“Looks like I’ll have to call the hottie plumber back.”
“No, thanks. And no big guy showing two inches of crack, either.” I settled for a third of a glass of water and turned off the faucet.
Rachel might have thought the plumber hot, but he’d been bigheaded about it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get rid of him so easily a second time. Having narrowly avoided one potential stalker, there was no way I would invite another one in.
“I was going to go pick up Clay later, anyway,” I lied. “I’ll have him look at it.” I smiled at Rachel as Clay’s head whipped up at me. I’d beg him again if I had to.
“Really? No-talk, leave-early, Clay?”
“Yeah, that one. Not the dog.”
“I believe you said you didn’t think he’d be around much.” She smirked at me while she measured the coffee. I stuck my tongue out at her, but she just laughed.
“Don’t remind me. I’m probably going to need to beg.”
“Does he know much about plumbing?” Rachel asked as she moved to the sink to fill the coffee pot.
“Don’t know...we don’t talk much.” I laughed while she groaned.