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She opened the door with just a soft click, no ferocious slams or bangs. She did not look at him, just hung her hat up on a peg and turned to the small looking glass. Her cheeks were flushed a pale shell-pink over her high cheekbones, the only sign of emotion.
She tucked her loose curls back into the net, and he remembered how her hair had looked last night. Long and tumbled over her shoulders, a mass of wild dark curls.
“You are awake,” she said. “And dressed, too. You must be feeling better.”
“Mendoza brought provisions from my ship,” he answered, as cautious as she. “I won’t trespass on your hospitality much longer, Señora Montero.”
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