“Brooding dark? Like Mr. Rochester?”
“Darker.”
“Should I be worried?”
Madame's grin widens.
“Oh no, my dear.”
She reaches out and pats my cheek.
“You should be excited.”
I shake my head, laughing.
“Madame, I am thirty-seven years old. The only tall, dark, and handsome male in my future is probably another exhausted doctor with a caffeine addiction.”
“Not this time, Pussycat.”
Her voice is surprisingly firm.
“He's—he’s waited a very long time for you.”
Something about the way she says it makes a strange little shiver race down my spine.
I blame the lack of sleep.
“How long?” I tease.
She smiles.
“Oh… a couple of hundred years at least.”
I burst out laughing.
“Well, he must be moisturized.”
Madame cackles.
“Indeed. Very handsome, too. But mind the horns.”
“Of course. And I am so glad my imaginary boyfriend is attractive.”
“Not imaginary, Josie. This one is a keeper.”
I wave a hand.
“Okay, okay. I'll keep an eye out for the immortal supermodel.”
“Do that, Pussycat.”
I head toward the door.
“Tea and a turkey sandwich, coming right up.”
Behind me, Madame calls out one last thing.
“And Josie?”