The kitchen door swung inward and I tensed, expecting the depressing and judging pair of elderly ladies who ran my place to come galumphing into my presence and demand I do something. Well, Mary, anyway. Betty never, ever talked to me. I wondered sometimes if she even spoke a word to her sister or what reason she might have to hold her silence the way she did.
Who knew? Maybe it was just me.
Instead, a tall and handsome drink of water paused uncertainly just inside the kitchen threshold, his dark hair over his brow, eyes scanning the room, all broad shouldered and narrow hipped and hiding muscles inside that custom suit of his.