The Morning After || closed
The last thing a waitress coming off a double shift usually wants is a late night. Usually, the most that can be desired is a hot shower, a quick bite to eat, and then a swan dive into bed to sleep for as long as possible.
Upon waking to her phone alarm, Estella has a brief moment of panic. Is she late? Does she have to get up for work? Wait...no...it’s her day off. And...
And she hadn’t gone to bed alone.
A warm, weary feeling is in her muscles, the slight soreness of limbs well-used, an echo of remembered pleasure. For several seconds, she just lays there, still tangled in the sheets, cheeks turning pink as she recalls the events of the previous evening.
The other side of the bed is empty, but she expected that. Probably for the best. She’s awful at these things, and probably won’t be able to look the crimson-eyed Cajun in the face if they happen to meet again.
Then she realizes that she smells coffee.
“What in the...?”
