not bothering to get a shirt. I hurry into the main room and look around. She’s not out here, but she was. The kitchen smells like fresh coffee, and there’s a few new dishes drying on the rack. Her laptop and legal pad are stacked beside a leather backpack on the table. From back down the hall, I hear the unmistakable sound of a hair dryer and I breathe a little sigh of relief. She’s still here.
