Lucile had turned on her other side and lay facing him. “It doesn’t smell so bad,” she confessed.
Shayne cuddled his cup in his hands. “It tastes better than it smells,” he assured her.
She took a sip and grimaced, then took a big swallow. “I can feel it spreading all through me.”
Shayne nodded. “When you’ve drunk half of it you’ll be ready for a cigarette.”
There was a short silence during which they sipped from the steaming cups. Shayne lit a cigarette and offered her one.
“Thanks,” she said, “I believe I can smoke one. Bring your cup over here.” She made a place for him.
“I’ll get a refill first,” he said. “Want a second?”
“Not after this. I don’t want to push my luck.” She smiled. The color was coming back to her cheeks.
Shayne returned with a fresh, steaming cup and made room on the small table to set it, then eased his lanky frame down on the edge of the couch.
Lucile said, “I feel warm and glowy. I feel like what-does-anything-matter — my job—”