Watching her leave, I can't tear my eyes from her until she turns the corner. Sighing roughly, I twist to scrutinise the dishevelled room, books butterflied open, including a first edition copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, the spine creased, the cushions on the floor. I shake my head with a small smile forcing its way onto my lips. I pull out my phone and text the housekeepers not to clean this room, before heading to my shooting range.
