“You chug-a-lugged when we got to the room. You seemed a bit stressed.” “Mm-hmm.” I squint at her. “Please tell me I don’t have a Sharpie mustache and beard right now.” “You don’t. But only because Fish forgot to pack a Sharpie.” “Small mercies.” I rub my forehead as pain rips through my cranium. “Ugh. I feel like I’m dying.” “Coffee?” she says sweetly, motioning to the carafe. “Thanks. And a huge glass of water.” “Sure thing.” She brings me the beverages and takes an armchair next to me. “Is Amy coming to brunch?” I take a sip of coffee. “I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” Ah, there it is.
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