Silver blue streaks race across an otherwise unblemished afternoon sky. The smells of relaxation waft towards the tangle of sheets, a fragrant blend of peppery bacon, warm cinnamon, sweet cream on scones and pungent, first-flush Darjeeling. Minutes later a soft knock sounds against the open door. The lump twitches.
“Breakfast is served milady.”
It snores. Rolls to the left. Right. Left again. The linen mass tumbles to the floor
A soft snort punctuates the fall. “Go away Rex.” An arm snakes out of the mess, swatting at some imagined figure. The intruder stills, tray balanced precariously on one hand. A faint wrinkle forms.
“Rex?” he mutters quietly. Seconds later, a decision is made and the tray set on the nightstand.A sticky-sweet strip of bacon pilfered from its brethren.
“No,” she groans “not the bacon.”
He freezes barely millimeters from consuming stolen booty. How did she know?
A drowsy snicker escapes. “I see everything.”
He shudders. There’s no way.
He shakes off the sudden chill and proceeds to bite into his prize and waits as sixty excruciating pass. Noting the distinct lack of reaction, he reaches for a second slice.
“Not my bacon!”
That piteous wail was the final straw. The plan had to be enacted. Bacon in hand, he slunk toward his target. One-two-three muffled steps later the foodstuff is brandished in the general direction of her nose. A chaotic mass of bedhead inches out of the linen cocoon. Her hand latches onto his wrist and, in one smooth motion, he was drawn into The Lair.