Confessions of the Cold War Kid
Sigourney ran her fingers through her hair as she watched Tasha turn hopefully. “I have a couch, if you need some place to sleep. But, I have no story to add to yours.”
Tasha’s grin seemed awkward, as if it wasn’t something he practiced often.
“That’s fine; just being here is a miracle,” he closed his eyes as he approached the door. He was bursting with excitement, like a child opening a gift.
Sigourney watched his hands carefully; they moved too quickly for her taste, and in any moment, one of her trinkets could disappear into them.
Yet, there was something about him that you could trust; something that begged for honesty. Something that said he could handle truth.
“How many days are you giving me, Cold War Kid?” he asked gruffly before sitting on the couch.
“What?” Sigourney’s brow furrowed.
“How many days until your ‘hospitality’ runs out and you cast me to the streets?”
For some reason, she couldn’t answer him. Tasha didn’t appear to be much older than her, so why did she want to protect him?