All Adriel could see of the woman was a fleeting profile: a petite, tight-postured body, chin length hair, and a longish nose firmly pointed up as she retreated into the rapidly dissolving mist. There was something eerie about the way the sun fell through the thinning shroud to illuminate her body.
Just as Adriel made ready to turn away, the sun glinted off of a shiny object across the way. A gully etched by time and water already lined the far side of the narrow road. Beyond the natural ditch, a moss-covered rock wall bordered several acres of mature evergreen trees.
Another flare of sun off metal helped Adriel pinpoint the exact spot where a bicycle leaned up against the trunk of a massive pine with branches spaced for easy climbing. Following the trunk upward with her eyes, she caught the motion when one branch rustled a bit harder than the wind would allow. Adriel had to squint to see the boy who perched there, watching the workers with a happy grin on his face.
The charming sight wasn’t enough, though, to improve her mood. Adriel slammed the pane down in disgust, and stomped into the kitchen to measure ground coffee and water into the odd-looking appliance on the counter. She thought she had watched Pam closely enough to know what to do. Put the funny paper filter into the basket, add eight scoops of grounds, and pour a potful of water into the reservoir.
It didn’t make sense to make a full pot of the brew for just one person, so she filled the coffeemaker only halfway before placing the carafe in its cradle and punching the button. In her opinion, the beverage really was an acquired taste. It smelled wonderful, and always provided a burst of energy, so the benefits outweighed the slightly bitter flavor.
Funny, this potful looked different from the coffee at the bakery. Even with a generous dollop of creamer, it only lightened slightly. Adriel added a little sweetener, stirred, and took a sip. When the dark tang of it hit her tongue like a sledgehammer, she raced to spit it into the sink. UGH, what happened? If looks could scorch plastic and metal, the coffeemaker would have been nothing but a smoking ruin spread over the kitchen counter.
Snatching up the bag of grounds, she read the directions and quickly learned her mistake. Less water means less coffee. Simple logic.
The second attempt looked, smelled, and tasted more palatable as she cradled the mug in both hands. She wasn’t scheduled to work for several more hours yet, and with nothing else to do, she fed Winston before looking around at the mess still left to wade through. Clearing one small area hardly made a dent in the project.
At this rate, she would still be unpacking and sorting whatever was in all these boxes come snowfall.
That thought spurred her to choose a stack and get to work. With the bedroom doorway cleared, the next logical step was to make some space in the tiny seating area. According to Pam, there was a sofa somewhere behind the labyrinthine wall of bins and boxes. Common sense told her to work from the front to the back, which meant starting with the top two from the stack of plastic bins blocking access to the area.
The first, she discovered once she’d pried off the lid, was cram-packed with brightly-colored labels Craig had peeled from cans of vegetables. The next box contained empty tin cans of various sizes, presumably the ones formerly sporting all of those labels. Once stomped flat, the cans went into the recycling bin along with the similar contents of a third tote. The labels went into a bag to be recycled separately.
The bottom box from the pile, thankfully, contained something more interesting than trash. Books. About thirty or so, and all of the same type: cookbooks. All Adriel had time for was a quick glance through some of the pages, but the way the glossy pictures made her mouth water had her setting these aside for further perusal. The one with the melted cheese dip called fondue looked especially interesting.
Of all the inconveniences that came with a mortal body, eating was the only one she enjoyed.
Showers, though? Those seemed to require a set of skills she might never master. The water was either too cold or too hot and shampoo kept getting in her eye. Who had thought it was a good idea to make things slippery when wet? Twice the plastic bottle had squirted out of her hands to thump heavily into the tub—both times glancing painfully off one of her feet. The suds took forever to rinse out of her hair. A tedious process at best.
Getting dressed, at least, was quick. She only owned the one set of clothes which, thanks to the little washer and dryer, were now clean and unwrinkled. A half dozen tee shirts found in the bottom of the blanket box were now piled in the top dresser drawer. Two sizes too large, Adriel had decided to turn them into sleepwear.
So many new things to worry about.
Chapter 3
How hard could it be to patch up a few broken shingles in the siding? Adriel had tools, nails, shingles, and a book with pictures explaining the process. Piece of cake. Why did people say that? What does cake have to do with anything? Fitting in with mortals meant having to embrace a lot of strange language. Maybe another book would provide the answer to the cake question. Craig’s shelves held an eclectic mix of tomes; she’d have to look through
