The clean white light came through the sheer curtain, almost liquid. It was 8 a.m. on a Sunday.
Catherine rolled over in the queen-size bed that was both bigger and more comfortable than her own. The sheets matched the comforter which matched the pillow cases. She was alone. She stretched her arms tentatively and kicked her foot out, testing her body. It was always confusing to her to wake up in strange places. No cat pawing at the ends of her dark sleep-tousled hair, no alarm and needing to pee but not wanting to venture out into the strange day quite yet.
A clink of a pan came singing down the hall, a sudden barking cough, a cabinet creak. The sounds of a Sunday morning in a home shared with a lover. Catherine held her breath and shoved her face into the pillow that smelled faintly like a perfume she herself would never buy.
In a swift motion Catherine rolled out of the bed onto the floor, limbs rotating. She stood up, spine uncurling in the twist.