She tried to drown those unmerciful drummers under the shower, then bit down on her lip when she realized the new sound she heard was her own whimpering.

Under normal circumstances she would never have gone through any of Michael’s things, but she finished up a fumbling search through the mirrored medicine cabinet and bathroom drawers and nearly wept when she found a bottle of aspirin.

She took four, another break in tradition; then, deciding she couldn’t be much more intrusive, used his toothbrush.

She didn’t look in the mirror until she’d dressed, and even then it was a mistake. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes smudged and swollen. And as she didn’t have so much as a tube of lipstick with her, there was nothing she could do about it.

Knowing she had to get it over with, she stepped outside and moaned quietly as the sunlight sent hot little spears into her eyes. Her head didn’t feel like the practice field for a marching band now; now it felt like glass. Very thin, very fragile glass. And it was balanced precariously on her neck.

“How’s it going, sugar?”

She winced, jerked. Her head fell off, smashed on the steps at her feet. Thank God she had another one. She turned it, struggled to smile as Michael dusted his hands on his hips and walked toward her.

“Good morning. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you get up.”

“The way you were sawing them off, I figured you’d sleep till noon.”

The insult of the headache faded. Snore? She certainly did not snore. She wouldn’t dignify such a lie with a comment. “I have to be at the shop in a couple of hours.”

“You’re working today?” She didn’t look to be in any shape for it to him. “Give yourself a break, Laura, and go crawl back into bed.”

“Saturdays are our busiest day.”

He shrugged his shoulders. Her choice. “How’s the head?”

“Which one?” Now she did smile, a little. Certainly a man like Michael would understand hangovers. “It’s bad, but no longer unbearable.”

“Next time you go on a bender, chug plenty of water and pop a couple aspirin before you pass out. It usually helps take the edge off the morning after.”

“I don’t intend to have a next time, but thanks.”

“Now that might be a shame.” He trailed a finger over the back of her hand. “You make a very inventive drunk. How’s the memory?”

Her blood must have been moving still, for she felt it rise up to sting her cheeks. “It’s good. A little too good. I certainly wouldn’t have—I can’t believe that I—” She shut up, closed her eyes. “You can stop me anytime from making a total fool of myself.”