She stretched her stiff limbs and asked herself again why she insisted on opening the shop on Sundays. They were usually slow days. Before the Pink Bean had taken residence and business had picked up, slow days were better than closed days, but now Annie considered revising her Sunday opening times. She would crunch some numbers this week to see how it would affect the shop’s bottom line. Or maybe she could just open later, because who wanted to buy a book at 9 a.m. on a Sunday anyway? Or perhaps she could even strike a deal with Kristin… Oh. No, better not. Best not strike any deals with Kristin any time soon.

Annie dragged her tired body off the couch and shuffled to the bathroom. All was silent in the apartment. Jane must still be sleeping. Annie tried to be as quiet as possible, but the bathroom was adjacent to their bedroom and water running while Annie took a much-needed shower might wake Jane. At least she’d gotten some sleep. Annie might have been woken up by her phone alarm, but she must have only dozed off just before it started blaring.

When she stepped out of the shower and looked at her reflection in the mirror she wondered whether, if seventy was the new fifty as some media wanted to make people believe, sixty was the new forty. Today, Annie felt much older than her fifty-seven years. She always refused to think of herself as getting old, even though her older sister had grandchildren who obviously thought that being in your fifties was as old as the hills. To a four-year-old, she and her sister must appear ancient.

When she exited the bathroom, Jane was brewing coffee in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Annie said and, out of habit, almost wrapped her arms around her wife. Their relationship was usually so tactile and there was always comfort to be found in an outstretched hand or a stray kiss. She missed the closeness of their touch already and it had barely been a day.

“Hey.” At least Jane was talking, if that grunted word could pass for speech.

“Did you get some sleep?” Annie leaned her hip against the kitchen counter. She was dying for some coffee. Anything to jolt her that little bit more awake.

Jane nodded, then turned away and poured coffee in two mugs. She gave one to Annie, indicating that she was willing to be civil. “You?”

“That couch doesn’t really agree with me.” Annie studied Jane. She was wearing her writing clothes. An old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her hair was unbrushed and unruly, her gaze still soft with morning sleepiness.

“I can open up the shop if you want to get a few hours of sleep in bed.”