Breakfast With a Werewolf (pt 2)

(Be sure to catch up with the story in Part 1)

In the shower, my hands went on automatic, washing the shoulder length blonde mop on my head. The one trait inherited from my mother’s side. She wore her thick blonde locks down to her waist. I couldn’t fathom how. Every time I washed mine, I got a neck ache.

Desperate for a distraction, I let my brain wander to thoughts of my mother. She’d been planning a trip. Probably to an impoverished country that needed help digging wells. Mom didn’t take vac...