Ken wasn’t sure if it was the morning sunshine filtering through the organic cotton curtains or the aroma of an unusual breakfast that woke him from his chardonnay-induced slumber. Whichever it was, he was quickly reminded that he was not nestled between his chi destroying polyester sheets, but wrapped in a hand woven alpaca blanket on the firm futon couch in Shiitake Jones’ living room.
Shiitake heard him stirring noisily. "Good morning, sleepyhead!" she called cheerily, then poked her head around the corner as he was examining the hemp pajamas he found himself in.
Who did these belong to? he thought worriedly. Did Shiitake regularly host overnight male guests? (more…)
