Owen woke to the smell of frying bacon. He lay still for a moment, unsure of where he was or why he was so comfortable. When he saw the fluffy pink towel Martina had left for him on the chair next to the bed, he remembered where he was.
It took him longer to realize why he was so comfortable. But it came to him as he rose and headed to the guest bathroom to take a quick shower. Martina was cooking breakfast. She would almost certainly make enough for two. Nobody had cooked breakfast for Owen since his mother had died when he was twelve.
He hummed happily as he showered, stumped only briefly when he realized the obvious result of showering in a woman’s house. He decided he could accept the consequences of his actions, and soon sat at the kitchen table, watching Martina cook.
She stopped and looked at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a morning person. You live on a boat. You’re self-employed. You used to work for a computer company. You can’t possibly be alert right now.”
“Not usually,” Owen conceded. “But today’s special. Today, I smell pretty. You have a wonderful collection of exclusively rose-scented bath products, by the way. Woke me right up.”
Martina giggled. “Oh. I didn’t think of that. Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you with breakfast. I was about to fry some eggs, but I can scramble ‘em if you like.”
“Fried is great. Over easy?”
“Sure. How many?”
“Hmm.” He made a show of thinking about it. “It’ll be a busy day…let’s see…how about six or so?”
“Oh God. You’re not kidding, are you.”
“No,” he said. “Six would be great. Really.”
She nodded fatalistically. “Guys,” she said, and frowned. “I’d better make some more bacon too.”
Owen smiled and drank coffee. This was going to be a good day.