Mitch burst into Morwenna’s kitchen.
Morwenna, who had her back to the door, stirring something on the stove that smelled pretty rank, said, “You’re making a habit of this. You’ll have the hinges off one of these days.” She carried on stirring, not turning around.
“Has he gone?” Mitch said, not in a mood for his friend’s taunts.
“Who?”
“Morwenna!”
Boris hissed at Mitch from his basket in the corner. Mitch shook his fist at the cat, not in the mood for his antics either.
“If you’re talking about John,” she finally turned to face Mitch, tablespoon in hand, “he hasn’t said anything to me.” She shrugged. “But then why would he? I’m not his headmistress or anything.”
Mitch pulled at his hair. It’d been a dumb idea to go see Morwenna.
“I knew you’d find an occasion to wear it.” She point
