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Show 359 him out the window. "Blueberry, I think. Unless that's your last one." She ripped the package open and dropped a pair of frozen waffles into the toaster, then went to the cupboard to get him down a plate. She was wearing a short denim skirt and white tennis shoes that squeaked on the linoleum when she turned. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the plate down, and he watched the backs of her knees as long as it was polite. He pretended to read the paper while she came and went behind him, getting out the butter and a bottle of syrup, pouring the water into his cup, rattling in the silverware drawer for a knife and fork for him. "I'll poach you a couple of eggs too," she said, putting the plate of toasted waffles and the coffee in front of him. "Thank you," he said. He thought he had protested enough. He hated poached eggs but he couldn't tell her that. "It's none of my business," she said from the stove, "but what are you going to do?" "Actually, I haven't decided yet. I need to get back into painting as soon as I can. I let that slide while I was on my mission." "I mean before that," she said. "I mean like today, as soon as you eat these eggs and disappear." He had wanted to take a shower first, but he wasn't sure it was the right time to ask. "I was going to start looking for a job today," he said. The waffle seemed to have stuck in his throat. "The reason I ask is Floyd wasn't exactly thrilled to have you here last night." "I can certainly understand that," he said. "And of course I don't |