I looked like someone who had spent the night exactly where I had spent it.
I looked like Lena Hart.
Not Mrs Calloway.
Not the composed version of myself I had been performing for years.
Just me.
I opened the bathroom door.
Cole was waiting in the bedroom. He had laid something on the bed. One of his shirts and a pair of shorts with a drawstring that would never fit me properly but would do for now.
I looked at them and then at him.
"Best I could do," he said.
"It's fine," I said.
I got dressed and he went downstairs and I heard the kitchen sounds. Cabinets. The stove. Water running. Nothing rushed.
I sat back on the edge of the bed and picked up my phone.
Cole came back upstairs with two plates and set one on the nightstand beside me and sat on the edge of the bed with his own
