Page 10 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume
I can’t help the gnawing worry at the back of my mind though. I doubt it’s work bothering him. He wrapped up everything he needed to before he left the day before yesterday and he’s off for the next two weeks too.
Maybe it’s about his family, I think, feeling guilty for bringing the subject up last night on Christmas Eve of all times. Is he upset about not seeing them? Or is it something else?
Resolving to ask him about it as soon as the opportunity arises, I shake the thought from my mind and concentrate on making breakfast. A short while later, I carry a large tray into the bedroom, nudging the door open with a hip and double-checking my feet to make sure Jacob Marley didn’t suddenly decide tripping me was more important than food. Just as I approach his side of the bed, Danny rolls over and opens his eyes, smiling at me before he’s even fully awake.
“Merry Christmas!” I say brightly.
He looks at the tray in my hands and rubs his eyes before shuffling up the bed and tucking his pillows behind him.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice all kinds of rumbly and delicious.
“I know, but I wanted to.” I climb onto the bed and set the tray in his lap. Leaning over, I peck a kiss on his lips.
As I pull back, he smiles and says, “Merry Christmas.”
I wink at him, snagging a piece of toast from the piled plate and then picking up my mug of tea. “Sorry I flaked out on you last night,” I mumble around a mouthful of food.
“You’re so sexy.”
I snort as I laugh and almost end up inhaling toast crumbs up my nose. Coughing slightly, I swallow and gulp my tea, which, fortunately for me, has cooled a bit.
Danny picks his coffee up and takes a much slower, infinitely more civilised sip. “It’s okay,” he says in answer to my earlier statement. “You were practically dead on your feet before you even made it to the sofa. I’m surprised you stayed awake long enough to chew your food.”
“Were you up very late?” I ask, edging my way towards bringing up what’s bothering him.
He shrugs and picks up a piece of toast. “Not particularly late. I cuddled your deadweight on the sofa until my arms went numb.”
“Hey!” I protest, shoving him lightly and making him laugh.
“Once I regained the feeling in my arms, I took you to bed and found Jacob Marley in the hallway doing advanced recon.”
My brows raise questioningly.
“He was hiding behind that giant potted cheese plant Madam Viv gave us and staring at the kitchen door. Fortunately, he still hasn’t figured out the new door handles like he did in your old flat, but I think it’s only a matter of time. Once I got you settled, I went to hide Bernard before Jacob Marley could take him out.”
“Wise.”
“I thought so—otherwise, it would be back to McDonald’s for Christmas dinner again.” He shakes his head.
“Well, we definitely don’t want that,” I agree, finishing the rest of my toast and washing it down with the lukewarm tea. “Mmmm,” I hum.
“I’m too warm and comfy to move.” Danny takes another appreciative sip of his coffee and grabs a slice of toast. “You wanna do presents here?”
“Uh, does the temperature of a body drop approximately one point five degrees an hour during Algor Mortis?”
Danny snorts. “I have no idea, but I’m going to take that as a yes.” He moves the tray over so he can reach under his side of the bed.
I jump happily off the bed and hurry over to the wardrobe, rummaging about in the bottom of it until I come up with a bag full of presents. Which I proceed to tip over the bed next to Danny.
We spend the next half hour swapping presents back and forth and ripping open wrapping paper like a pair of eager five-year-olds.
“Aww, honey.” I hold up the Victorian creamware anatomical heart that we’d seen in an antiques and curios shop hidden down a little side street in Spitalfields a couple of months ago. The decorative piece has all the chambers of the heart and arteries painted on in an elegant cursive script. “Thank you.”
“I knew you wanted it,” Danny replies.
“Do you think we’re getting a little morbid?” I wrinkle my nose thoughtfully.
“Probably.” He shrugs. “I mean, not everyone would buy their boyfriend a set of silver autopsy knives from the 1890s.”