I shoved a Styrofoam cup under the spigot, and my mouth watered as steaming nectar poured forth. “I’m the same.” I added cream to the cup and took my first sip.

In heaven, angels sang.

Misty lifted her own cap in salute, as if she understood the transformative experience.

I took a second sip, and a third, then I was ready to conduct a polite conversation. “Dinner was wonderful.”

A soft shade of pink colored her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “Until the snake?”

I suppressed a shudder. “Until the snake.”

“You left at the right time.”

“Oh?”

“Talk turned to politics.”

Ah. President Ford’s intention to run for re-election—or actual election—had many in the Republican party on edge. They believed he was painted by Nixon’s crooked brush, and his running for office would ensure a win for the Democrats. “Tempers flared?”

Misty’s blue eyes clouded, and a crease marred her smooth forehead. “You could say that.”

“Tonight will be better.” Such wishful thinking. “What are you serving?”

“Barbeque. Maybe the smoke will keep the snakes away.”

“One can hope.” I took another blissful sip. “Do you do this often? Cater whole weekends, I mean.”

“This is the first time.”

I refilled my now-empty cup, then reached for a second. “For my husband.”

She held up her free hand. “No judging. I’ve been known to pour a backup mug.”

Truly, a woman after my own heart. “I can’t start my morning without it.”

She nodded in understanding, then glanced at her watch. “Breakfast service starts at eight.”

“What time is it?”

“Just before six.”

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Scrambled eggs, bacon, and my special cinnamon rolls.”

My mouth watered. “Sounds delicious.” I moved toward the door. “Thank you for the coffee.”

While I was inside, the sky had shifted from pink to lemon yellow. The last traces of the mist laced through the short grass and the smell of a new day, fresh with possibilities, brought a smile to my lips. Yesterday’s dread seemed far away. I stepped onto the path.

“Good morning.” Sumner ran toward me from farther down the path. She wore running shoes, gym shorts and a sweaty tee-shirt. And fake eyelashes. Who went running in fake eyelashes?

Rather than ask, I said, “You’re dedicated.” I’d brought paints, not running shoes to this getaway.

“I can’t eat like I did last night and not exercise. And it gets too hot to run later in the day.” She slowed her pace to a walk and wiped her brow.

“I’m giving myself the weekend off.” Come Monday, Max, our Weimaraner, would drag me around Loose Park until I made him stop. And, since life was easier when Max was tired, I’d let him run until he dropped.

Together, we walked toward our cabins. A quick walk. I’d spent most of my ten minutes chatting to Misty. I might have exceeded the allotted time.