By Sunday, Ty is finally recovered enough that I'm comfortable "discharging" him from the villa. It's a brilliant early morning in mid-June when I throw back his curtains and let sunlight stream into the room.
"Harrumph," Ty mumbles from a tangle of sheets. The weather outside is already warm, veering quickly to hot, but the villa's air conditioning system keeps the whole place pleasantly cool all day and night. Ty flings a pillow over his head and tries to burrow further into the bed.
"Wakey wakey," I sing-song at him with a mischievous grin. Ty is decidedly not a morning person, I've come to learn. More so than most other "not morning people," in fact. Getting him out of bed is like pulling teeth, and he's had so much time to rest up the past few weeks that he seems out of practice.
