It was the ladder that did it. The day had been frustrating enough, now all she wanted was for the damned ladder to go back up. It had been complicated to get the baggage into the crawlspace – James took care of things like that before – and she was exhausted. She jerked the ladder again, it started to retract and then stopped halfway, hanging unhelpfully in the middle of the small hall. Zee limbo’d under it and wiped her hands on her jeans before making a fresh pot of coffee.
James had complained his Ethiopia Sidamo tasted acrid. It was one of many new first-world problems that had plagued him since getting his advance. He couldn’t taste the promised cardamom in the fair trade organic blend, the Skaga eyeglass frames wouldn’t be ready in time for his author photo, and so much else Zee “wouldn’t possibly understand” since she hadn’t yet landed an agent. Well, screw him.