Photo by David Boca on Unsplash
Lanie stretched and rubbed her arms and legs against the smooth sheets. She murmured to herself and then sat up. She didn’t remember going to bed last night. This felt like home even though it didn’t look right. The last thing she remembered was a friend visiting her. Laine had been old, sick, and in a bed. She felt fine now.
She slipped out of bed and padded off to the bathroom to wash her face and tie her hair back. As she secured her hair, she studied her reflection. That must have been some crazy dream. I don’t look a day over thirty, if that, and my hair is brown. She frowned and shrugged at her reflection, then went to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
As she walked to the kitchen, she caught a whiff of coffee and cinnamon. I don’t remember setting the timer on the coffee maker. The microwave beeped so she opened it. A warm cinnamon roll waited inside. Someone must be here with me, but who? Who would know I like cinnamon rolls?