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“How is the pain level? Do you need any assistance?” I’m quickly learning there’s a time and place to poke the little spitfire, and this is not the time.
“The cool water has helped a lot, and I should be fine to stand and wrap myself in the robe you are holding. If I feel dizzy, I’ll tell you.”
Hamlet knows I am only here to help, and she isn’t going to argue after her dizzy spell downstairs. We are compromising. I’m not perving on her body, even though Woody loves camping.
I turn my back, but the mirror’s reflection does not lie.
Hamlet’s body is incredible.
She towels herself off.
Woody starts to pitch his tent.
I clutch the spare towel tighter.
I’ll lose all the ground I’ve made if she sees the tent pole going up.
“Can you manage the robe if I leave it on the vanity counter?” I can’t trust Woody to embarrass himself. He’s only human.
“Yes. I will strip off my wet underwear and hang them over the heated towel rail.”
I silence the groan that wants to spill from my lips, moving toward the bedroom, clutching the spare towel while looking down at the floor.Come on, Woody; you gotta help me out here.Stay the hell down.
I think of the grossest things I can muster up from my childhood days to dampen Woody’s efforts.
“Oh, God.” I hear a groan. “What a mess.”
I swiftly turn around to face the bathroom and watch Hamlet covered neck to ankle in the fluffy robe. She is eyeing herself up closely in the vanity mirror, prodding the affected areas softly. “Ugh… that’s going to be a masterpiece by tomorrow.” She sighs, pointing to her puffy eye, using the reflection in the mirror to talk to me. “I tend to bruise easily.”
“What? Is bruising something you are used to?”
She waves a hand casually. “Just a line of work I used to be in. Sometimes I could get knocked around a bit. Now my life is much quieter.”
“May I ask the line of work?”
“Bounty hunter.”
I hide my surprise. I shouldn’t be shocked to know this capable woman worked a tough gig as a bounty hunter. But I am. “You are full of surprises, Shakespeare.”
“People always underestimate the petite person, and that is why I was good at what I did.”
She spins around and walks toward me, expecting me to stand aside so she can pass me, but I have other ideas. I step into the doorjamb and lean against it, effectively cutting off her escape.
She crosses her arms and kicks out her hip, glaring at me. “What do you do to keep out of trouble?”
“Tonight, I am a musician. Tomorrow…” I shrug my shoulder.
“What does that even mean?” she questions.
“I’m a man of mystery. If I tell you everything about me now, what will we have to talk about on our first date?”
“Never, gonna happen.”
“Care to put a wager on?”
“Nope, because I won’t be able to collect because we won’t be going on a date.”
“Challenge accepted.”
